As your trio moves north, out from the PRT Relief Command Center that has largely taken over the remains of a United States Postal Service depot, you opt to walk instead of getting a ride from one of the various government or civilian vehicles going your way. This is largely due to Accord being the only member of your group that can't fly, but walking across most of the ruined city isn't a waste of time; Accord uses this opportunity to catch you up on smaller, non-emergency developments since you spoke with him yesterday morning, while it's also a chance for you to get a ground-level perspective of how the evacuation and demolition of the city is progressing.
The first, most obvious example of this is what's going on only a half-mile northwest of the PRT Relief Command Center, where the 47-Acre construction depot has been turned into the primary hub for both materiel coming in from outside the city, and for salvage gathered from the local ruins.
Massive piles of concrete rubble, twisted metal girders and rebar, used plastic bottles and jugs, and broken wooden beams are arranged on the eastern side of the lot, where caravans of dump trucks, garbage trucks, and civilian pickup trucks are streaming in to deposit what they've claimed before venturing back north into the heart of the former city. While there are a dozen PRT troopers keeping guard, most of the thousand-plus force of men and women hard at work - talking with drivers about where they found their loads, helping sort salvage into their proper piles - are contracted civilians laborers that lived in Camden.
Even though you're only observing them through your Mobile Sensory Drones and commandeered fauna, you're able to recognize most of the individuals running the show. You did most of the paperwork for this, after all.
The piles of rubble and salvage themselves are smaller than what a casual observer might initially expect, what with the constant stream of vehicles entering the yard full and leaving empty. One only has to watch the piles for a few minutes to see why that is: almost as quickly as they're fed from the east, the piles are being devoured from the west.
"Devoured" in a literal sense, as the four bus-sized dragon-ish drones you set up last week have been working around-the-clock to turn unusable raw materials into processed, easily-used blocks and bars. They're nowhere near as animalistic as the drones you're planning on installing Riley's… pets… into, looking more like someone slapped Chinese New Year costumes on a set of busses; the true dragon-machines are still being worked on in the cavernous basement below the Quarantine floor back at HQ.
Even if they only barely resemble animals, you still made sure that the "output" from each drone comes out of the sides, instead of from their… backside. To do otherwise would have been, to quote Riley, "naughty and icky."
They've been chomping along at a quick clip, and in the five days they've been active have converted tens of thousands of tons of materials. Aside from the two visits you've had to pay to repair them - both times due to residues from exotic Bakuda ordinance building up their internal workings - they've largely operated without your input or control. Nonetheless, since you're already walking by the yard you take this opportunity to float an Mobile Sensory Drone near enough to extend your (still limited) Shard of Perfect Administration range; with their synthetic "animal brains" installed under your control, you run quick diagnostics…
… hmmm, nothing alarming, but you'll probably need to stop in tomorrow to clean out the concrete-conversion drone again. It's both the busiest and most problem-prone one, so it's to be expected.
Beyond any operational concerns, you notice through your Mobile Sensory Drone that… it appears people have painted some small artistic designs on the four drones to make them more "life-like." Colorful scales, giving each dragon a rainbow hue; nothing that looks like gang tags, thankfully, but rather just… art. You're not sure if you should be flattered or concerned? Or both? You didn't get any notices from the PRT agents on-site of people asking permission, and none of the art overlaps important seams or service hatches so your brief study doesn't reveal any problems it might cause - if anything, in a few days the art will be covered over by the dirt and grime constantly being kicked up in the yard.
Dragon herself checks in on these daily, since officially you gifted them to the Guild in order to get them out in the field without a Tinkertech review. You wouldn't be surprised if she authorized the touch-ups, but you make yourself a note in your helmet's HUD to ask her about it.
As your trio progresses further into the ruins of Camden, however, the utter destruction and desolation of what was once the economic 'heart' of the city becomes more and more prevalent. Storefronts are all shattered and looted, if their buildings stand at all. Traffic lights and signs are either off, blinking red, or their wires and poles have been ripped away altogether.
The noon-day sun finally manages to break through the oppressive grey-brown haze choking the city for a few minutes as your trio walks on. Streaks of light intermittently cascading through the cloud cover highlight the burned-out and blasted husks of long-abandoned and condemned buildings. Distant wails of emergency vehicles intermingle with occasional gunshots and smaller explosions.
Accord pauses mid-sentence when a sunbeam drifts in front of your group, just as the three of you are about to step into a faded crosswalk.
"A moment."
Both you and Prayer halt, having stepped into the street already, and half-turn to look back at his stilled form. The eyes of his mask are closed and its mouth is drawn in a tight line, while his right hand has a death-grip on his cane.
A quick scan shows alarming blood pressure levels, and while you're still not entirely able to understand the details of what your scans show for brains, it's clear even to you that his power is consuming most of his conscious thought. This means he's fully-engaged plotting out some kind of astronomically-complicated scheme, but… you have a feeling it's not one of the nice ones.
When he doesn't do anything but breathe for a few more seconds, you trigger your armor's backpack and unleash a large enough portion of your robotic swarm to surround the three of you in a near-solid dome. Consciously directing the tens of thousands of horsefly-sized drones to operate as quietly as possible, all that can be heard now is a quiet susurrus of mechanical wings beating a pattern of white noise.
As Accord's vitals and brain patterns slowly begin to normalize, you idly wonder if Prayer would be capable of making a similar protective dome with a single activation of her Shard-charm? You don't doubt that she could extrude enough to form one piece-by-piece, but… hmm. Possibly worth talking with her to see if she's experimented at all with the charm since she fully configured it? The only thing of note she mentioned was that absorbing arms and armor is no longer as… uh… overwhelming.
Which brings you back around to Accord: you've noticed that Prayer has far more tolerance for the be-suited crime lord's impulses once you and Riley figured out that his power has been filling his head with violent impulses. It was particularly eerie, being able to track how his murderous intrusive thoughts increased whenever he dedicated his power towards infrastructure and administrative tasks - both because of how blatant his power's manipulations have become, and how Accord himself would never have noticed this trend if you hadn't pointed it out.
Both he and Riley had picked up that you knew much more about the whys of this, but you'd held off revealing your knowledge about what you've learned about the Entities and their "Cycle" - telling them both that you'd only feel secure telling them within Saki's dimension, but that they'd get the full explanation soon.
Accord lets out a small, tight breath and slowly opens the clockwork eyes of his golden mask, meeting your own gaze. He holds it silently, before flicking his gaze to the nearly-opaque dome of robotic insects shielding you three from the hellish landscape beyond.
"I have difficulty appreciating this small mercy when it is your hand that has driven me into needing it."
You frown, allowing a small measure of contrition to seep into your expression and tone.
"It is not without purpose," you acknowledge. "Your self-control has improved. It is a common note in any report I receive regarding your performance."
He turns his head and eyes back, allowing the cold, impassive eyes of his mask bore into you.
"Exercise or torture, it cannot continue. My optimistic projections for my own personal growth… wane. The greater the demands you place upon my skills, the more frequent the impulses become with each passing day. You know this."
"I do."
His eyes narrow, the gold of his mask reflecting your own glowing eyes in the darkened dome.
"I. Am. Trying," he grits out, pausing after the last word to briefly close his eyes momentarily and take a fortifying breath. "I do not yet possess the strengths of a Chosen of Autochthon. I am, still, only human. When the moment comes that every conscious thought becomes murderous, it will be on your head."
"False."
Prayer's deep, crystalline voice is all that much powerful in this enclosed space.
"You are not held by throat or leash. You choose to remain."
Gears whir in his mask, and Accord's left hand comes up to adjust his gold tie as he visibly considers her words before turning back to you.
"A residence apart, then? Would my candidacy suffer?"
You raise an eyebrow. "What about your Ambassadors?"
"They would remain, of course," he nods, only for him to blink as an idea visibly comes to him.
You blink once, straightening up and absently tapping your thigh as you consider his proposal in turn. It's a development you… half-expected, honestly, but his improving self-control had given you hope that Accord might be able to keep it together on his own.
That was before Camden was set to be razed to the ground, uprooting him again. The fact that he hasn't grievously harmed someone is frankly astonishing, though Prayer's mentioned she's needed to check him a few times these past few days.
Hmm. There's another option here beyond just shoving Accord in a deprivation chamber somewhere outside of the city.
Checking the time… 12:19 PM.
You're consciously trying not to interrupt Saki's vacation every other hour of the day. You'll see Saki tonight, in Pittsburgh, so you'll ask her there when she'll be free next.
"Before that," you begin, raising your right hand with index finger poised, "would you accept the implantation of a soulgem?"
He manages to control his shock, stilling momentarily before he straightens himself and taps his cane on the sidewalk.
"Of course. Yet I recall you said the PRT had confiscated the equipment for testing? They have returned it?"
You hum, withdrawing your hands to the small of your back. "I'll have it by tonight or tomorrow. I'll also be able to provide you with the… background details of your power that I withheld earlier."
Uriel shouldn't be too difficult to convince. You didn't have a pressing need to jam diamonds into people's heads before, but "Accord's going to snap and kill people if we don't do this now" should suffice. You can even spin it as further 'field testing'!
It'd be best if you did it in Saki's personal dimension, though, which is why you might as well give Accord and Riley the full space-parasite rundown while you're there. Unfortunately, that means you need to convince Saki to let the bio-tinker into her "Safe Space."
Better make sure you bring some cheesecake to the meet-up tonight. You're not sure why Saki giggles while eating it, but it's apparently her favorite.
Accord nods, satisfied. "I will adjust my schedule to ensure I am available."
Prayer shuffles, drawing both of your attention, but she merely holds her helmeted stare at Accord for a silent moment before nodding once.
The golden clockwork mask whirrs a bit, the brow of the onset face furrowing slightly, only for Accord to nod again in apparent comprehension. He turns back to you and meets your gaze again.
"Thank you."
You let only a small smile creep onto your face before closing up your helmet again - then let the dome around you slowly thin out so as to not bombard Accord all at once with the sudden return of Camden's chaotic ambiance.
Instead of returning your swarm to your backpack, however, you begin to draw out more and more of the drones stored within...
... until nearly the entire 100-foot radius hemisphere around your trio is saturated with the millions of robotic insects you have at your disposal.
You turn back, leading the group towards your original destination, only to pause as both Accord and Prayer haven't moved yet.
"Shall we?"
They share a glance, then make to follow your lead.
With the usual two-tone chime, an "Incoming Call" alert comes up on your helmet's HUD. Caller ID: Director Martin Uriel.
Hmm. That took… longer than you expected, but you answer the call regardless. Which provides a second surprise: it's a video call, not a simple voice call, which means he's contacting you from the conference room instead of his office. Odd. There weren't any Director conferences scheduled for today that would necessitate his presence there.
Except, even in a video call, he's not looking at you. He seems to be… doing paperwork, judging by the angle of his posture and slight twitches of his eyes.
"Director."
"Weaver. I just received a call from Director Emily Piggot."
"Ah."
"What are you doing right now?"
"Walking."
"Then why do I suspect that I would be able to track where you are if I went up to roof and looked across the river?"
You side-step as a person-sized chunk of concrete sails into and through your dome of robotic insects, the cloud parting to allow it through with only a few dozen insect drones being clipped by its passage.
"... An enthusiastic walk."
"Mhm," he grunts, shifting his gaze as you hear the shuffling of papers. At least, you're fairly certain you heard that, since it's a bit difficult to hear the fine details of the conversation over the gunfire and explosive punching.
"It says here, on the schedule that you submitted - and I approved - this morning, that right now you should be 'Meeting With Accord and His Ambassadors To Review New Camden Infrastructure Developments'."
"I'm doing that as well, Director," you nod, idly extruding another set of containment foam grenades which your drones carry away from your hands to be deposited elsewhere. "I have exceptional multi-tasking skills."
He pauses, finally sparing a moment to actually glance at you through the teleconference camera.
"Accord is with you. Right now?"
"Of course."
"May I speak with him?"
You blink. "... I don't believe his head will fit in my helmet, sir. His mask is rather robust."
"Just open your armor's external microphone and speakers. I don't need a visual feed."
"Yes sir," you confirm, pursing your lips as you quickly crank the noise-cancelation features of your external mic up to its highest setting.
Prayer tears a car in half just as you switch to externals. Great.
"Accord."
The small man to your right, encased in the stationary shield generator you've set up for him, tears his gaze away from where First Prayer of Perfection is methodically taking apart the remains of Camden High School... and the parahuman gang within. Given that you've surrounded the area with your swarm of robotic and organic fauna - blocking off any chance for the few hundred individuals within to escape - they've grown rather panicked and desperate.
"Yes?"
"Director Uriel would like to speak with you."
The brow of his mask furrows as he considers the statement. "Is this a pressing matter?"
Before you can answer, Uriel's voice crackles through the two external speakers tucked underneath your helmet's jawline.
"Director Emily Piggot is still waiting for you and Vajra to finish up your discussion with Weaver, so that you can explain to her how you intend to receive and dispose of the Deep Silver sample."
Accord makes a grunt of acknowledgement, but it's lost in the sound of Prayer slapping an RPG out of the air that would have continued on towards populated areas.
"She sounded impatient. You might want to turn back from wherever you've been… walking."
Golden clockwork eyes swivel to meet your own, even though your helmet's opacity is still a maximum.
"Her feelings are not my concern. Recent developments require that I revisit my itinerary for the next three days, and the delivery time and location for Toybox's delivery has not been finalized. Inform Director Piggot that-"
"Whatever," Uriel sighs, the video window in your HUD showing him rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning back to his paperwork. "Tell her yourself, I'm not your message boy. Weaver, one more thing."
You quickly flip the external microphones and speakers off, while holding up both hands to placate an eerily-still Accord.
"Yes, Director?"
"Is there a reason you didn't inform the local PRT forces that you would be engaging a parahuman-led gang?"
You don't bother holding back the simmering rage you felt when the school-turned-hideout came into your range. The glow within your helmet increases.
"I did call in that we engaged the Resistors, even though I knew there's no way they have the manpower or resources to respond by the time we're done here."
"After you already engaged," he emphasizes, drawing out the first word. "I'm guessing you were just going to scout them out at first, but found enough reasons to engage immediately."
His tone at the end isn't quite as sarcastic as normal, so you treat it as the statement of fact that it is.
"Yes, sir. They'd started taking hostages, some of which need medical attention."
"Not why I'm disappointed, Weaver," he sighs, finally looking back to you. "What was the chance that you wouldn't have engaged a new gang whose sole reason for existing is to get in your way."
You can think of a few ways to twist your response, but… you've got better things to do right now.
"I…" you trail off, letting out the breath in a huff before shaking your head. "I should have informed local dispatch that I was moving to patrol the area."
"And?"
"... and you, sir."
He grunts, leaning back in his chair such that the shadows of the room draw out his shallow cheeks and the bags under his eyes. "There's nothing I can do to you that wouldn't be political or literal suicide, Weaver. All I ask is that you keep me in the loop."
You grit your teeth in frustration and shame, but he's not wrong. Iris did not like him.
"Yes, sir."
He waves the hand still holding a pen, absently.
"You've been good about it, since the Nine. I guess I'm more surprised than disappointed, honestly," he sighs, still sounding completely bored. "Are you about done, there?"
Through your many, many viewpoints, you see that Prayer has cornered the trio of new capes in the school's gym - the unpowered gang members all either foamed, wrapped in rebar, or possessing too many broken limbs to do anything but moan. Sure, you could have simply flooded the place from the start, but Prayer had asked to take responsibility since this is ostensibly "her" district now.
You also suspect she took offense at the fact their gang tag is a big red 'X' over a black cog.
The only thing she did ask for help with was to make sure the four-dozen hostages they'd taken were safe. You freed them easily once Prayer drew away their guards, and while you've taken care of any external wounds, the only one you haven't healed (via medical supplies extruded through a controlled stray dog and utilized by your robotic swarm) are the ones with more severe broken bones and internal damage.
Accord, for his part, has been largely silent as he watched the two of you work. You're somewhat curious as to his thoughts, but you've found he will engage you in conversation when he desires it.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you planning on dealing with the Teeth, since you're in the area?"
You shake your head. "That was why we were headed this way, but only because the Resistors were likely to try and free them. Director Piggot's team doesn't have the resources to deal with the aftermath of two gang fights, so I'll stick to my original schedule and deal with them tomorrow."
"Good. Any other updates to your itinerary I should know about?"
Well, if you have him on the line now… might as well ask. The chances he'll be in a better mood tonight are slim.
"Accord's mental state is deteriorating in these environments. His power is overloading him with violent thoughts, and he doesn't have anything like a 'safe place' to retreat to when it gets bad anymore. I want to give him a soulgem; Riley has proven that soul-based willpower can shut down power-induced intrusive thoughts."
Uriel's lidded stare bores into you for a long moment, before he slouches on his right elbow and uses that hand to cover his face.
"Does Piggot need to sign off on this, since he's working for her?"
"No sir. I made sure of that when I drew up the contract."
He sighs. "Of course you did."
As he thinks, you wonder if the explosive collapse of the high school's gymnasium can be heard through your microphone.
"When are you going to do it?"
You don't smile, because that might make him change his mind just out of spite.
"After the concert in Pittsburgh tonight. I'll be doing it in Tatsu's personal dimension."
That causes him to look up from his hand. "She'll let the gremlin in there?"
"I… plan on asking her about that when I see her."
Some genuine cheer creeps into his shadowed expression.
"Please let Tatsu know that she has my support if she wishes to keep the gremlin there permanently, will you? Accord as well."
You're doing a good impression of Uriel's own half-lidded, unimpressed stare.
"Of course, sir."
"Good," he snorts, reaching towards the camera. "Keep in touch."
The call flickers off. You sigh.
At your side, Accord turns just enough to side-eye you through his mask.
"Why have you not moved to replace him?"
You cross your arms across your armored chestplate, shaking your head.
"He's Old Guard in the PRT. Too many connections, the troops respect him, and the current short-list of replacements wouldn't believe half of what he's seen me do - I'd have to fight for every little thing all over again."
Turning back, he watches Prayer carry the crystal-encased forms of three unconscious capes into the highschool's ruined parking lot a few hundred yards away. The be-suited crime lord makes an unhappy sound of understanding.
"The balancing of power between gangs is not so different."
You consider the thought for a moment. "For now, maybe."
Prayer looks up from her pile of defeated parahumans. She nods, and you return the affirmation.
The PRT, police, national guard, and ambulances roll in over the course of the next hour; it's the national guard that are the outliers, showing up nearly a half-hour after all the others. They, too, are strapped for manpower at the moment, but their delayed response isn't really a concern since they're only here to help transport those hostages without other places to go to other shelters.
Amusingly, it's the two ambulances that are largely superfluous, due to you and Prayer healing everyone - including the injured gang members and capes - back up to a level of health that most haven't had since well before the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived. The only medical concern that you left alone was one teenager a bit older than you with a desperate need of braces; sure, you could have probably fixed his teeth so the poor guy doesn't have a mouth like the remnants of a white picket fence after a tornado, but with nearly everyone watching (and thanking) you at the time… it could have been seen as a bit excessive to perform an elective surgery like that without a license or life-saving need.
As effective as your Omnitool Implants are, the soulsteel components of your charm lends any surgical efforts a much more… visceral bent than you suspect is truly necessary. Even if a bunch of the younger kids think your healing was "totally metal," most everyone preferred to wait for Prayer to heal them by the time you were done with your second patient.
You're not really sure what the problem is: all the blood ends up back where it should be when you're done!
… all they blood they need, at least. You have a sneaking suspicion your charm creates blood just so there's enough to leave some splattered around the surgery site at the end. Pushing that idle question to Iris through your familiar link just yields an enthusiastic "[EXPERIMENTATION]," unfortunately, so you hope you didn't just cause a problem for yourself whenever he reunites with Riley.
That isn't the only "dental work" you avoid; Accord and Prayer depart the scene just after the national guard arrive, catching a PRT humvee to go meet up with the Ambassadors and PRT troopers monitoring the presbyterian church a few blocks west in which the Teeth are holed up. Not that the psychotic gang is much of a threat at the moment, as your Time Stop trap currently has the entire structure frozen in place until everyone is ready to put The Butcher down for good.
And by "everyone" you mean "you," mostly. Sure, you estimate that you and Prayer can handle the eight psychopathic capes and their twenty-two unpowered gang members, the problem comes with The Butcher… or, rather, Butcher XVI.
A parahuman power that jumps to whomever killed its last host, carrying with it the powers and "voices" of all its previous hosts as well. More than one hero has tried to shoulder the burden, but in the end the host always finds themselves returning to lead The Teeth by taking up the mantle of The Butcher. The full details of what happens to the host's mind have never been clear, but it's resulted in "The Butcher" never receiving a Kill Order despite each incarnation eventually committing atrocities that would earn one.
Both you and Riley are on the same wavelength for what this means: there is so much potential in a power like that, if only there was a way to make it not drive the host insane! Sixteen (or more!) powers, all in one!
Unfortunately, knowing what you know, you suspect that somehow smothering or eliminating the "voices" would likely do the same to the powers that are carried over - Riley's gruesome history with reanimating dead capes (whose powers became less effective the less of a 'person' there was to control it) leads you to believe that the method the 'Butcher' shard uses to copying powers relies on a personality fragment to control it.
This had ultimately culminated in a rather morbid idea: exploit the Butcher power by having an Exaltation candidate kill the Butcher immediately before being converted, thus having the candidate linked to potentially two (or more, depending on the shard's mechanics) shards but before the Butcher shard could drive your candidate mad. Proposing the idea to Iris through your link, however, you'd been surprised at how vehement his reaction had been.
"[INFECTION]! [CORRUPTION]!"
You… didn't quite understood exactly what he meant, but you gathered that it was something to do with Autochthon's sickness likely not playing well with a corrupting, parasite-themed power.
That also put to rest Riley's idea that maybe one of your Assembly could deal the final blow on the current Butcher and then simply shrug off the Butcher shard through use of Industrial Survival Frame; if Iris is concerned that even Autochthon might not be able to handle the shard perfectly, there's no way you're going to expose one of your Assembly to it.
Since you suspect Saki imprisoning the Butcher permanently would cause the shard to jump to her, that leaves you with only a few options: keep the host of the Butcher shard observably "alive" but permanently restrained, or deal with the shard itself. This trial run of your Time Freeze trap has proven it works for the former method, but sending the Butcher to the Birdcage or to Cauldron would also suffice. Since you don't have a way to deal with shards directly that won't draw Scion's attention, the only other method for dealing with the shard itself is… Ciara.
The "role" of her shard, she told you during your first conversation, was to "take the tired, the wistful, and the recalcitrant fae whom had played their part... backstage, to await the final curtain call." Translated to normal speech: her power not only severs and collects connections to other shards, but prevents collected shards from looking for new hosts again.
Let Ciara out for just a minute or two... and the problem of The Butcher is solved.
Right.
That is one genie you are relatively certain won't fit back in the bottle, in more ways than one.
This wouldn't even be a consideration if the current Butcher was some previous Teeth member or other lunatic. Unfortunately, as with most things in your life, there is a… complication: Butcher XVI is Citrine. Accord's former right-hand assistant who sacrificed herself to allow Accord to flee Boston and join you in Philadelphia.
You could just stick the Butcher… Citrine in the same stasis pod that you used to keep Missy alive and unconscious (after some new hardware tweaks to account for the Butcher's inherited Brute rating, of course) and leave her there until Ciara is safe to let out, if just for a few moments. But… not dealing with the Butcher (the cape or the shard) definitively while the Simurgh is actively targeting you is as dangerous as leaving an active warhead just sitting in your backyard.
Ugh. And on top of that this stupid-
"What's wrong?"
Colin's tired, rumbling voice derails the downward spirals most of your trains of thought were going down. Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and focus on getting a hold of your temper without resorting to Clarity again today - can't afford to be robotic for the concert tonight.
Besides, you should be glad you noticed that this insurance company is denying claims more often if the claim has an obviously African-American name attached. Yes, it means you're going to need to go back through the thousands of claims they've denied to re-evaluate them yourself. Yes, it means you're going to need to gather enough evidence to make the company immediately settle - and fire every single staff member that was responsible for letting this happen - instead of wasting time and money with a court case.
"Sorry," you groan and stop pacing about the room, waving your Omnitool-enhanced hands to disperse the hard-light keyboard and monitor projecting from your armor's chestplate. With three tired steps, you fall back into the same chair as this morning and let your arms fall to your sides while staring absently at the white-tiled ceiling. "The better question is what isn't wrong these days."
Yes, you should be happy that you caught this now, instead of later down the line when it would have been even more work... and more suffering in the city in the interim.
Time to commandeer another of the empty quarantine rooms, requisition enough monitors and computers to fill it, and then build more orange-drones to work them all. Six monitors and PCs per wall, leave one wall for expansion… eighteen more, which make it a satisfyingly-even total of fifty. For now.
You stop one drone as you're mid-reply to the PHO thread about your take-down of the Resistors, minimize the window, then pull up the usual requisition form and start filling in blanks.
Back in the room with your actual body, the quarantined hero's eyes drift away as he grunts in understanding, marking the end of the first conversation you've had with him since you strolled into his room four hours ago. At a glance, he's started work on a more refined copy of the brain scanner that he and Riley finished when you left - you've already absorbed the completed version and are printing copies downstairs in your fabricators.
Thinking of her, Riley should be finishing up with today's therapy session in a few minutes. With the room on the top floor of the building, you can't actually reach it with your current default range - not that you have drones or anything controllable in there, for privacy's sake, but you've had one of your Mobile Sensory Drones parked atop the doorframe in its Ranged Adminstration Repeaters mode ever since Riley went in two hours ago.
If anyone asks, it's so that you can covertly extend your range to the roof without exposing the drone to open air.
"What isn't wrong?"
You blink.
Slowly tilting your head, you stare at the ghost of a smirk crossing Colin's haggard expression.
Opening your mouth, you consider… no, he's not cleared for that… or that… or that… and you can't talk about that outside of Saki's dimension…
… now that you think about it... have you ever talked about "normal" things with him? Something not immediately applicable to your efforts as a hero?
… without Dragon's prompting?
You close your mouth and frown in thought.
"I…" you start, eventually, "... tried... playing the piano again yesterday? On an... emulated keyboard? And wasn't... awful?"
Beyond the light whirr of air conditioning coming through the vent, the room is largely silent as he stares at you.
"I wasn't," you repeat, narrowing your eyes. "I can play the recording to prove it. I only missed half the notes this time."
Colin closes his eyes and gently sets down his tool and partially-assembled scanner handle, leaning back once his hands are clear and crossing his arms across his broad, muscular-...
You clear your throat and grit your teeth. Saki is to blame for this, somehow. You know it.
"I played the violin in school."
You don't bother hiding your surprise as your head snaps back around because-
"What?"
He nods, a genuine smile tugging through his beard, eyes lidded as his memories unfocus his gaze.
"Second chair, from when I started in seventh grade to graduation. First chair was always Sandra Park, one of those prodigies that doesn't need to bother practicing. Never managed to unseat her, even when I tried going to the local college after school to train with violinists that were attending there."
You can't imagine this is a lie, but something doesn't quite fit here.
"But... weren't Hero's apprentice? Did you still practice then?"
His smile droops a bit to become more wistful.
"No," he sighs, tilting his head slightly in further recollection. "He encouraged me to, saying that I should have a hobby, but... I considered it a distraction. Playing during band classes was enough to keep my chair, but I'd gotten good enough to never really need to worry about being unseated myself. I'm not sure Sandra even noticed I wasn't trying any more."
"Did anyone else know you played?"
He snorts, the smile blooming into a full grin that just barely manages to show teeth.
"Hero took me to train with the inaugural Wards team a few times, just before I joined the Protectorate. After one session, I made a hundred microscopic violins which played Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major on a loop. The next time I visited, whenever one of them complained about something, I planted a violin on their costume."
Colin shakes his head, closing his eyes sadly.
"For some reason, they never asked me to come back."
(Whoops, couldn't quite finish the Chapter yet because I had an idea I want to squeeze in. Here's another Part, instead.)
***
You have access to a number of methods of long-distances travel these days, whether it be the various flight- or teleport-capable parahumans, your own power armor, or the more mundane transport planes, cars, and trucks available through the PRT. Given your preference of self-reliance and need for control, you'd rather just fly to Pittsburgh - utilizing your armors recent super-sonic upgrades - and minimize time wasted travelling.
But while the PRT and Youth Guard are… tolerant of your solo trips to the Cradle, given that most of the time your trips there are emergency situations, there was actually more than a token resistance to your expressed desire to simply take to the air and go. Flying to the Cradle, after all, takes you near/over a number of populated and reinforcement-heavy cities, but flying to Pittsburgh directly means going over a long stretch of sparsely-populated - if not outright empty - land.
Perfect ambush territory, especially if your comms are blocked somehow.
Yes, you have a number of camouflaged bird- and bug-drones hidden around Iris that you can control through his inherent Shard of Perfect Administration extension capabilities; in a worst-case scenario, you can activate one of their satellite uplinks and call for help that way. Yes, being in a large, unpopulated area means that if if your life were truly in danger then Iris could dump his gathered Essence to teleport to you and bring out the "big guns" (your Vengeance armor, or his own powers) without needing to worry about collateral damage.
The downside of increasing the PRT's operational paranoia is that you can't reasonably turn down arguments like this. Besides, while you are confident that an ambush by anyone but an Endbringer or Scion himself wouldn't truly endanger you, one only has to look at the actions of the now-defunct Resistors, or the antics of The Teeth and The Fallen to see that there are plenty in the world still willing to lash out at you.
"So rather than think of it as a safety measure, I came around to see it as a time-saving precaution; rather than risk having to waste the whole evening dealing with some dumb ambush, I could accept the offer of travelling with a 'Show of Force' and take a half-hour longer to get where I'm going," you explain, waving your left hand at the small fleet of Dragon-controlled aircraft around your group of flying capes. "And given this whole thing is a PR show anyway, making a big entrance serves as a way to fill up my PR 'quota' with Glenn."
Legend barks a laugh, loud enough to produce an echo effect as the sound comes through your helmet's radio just a split-second before it finishes travelling through the few hundred feet of high-altitude air between you. A number of chuckles join the sound, as the other flyers from New York are more exposed to the Head of the PRT's Image department than most.
In New York, with such a large density of high rises, all flight-capable capes have to take classes on how to fly "heroically."
"I was waiting for Glenn to show up in your reasoning at some point," you see him grin, the light sheen of energy coating his white-and-blue-costumed body making his teeth shine even whiter, somehow. "We're honored that you managed to fit us into your schedule."
There's a few more snickers across the radio at Legend's playful ribbing, but you wince in embarrassment - barely managing to prevent yourself from fidgeting your hands and feet in shame, which would be a bad idea flying at hundreds of miles per hour as you are.
"Wh-... Err… I mean... it's not that I didn't want to travel with this group, it's just that I've got so much else-!"
"It's okay, Weaver," Legend interrupts, chuckling in good humor. "All of us have better things to do right now than spend a few hours at a concert. Just remember to tone down the cold logic when you're talking with the press… at least, if you really are trying to minimize your 'Glenn time'."
"Hey!" one of the younger male voices from the non-flying contingent interjects with mild affront. "Speak for yourself! I'm totally fine with being paid to go to a Bad Canary concert! Especially since I got out of Console duty for this!"
"Her tour comes to New York next week, Tailgate," another non-flier pipes up, the girl's voice unpleasantly nasal. "And you need to stop pushing Kernel into covering for you! What is this, the… sixth time in the last month? Seventh? Ugh, you're such a pig."
"Hey, it's not like I'm blackmailing her or anything! She always looks so happy to-"
"You know she's physically incapable of saying 'no'," she scoffs, "most of all to you."
"Wait," you blurt out, interrupting the back-and-forth as you start opening a secure line to the PRT's internal cape database in your HUD. "She can't say 'no' to people? Is that something caused by her power-?"
There's a moment of silence before the female voice scoffs out an exaggerated, mocking groan.
"Ugghhh. No. It's just a saying. I thought you were supposed to be smart."
Legend clears his throat loudly enough to clear the line.
"Petticoat, please. Be civil."
… well, since you already have it open, might as well check what Petticoat's deal is. Her power probably isn't forcing her be a bitch, but you've been surprised before.
Aaaaand nope. Not even a Thinker rating, just a mid-level Shaker power that lets her harden and control ribbons of cloth that she's touching.
You're about to look up the other Wards with you on this trip, when Tailgate's sly tone breaks the awkward silence that had fallen over the radio channel.
"Don't worry, Weaver, she's just jealous of your-"
"OH MY GOD TAILGATE YOU LITTLE-" Petticoat shrieks.
"MERCHANDISE!" the boy blurts out, hastily, and a quick application of essence to your eyes reveals the NASCAR-Driver-costumed teen is waving his hands to try to ward off a small army of snake-like ribbons streaming towards him. "I was gonna say 'merchandise'! I swear!"
Dragon's calm, disciplined voice echoes over the line. "Petticoat, please do not use your power inside the aircraft. The armor on the craft is strong, but I suspect your ribbons could punch through it easily."
That causes you to blink, as well as flag Petticoat's database entry for potential review for a rating upgrade.
The pale brunette in question pales even further, before quickly retracting the white and red ribbons into the folds of her elaborate dress while muttering scandalized apologies. Tailgate doesn't quite relax, however, keeping his hands up as he glances around at the other Protectorate members in the cabin.
"... because your action figures always have a much better chest than hers do."
"I'LL KILL YOU!"
Tuning out the squabble in the Dragoncraft, you turn your head and stare meaningfully at Legend. Your helmet's cover is down so he can't see your eyes, but he gets the message anyway judging by the chagrined shrug he gives you in response.
You're saved from any further adolescent antics by the appearance of downtown Pittsburgh's soot-covered skyline - your group descending through the dreary cloudcover that's blocking the Steel City's last few rays of twilight. Despite the black char covering practically every building - not all of the city's steel factories closed like they apparently did in Earth-Aleph - the office, store, and street lights still manage to give a facsimile of beauty to the run-down town.
You only saw Brockton Bay from the skies once, but for a split-second you could almost believe you were coming home.
A backhanded compliment that you will certainly not repeat to anyone here tonight.
The comparison does not stretch to your more driving concern these days, however, as Pittsburgh cape scene is almost entirely the opposite of Brockton Bay's former problem; despite just over three-hundred thousand people claiming the city and outlying areas their home, there's barely a dozen known capes that operate in and around Pittsburgh.
There isn't even a dedicated Protectorate base here, let alone a major PRT department. In fact, the PRT doesn't even operate out of its own office, as it shares space with the local Pittsburgh police.
It's such an outlier that you're now thinking you should ask Contessa or Doctor Mother if Cauldron has something to do with this bizarre lack of capes, especially since the inhabitants of such an economically-troubled metropolitan city should be far more likely to be under the kinds of stress that induce Trigger Events. Is it possible that there are the expected number of triggers, yet the new parahumans leave the city for greener pastures? Brockton Bay both created and drew in more capes because of its abnormally-large parahuman population, so perhaps the reverse also holds true?
Something to look into, as your immediate thought is that it would encourage setting up 'cape towns' that are little more than Wild West-style lawless battlegrounds, which would then drastically reduce the villain populations of nearby major cities.
Your group passes over downtown Pittsburgh proper, and over the concert's originally-planned venue of Point State Park. The "Love Conquers All" relief concert for Philadelphia's (... and Camden's) recovery was announced only five days ago, and they'd only expected maybe ten thousand to purchase tickets and express interest in attending.
That was, until you'd had Saki help you get the word out, and suddenly they had enough sales to fill a baseball stadium with over forty thousand attendants.
Glenn had begged you to switch gears - just for a day or two - and turn the industrial-sized fabricators you've assembled in the PRT HQ's basement towards cranking out merchandise, since the PRT hasn't been able to keep up with the demand expected for this event.
Your fabricators are running around-the-clock, but drones and other tech for yourself are only a fraction of what they've mainly been creating. No, even if merchandise would get the PRT funds to help later, the people of Philadelphia and Camden desperately need - right now - the water containers, food packages, medical supplies, power generators, sleeping bags, insulated blankets, and reinforced collapsible tents that you've been churning out as quickly as the trucks can deliver the raw materials.
Which, of course, means that Glenn arranged for Dragon to bring enough materials for you to build one of your fabricators here, and produce the "Limited Edition" merchandise on-site and on-demand.
It's shameless, but the entire point of this concert is to make as much money as possible for charity, so you try not to feel too dirty about it.
Turning slightly right, your group - consisting of four heavily-laden (and polished) Dragoncraft, eight famous New York Protectorate members, two star Wards, Legend, and you - drains its speed as you near where the U.S. Steel Park rests against the northern shore of the Ohio River.
"... so let's make some noise for…"
You barely make out the woman's broadcasted voice for a split-second as the sudden roar of cheers drowns her out - your group now just becoming visible to the assembled mass of bodies filling the stadium. Pushing out your vision, you note the dozens of projected TVs zooming in on your approaching squadron, so you imagine that those sitting in the higher-altitude seats are also seeing you now as well.
Slowing down even further, Dragon spins up the engines so they start pumping out brilliant waves of golden energy. Legend begins glowing in earnest, while changing his flying stance to 'stand' straight up and hold his arms out while fireworks-like lasers begin to erupt from his upward-turned hands. The five other fliers shoot balls of light or - in the case of the Tinker, Patriot - actual fireworks to go with Legend's bombastic display.
Adjusting your spacing in the air so that you're in the center of the whole display, you take a deep breath, allowing the other heroes a full thirty seconds of showboating…
… and then you pump essence into your anima, flaring it as brilliantly as you can.
Smoke explodes from your back and legs, suffocating all other light while simultaneous illuminating the countryside as uncountable arcs of blue, white, and black lightning tear through roiling clouds. Out and up, the fog billows until mere seconds later it fills the horizon and towers at least two miles into the air.
Opening the direct audio channel you've been given to the stadium's speakers, you throw your arms wide as you absorb your power armor - letting the swirling mass of insect drones you're guiding up from the roof of the Dragoncraft catch and carry you forward, as if riding the clouds of your anima.
For only a split-second, you consider every single person in that crowd to be your enemy. That they must be cowed.
"PITTSBURGH!"
The fevered roar of the crowd has almost instantaneously choked itself to near-silence as tens of thousands of people stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed as a mountain-sized mechanical spider made of wickedly-sharp soulsteel crawls out of the cloud and rears back.
But they are not the enemy. They are friends, allies, and valued citizens... they are the reason you fight. They are why you win.
"ARE. YOU. READY. TO. ROCK?!"
The design weaver screams, a hissing, peeling sound of divine victory.
It says something about your life these days that the lack of an immediate, disruptive attack on the concert surprises you more than anything else.
Allowing your totemic anima to fade away to a more reasonable, billowing cloud that follows you down, your group splits up in order to pursue your various objectives - Legend and the other capes fly down to the stage to make some opening speeches, while you and the Dragoncraft break away to a section on the far side of the covered baseball field so that you can get to work.
You absently pay attention to the musical performances when they eventually kick into gear, if only to ensure their success via spreading your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade to each band in turn. While your own musical skills are lacking, you count as "helping" them for the purposes of the charm by sending some drones into the mixing/lighting booth to help the technicians there. Your limited range means you couldn't spread your swarm through the entire crowd and stadium, so you keep six of your range-extending Mobile Sensory Drones deployed during the entire event: one in the booth, three near the three major entrances/exits, and two moving above and through the stadium in randomized patterns.
For the "roaming" swarms, the Mobile Sensory Drones can't actually move when they're extending your range; to get around this, you fastened them to a bird-drone each and then piloted the bird-drones around as glorified chauffeurs. It's a set-up that's worked quite well in Philly, but here the most you ever caught is a few incidents of… "passion"... in the less-populated areas of the stadium.
You broke up every couple you run across by making sounds like someone was approaching… and you definitely are never going to tell Saki about what you saw.
The rest of your attention, swarm, and essence was dedicated to setting up and manning your van-sized, merchandise-spewing fabricator; it's less than an hour's work putting it together from Dragon's provided supplies, thanks to the initial prototype you still have stuck in your Technomorphic Integration Engine storage serving as a super-speed instruction manual.
Thankfully, you're spared from doing anything more PR-wise until you finish the van-sized molecular fabricator just in time for the first big break after the opening two bands.
Not even three months ago, you would have been a nervous wreck - or simply catatonic - at the idea of taking center-stage in front of a live audience of forty-thousand and a televised/online audience in the dozens of millions.
Now, you barely manage to contain your impatience to smile for the camera.
You easily repeat the inspirational speech (some well-written "We're stronger together" propaganda) that Glenn sent you on the way here, but you only Tatsu and Gloria Sato's off-stage advice in your earpiece allows you to not sound (according to them) like you're only a few seconds away from reaching through the camera and strangling anyone who doubts the strength of the PRT. Synergy-Promoting Upgrade pulls its weight here, as well, as you instinctively understand and execute their suggestions practically as the words are leaving their mouths.
Usually the advice is some form of "smile again," "stop staring at the camera," or "less glow."
You can see yourself through your own drones, for Maker's sake! You're not that bad!
Whether their advice is truly needed or not, the crowd's explosive cheer after you finish indicates that they ate it up. As you float gracefully back to put the finishing touches on your fabricator, you note a quick email from Glenn saying that the call-in and online donations are surging. Not surprising, since the televised version of your speech undoubtedly has some additional post-effect graphics and photos of Philadelphia thrown in to really pull at heartstrings (and pursestrings).
The PRT has these things down to an art.
Setting up the tables and posters showcasing what's available for sale is a matter of seconds… and then the crowd is upon you.
The selection of memorabilia ranges from promoting the PRT, the concert, Philadelphia, and all the capes that either are here or helped fight against the Nine. T-shirts, hats, tank tops, armbands, headbands, lanyards, keyrings, posters, and action figures, the list of available merchandise is nearly two-hundred items long, and you're occasionally getting new emails from Glenn to add to the list as time goes on - most notably a huge, foil-covered, holographic poster of your dramatic arrival to this concert. It's… pretty amazing, actually. You make one for yourself to hang in your lab later.
Sadly, Accord and Defiant don't have any merchandise. You considered making some up on the spot, but… probably best not to poke that bear.
You feel a little guilty that anything even remotely related to you sells far better than anything else, especially since Prayer's best item - a rather impressive action figure - falls behind the t-shirt made to look like the wearer is wearing Legend's costume. Even more awkward is that Glenn is insistent that you offer Tatsu and Uzu merch… and the Uzu merch sells just marginally better than Tatsu's (even though they're identical).
Your vacationing friends - and the two Wards that came from New York - stop by just as the first major rush is starting to slow down, everyone in full costume for the first time since they started their trip three days ago. So, of course, before they can even get out a word of greeting you set out another row of tables on the side and get them signing product. And then you mark up the prices for everything even more, because now everything will be signed.
Your friends are not as enthused as you are by this, but the crowd surges again - you even see a whole bunch of people with bags full of merchandise get back in line again.
However, a quick suggestion to Tatsu gets her to let Crushing Grasp out of her dimension to show him off; Tatsu is still yet to be revealed as an Alchemical, so you make up a cover story that he's a particularly intelligent drone of yours that you've assigned to guard your friends. Perhaps because it gives him a chance to be lavished over by an awed crowd, he goes along with the slightly-insulting cover without any fuss; even though your cover story didn't allow him to speak, the cat-sized Crushing Grasp is more than happy to use the golden-ink pens you give him to sign whatever (and, in a few cases whomever) is put in front of him with his Old Realm name.
Despite the grumbling, everyone seems to be in much better spirits than when you saw them off. You had worried that this concert's focus on the devastation of the Slaughterhouse Nine's attack would rub on raw wounds, but things almost look… normal. Clockblocker's joking around with Broadcast, Kid Win is showing off the improvements to his armor, Gallant is playing up the 'knight' aspect of his costume and persona, Geode is chatting away with Xylophone nodding along, and Mjolnir and Tranfusion are doing the big-and-silent/small-and-talkative stereotype they're known for in public.
And Tatsu...
She was visibly nervous when the group came over, but you'd pegged it as still being unused to such large crowds without her sister around. Except, after you extracted her familiar from her pocket dimension, you noticed her demeanor change: instead of being visibly nervous about the crowd, she appeared to be casting more than a few nervous eyes at Crushing Grasp whenever he got more than an arm's length away.
For the first thirty minutes or so you dismissed it as (justified) concern that he might react poorly to someone insulting him in some unknown way, but when you accidentally met her eyes after a particularly nervous glance, you got a weak smile that asked: 'Umm… Do you trust me?'
While the immediate answer should be 'yes'... that she has to ask at all raises alarms in your head. Is it something about Crushing Grasp? Does she want him to expand to full size? No, that would blow your cover story and it doesn't feel like that's the problem. What else-...
Wait.
Stepping closer, you keep your face neutral and cover your mouth with a hand as you whisper in her ear:
"Where's... C?"
She smiles, covering her mouth and looking down as if you had told her a joke... then glances at Crushing Grasp.
...
All across the stadium, your drones flinch as you desperately hold yourself back from strangling your Assembly-mate.
Your visions of the various castes had showed a worrying trend of Starmetal-caste Alchemicals tending towards what would be charitably called... "schemes." While you're glad that the Saki has been growing out of her wallflower personality and is rapidly shedding her life-long dependence on Sakura…
Calm.
Slowly backing up, you take a few deep breaths and let a tiny bit more Clarity creep in than you might have truly needed.
You gave Saki full ownership of Ciara's… rehabilitation, and Glaistig Uaine is not currently turning this concert into a bloodbath. Neither is the Faerie Queen currently attempting to tear you or Saki in half.
You discretely raise your right hand in a fist and hold your left index finger sticking out above it, giving her a questioning glance at the same time.
A litte of the nervousness falls away as she beams and shakes her head. 'Nope!'
You blink, sigh, say a few prayers for the Maker to save you from crazy Starmetals, and go back to work.
Minutes pass.
The signature you're scribbling on your own merchandise might be a little more… jagged than before. No one else seems to notice, or care.
Finally, what feels like hours later but is barely one, the headlining act - Bad Canary - is up next. Your friends make a big show of encouraging everyone currently in line to take a break from trying to run you out of product to go watch the only cape-led show of the night, but it's clear to everyone that it's mostly just so they have a legitimate excuse to go watch the performance themselves.
You watch them go, waving as Crushing Grasp jumps to Tatsu's shoulder and departs with them. He keeps the pens, though.
It takes everything you have not to grab the departing Saki and scream at her to stop being so reckless. That she should shove the insane, mass-murdering cape back in her prison before the PRT catches on and loses any semblance of trust they had in her to keep her prisoners contained.
Hypocritical of you, it may be, but it's not like you take walks in the park with Riley-... okay, there was that one time for testing a scent-tracking algorithm for the dragon-drone brains...
You trust Saki. Logically, you can understand that her preferences regarding… illicit material… might not always align with yours, but when things get serious she's already shown that she has the will and cunning that befits a true Chosen of Autochthon.
But the Faerie Queen making an appearance here (or anywhere) would be a catastrophic blow to your Assembly's credibility and the PRT's faith in your judgement calls. Not only that, but it could result in a significant body count by the time she's either re-captured or put down for good.
So.
Trust… but verify.
Even though Glenn's going to have your hide for it, you shut down the merchandise booth just as Bad Canary and her band are about to take the stage. After apologizing to the small mob currently waiting in line - and reiterating your friends' previous speech about supporting the cape-led band - you direct your swarm to lock up the fabricator and cover the whole booth with a tarp. Leaving the booth unattended would be simply asking for disaster, so before you walk away you navigate one of your roaming security swarms to stay behind and buzz ominously at anyone getting too close.
You're almost out of feedstock for merchandise, anyway, even despite people giving you the shirts off their backs so that you could have the fabricator turn the shirts into new, Weaver-branded ones. When that had first started, you made very clear that you would NOT be making any kinds of pants, dresses, skirts, or underwear in exchange for re-made versions.
Not that it stopped people from throwing those kinds of garments at you anyway. Some even had phone numbers or email addresses written on them. Ugh.
Flying would attract more attention than you want, so you are forced to walk ("like us peasants" as Dennis once said) through the crowd - though most give you a large berth once they notice your approach, since you're in your full armor and letting your drone swarm drift around your shoulders and back like a shimmering cape.
Cameras flash, your name is called so many times it blends together into a dull roar, and people look torn between approaching you for autographs or jumping over their friends to get out of the way.
Before today, you'd never been to a music concert or a baseball game, so you're still having difficulty getting past the surreal nature of being surrounded by so many people crammed together… having fun. Perhaps it's a byproduct of effectively becoming a hivemind unto yourself, but walking through the throngs of fans cheering and waving… it feels... wrong, somehow. Almost... claustrophobic?
The legs of your Shard of Perfect Administration itch while a tremor runs down your body at the thought of so many unknowns in such close proximity. It would be easier, safer if you could...
No.
NO!
You grit your teeth hard enough to throw sparks in your helmet, and for the long moment the world around you loses focus as you shove those thoughts out of your head. You can't risk turning the charm off, you've got too much going on right now… but you are sorely tempted anyway.
Breathe in.
Breathe… out.
… better.
Urgh. Hopefully that kind of impulse is just a byproduct of your charm's spirit purging lingering traces of... whatever Vision of Vengeance did, because the impulse is beyond useless: you can't even turn on the submodule that would allow you to control humans! And even if you could, that would be… disgusting. Against everything you stand for!
....-ise again, you can't deny
Watch me as I take the sky!
… you start moving again, slipping through the last parts of the crowd between you and your friends with a little more force when people don't pay attention to your approa- oh.
How long has Bad Canary been playing?
Sur~viiiive!
Tomorrow comes! We'll be as one!
Sur~viiiive!
Hrm.
Shoving that concern away for later, you dip under the cordon between the general public and where the Wards are standing up from their seats a few dozen feet away from the left-front of the stage. Oddly, there's an empty chair on the end of the row, so you slide up and stand in front of it as if you were supposed to be there all along - retracting your drone swarm into your armor at the same time.
This ache, this wound
Will never heal, I cannot feel
I'm blind, I'm dumb, I'm lost again.
Mjolnir, in his Thor-but-fully-armored costume, notices you standing next to him before anyone else realizes you've arrived and turns to give you questioning head-tilt. Pausing slightly, you give a quick point to the attractively-dressed, all-female band playing not twenty feet from him and raise an eyebrow.
He shrugs.
You shrug in response. Not surprising, given his preference for listening to opera through high-quality headphones whenever he stayed overnight at Wards HQ. This is all probably a bit… louder than the silent giant enjoys, too, given the giant speakers hanging almost directly over your group's head.
Your love, so near
I know it burns
But in your arms I'll never fear!
Nonplussed, he turns back to at least feign polite enjoyment of the performance just as the lead singer, Paige Mcabee, grips the microphone with both hands and screams out the final chorus-
Sur~viiiive!
Your Industrial Survival Frame sparks across your body, shrugging off the mental effect paired with Paige's harmonic tone.
That… is… alarming. You'd read that she had a Master-like effect of projecting emotions through her song, but that felt considerably more like… well, like a command.
Instantly, you switch your trains of thoughts to scanning everyone around you, Wards or no, for mental alterations-...
You stop bothering after the first eight come up positive.
Thankfully, everything you're seeing is extremely minor; you'd miss it if you weren't specifically looking for changes within the last few seconds. Even your limited medical knowledge suggests that just a good night's sleep will probably cause it to wear off like it never happened.
Oblivious to your concerns, the crowd's already fever-pitched cheering erupts into a near-ecstatic cacophony as the guitarists close the song with a decisive riff, Paige herself grinning madly as her blond, feather-festooned hair whips about from the breeze.
...
… you're going to go back over her song lyrics later, not because she has disturbing visual similarities to the Simurgh but more that-... okay, yes, it's totally because of that.
Thankfully, the end of the song allows you to dip down and stealthily dash over to Tatsu, who is sitting-but-actually-standing between Gallant and Broadcast. Just as everyone starts to make noises of "Weaver?!" in surprise at your appearance, you bring your hands together in a wedge and slide in between Broadcast and Tatsu, then glare at the attention-loving part-time radio jockey to scoot over.
The taller boy frowns, and you see his eyes through his half-mask narrow in suspicion.
"Hey!" he huffs out loudly, poking you in your armored breastplate with a white-gloved finger. "You can't fool us, imposter! The real Weaver never stops working in order to have fun!"
The ham he is, the mock accusation attracts enough attention to earn some laughs from your friends and the civilians in the surrounding seats.
You give him a scalding glare in return.
"Do you want ants in your pants? Because this is how you get ants in your pants."
Despite the increased laughter this generates, Broadcast only frowns even more mightily at your threat before placing his fists on his hips dramatically.
"And the real Weaver would never sink to harming her friends! Begone, fa-!"
The bombastic Latin-American Ward abruptly turns into a statue, his voice cutting out as he ceases to experience the passage of time.
Clockblocker's fully-masked form leans forward to blankly stare at you past Broadcast's statuesque self.
"... Get me Canary's autograph and we're even."
You sigh and roll your eyes.
"Fine."
Ignoring the arm-pump and cheer from the time-stopping Striker, you turn back to see Tatsu covering the exposed part of her mouth to stop herself from laughing too loudly.
You try to smile, but the shift in Saki's eyes means the attempt isn't successful.
"I need to speak with you about something before you all leave tonight…" you whisper just enough so the words don't get lost in the press of cheers filling the air. Deliberately maintaining eye contact, you subtly tilting your head towards Crushing Grasp. "Not about that. Can we jump away for a few seconds?"
Her deep brown eyes search your face for a long moment, hope warring with doubt in her own expression.
"Okay," she sighs, before turning briefly around to glance at Gallant. "We'll be right back!"
The empath's knight-like helmet pulses with white light once, but he nods quickly as you hear him chuckle and wave the two of you away.
"It's alright. I'll save your seats."
Tatsu giggles quietly in good humor, then turns back to grab your armored left forearm and-
Urk.
Hastily, you drop your Industrial Survival Frame just as Saki pulls you into her personal dimension with barely a whisper of displaced air.
Even if the transition hadn't been so abrupt, the looming presence pervading the empty, black horizon of Saki's dimension always puts you on the back foot as you try to regain your bearings.
You are extremely glad that you've programmed your drones to simply hover in place if you lose control of them. Hopefully you'll be done here before anyone notices that the merchandise stall isn't actually guarded anymore...
"You're getting quicker at that," you say in Old Realm, clearing your throat to cover the awkwardness of the teleport.
Crushing Grasp, still perched atop Saki's costumed shoulder, huffs indignantly. "Well, I should hope so! I've been ensuring that she practice at least a half an hour before bed each night!"
"Mmm," Saki grunts, crossing her arms across her stomach while trying not to look nervous herself. On her shoulder, Crushing Grasp "So…?"
You hold up a hand.
"I do have something else to talk to you about, but first: Ciara? Can you hear me?"
Both Saki and Crushing Grasp freeze for a moment, before a small, hoarse voice drifts out of the mechanical scorpion's body without his mandibles moving.
"... yes, Herald. Your presence reaches me."
Saki puts on the 'kicked puppy' look, causing you to flinch. "Going back and forth is really disorienting for her, Taylor! I didn't want to tell you 'no' before but…"
You close your eyes, holding up both hands as if you're either going to reach out to strangle her or hold your own head in exhaustion.
"Saki, Ciara isn't supposed to leave at all! Do you-..."
Breathe out… breathe in…
"Do you at least have a plan if she fights her way out of Crushing Grasp? Or if she just teleports away?"
Crushing Grasp makes an offended sound as he bristles, but Saki beats him to the denial.
"She won't!" Saki declares, stomping her foot in such a way that the entire dimension echoes with a resonating boom. "She's got the Dragonsuit in there with her, I gave her an eighth-dose of Regulator-Issue Tranquilizer so her blood pressure won't spike easily, and a full dose of Dutiful Militat Formula so she can ignore her shard's visions while she's out there. But all that doesn't matter because she gave me her word - she never breaks her word."
You grunt. "Did you make sure she won't?"
Even behind her mask, you see her shock.
"What?! No!" Saki denies, reeling back as if you'd just slapped her. "No! We're not supposed to mess with the heads of people that might be Exalted later!"
Grimacing, you tentatively reach out and place your left hand on her right arm. "Saki, I'm... not… sure we're going to have enough time for Ciara to be a safe choice-"
"Pfff," she huffs, letting a burst of air through her mouth in a mocking half-laugh. "What about Alexandria? Have you even talked with her about conversion since we healed her? And Accord-"
You take a step back and hold up both hands. "Wait, Saki, stop. We don't have time to go over this right now, but Accord is actually what I wanted to talk with you about: I need to give him a soulgem tonight, after the concert."
The costumed Mover blinks at the seeming non-sequitur, but you see the gears turning in her head as her eyes begin to narrow when she puts the pieces together. "O-okay… but why-? Oh! You want to do it in here?"
You nod. "Right, after the concert I want us to teleport back, grab the equipment, Accord…"
You pause, then carefully say: "... and Riley."
Saki's mouth snaps shut as her eyes harden. Crushing Grasp's gleaming eyes narrow, giving you a dangerous look.
"Can you not perform this procedure yourself, Administrator? What good is served by exposing Warden to that demon-childe unnecessarily?"
"I should be able to do it by myself, yes," you sigh. "I've absorbed it with my charm, so I know exactly how it works. Iris designed it with Riley in mind as the operator, though, and she knows what it's like to go through the procedure herself. I also want to give them the full background on Entities and shards, since I'll need both their help on that front in the future - and that's a discussion I can only have here, or in a Cauldron base."
Listening to your explanation, Saki hunches slightly and digs her fingers into the costume lining of her upper arms. Her breathing is strained for a long while, but eventually her eyes drift back up to meet yours.
"Only if I get to imprison her, after."
You hold her gaze, until her human disguise eventually forces her to blink - only then do you close your own eyes and allow your resigned sigh to escape.
"I was going to ask you to hold Accord for the night, letting your charm heal him while also keeping him from experiencing the nightmares and pain. I… guess you can keep Riley for the night, too."
You know that's not what she meant, and her narrowed eyes means she knows you know.
Crushing Grasp nudges her neck with his right claw's 'elbow', and she turns her head enough for them to have a silent stare-conversation for almost a full minute. A conversation that ends with him crossing his claws in an impatient manner, and Saki turning back to you with a bit more steel in her spine and fire in her eyes.
"Fine. But I want you to talk with Ciara after those two are locked up. She's made a lot of progress, and she'd be way better for the Assembly than anyone else you've talked about."
Keeping your face relatively neutral, you nod. "That's… fair. Though… what are your thoughts on Armsmaster?"
Eyes widening for a split-second, Saki's eyes drift away as she purses her lips in thought.
"He… was a total mess when I was done fixing what the Simurgh did. And he and Kali… ah-" she pauses, a blush blooming across what's visible of her face before she brings both hands to her mouth and coughs loudly. "R-right, that was bad. Wrong. Ahem. So... I think Prayer wouldn't want him, too. And he totally would try to tell you what to do all the time, like Alexandria."
Leaning back, you cross your arms again and give her a speculative nod.
"Maybe, but I think you should check his head again when you get back. He's been acting much more subdued and… well, humble since then. Did you do anything that would have caused that?"
"I don't… think so?" she shrugs, before closing her eyes and scrunching up her face in thought. "I don't have your super-memory, so I can't remember every tiny detail of what I saw and did, but it was pretty clear what was caused by the Simurgh and what was his own problems."
Opening her eyes again, she lets out a breath and nods. "Let me know if anything weird happens, but if that's all that's wrong he should be fine until I get back."
"I will. Thank you, Saki-"
"The songbird, Warden," Ciara's small, tenuous voice calls out - causing Saki's eyes to widen dramatically while she straightens up with a squeak of panic.
"Taylor, the concert!" she blurts out, grabbing your arm again as she spins around while the massive portal behind the two of you bursts to life with a distorted image of your former spot in the audience.
"Uh, Saki, wait-" you manage, trying to resist the pull-
"There's no time!"
And then you're, somehow, unbalanced by Saki's tug - tripping and falling through the portal, only to land sprawling, face-first into your seat. Saki, of course, stands by and looks on in mock-horror... as every available camera has apparently been pointed at your group while Paige has making some kind of speech between songs.
"...-oise for the heroes… of… Philadelphia…?!"
Sigh.
When you'd asked Saki for help on appearing less "terrifying" and more "relatable"... this is not what you were expecting.
Stepping into the converted bus, you note that it's significantly more cluttered with fast-food trash and shopping bags than you'd expect from a-... wait, right. Rock stars.
"Oh!" A frazzled, sweaty Paige Mcabee pops up from one of the reclining seats near the front of the bus, surprise and cheer temporarily dispersing the obvious exhaustion tugging at her features. "Weaver! You came!"
You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow at the short blonde, the suffocating noise of the emptying stadium cutting out as the bus' door closes behind you.
"You sent a team of five bodyguards. I don't need to have worked with a mob boss to know that means 'right now.'"
She pales, gaping like a fish for a split second before she steps forward in a desperate, apologetic plea.
"Ohmygosh, no! I-I only told one of them to go ask you if you could come see me if you had the time! I knew you were busy, but maybe you'd swing by to see me whenever you finished with that factory you made!"
Some of the tension drains out of your posture as you let go of the anger from having your timetable shifted around.
"You should talk with your bodyguards, then," you sigh, shaking your head while you force a half-smile. "Anyway… it's nice to meet you, and thank you for performing on such short notice, but I do have a lot I still need to get done tonight - is there something I can help you with?"
The twenty-something blonde winces slightly at your mention of her bodyguards, but steps forward and offers her hand - which you take - while smiling tiredly and nodding her head. The motion sends her feather-infested hair twitching, more than the motion would do for a normal human.
"No, no, it's just-... it's an honor to meet you! You're THE Weaver! You're so important and awesome and heroic and you didn't even look bad when you fell before even when that's always been my biggest fear on stage and- and I'm just some silly girl singing dumb songs for fun! I could never do even a tiny part of what you've done to help everyone, not just the people in Philadelphia!"
Her voice is weary, but the genuine awe and emotion… it's not the first time you've heard the sentiment tonight (or even the thousandth time) but… it does cause your smile to be a little less strained.
You keep staring at her as she continues to shake your hand, though, trying to drive home your point…
"Oh! Right!" she blinks, pulling away from the handshake she's been leading for well over a ten seconds. "You're so busy, I'm sorry! I always get a little... bird-brained after shows."
She laughs and the self-deprecating pun, waving absently at her head as she turns to start rooting around in a old Chevalier-themed backpack on the table next to her former seat. You just grunt, shoving down a few of your spare thoughts that wonder if she'll be dumbed down enough to fall under your control.
"So, yes, I did have something I needed to talk with you about," she goes on, her voice gaining a hint of nervousness as she continues to search through the bag. "Did you… hear about my arrest in February?"
"Mmm," you hum, smile sliding away in concern. "Your boyfriend accused you of Mastering him? Weren't the charges dropped when testing revealed he was lying?"
She pauses in her search, but then finds what she's looking for and turns back around-
- only to flinch hard at the sight of your glowing scowl.
"You did Master him, didn't you? I could feel it when you sang, tonight - you can implant commands."
Pale and shrinking away from you, Paige grips the burner phone she's uncovered from her backpack.
"I-I didn't-..." she gulps, screwing her eyes shut for a moment before taking a deep breath to steady herself and look back at you with pleading eyes. "L-look, I… it was all screwed up, and I'm so so sorry about what happened, but… I think the PRT was going to try to send me to the Birdcage. For one accident... that got fixed, too!"
As your features obviously reveal how patently ridiculous that accusation sounds, she barges on just as you're opening your mouth to respond.
"I know, now, yes! I never knew I could make someone do anything, I'd never even tried or tested it before! That's wrong!" she cringes, obviously disgusted with herself, before turning back to you and thrusting out the burner phone for you to take. "But that's not why I wanted to talk to you! Here, this is for you!"
You stare at the burner phone, cursing internally: By the Maker, if this is another shady conspiracy trying to rope you in, Paige is going to need a new bus.
"... who gave you this?"
The flatness of your tone causes her to gulp, but she rallies admirably.
"Listen, I know… you probably don't like the Elite-"
You spin around. "We're done here."
"No, please! PLEASE! Wait! Let me explain!"
You freeze, stilled by the desperation in her voice… and surprised that you don't feel your Industrial Survival Frame sparking to shrug off her power. Most untrained parahumans almost reflexively use their power when pushed like this, so that she didn't...
Slowly, you turn around and meet her tear-filled, emerald-green eyes.
After you hold the stare for longer than a few seconds, she catches on and hastily takes a step forward to place the phone in your hand.
"They saved me, Weaver! I couldn't afford the legal bills, and I was going to have to get a state-provided lawyer, and-... then they just helped. They didn't even expect me to join, pay them back, swear some evil oath or anything! I mean, they started because the PRT screwed over a bunch of capes in show business in California, right? To protect Rogues like me!"
"Mmn," you grunt, clenching your fingers around the cheap plastic phone. "Maybe. But they're a crime racket now." You narrow your eyes again. "They had to have asked for something in return."
Paige squirms a bit, giving a half-shrug to your venom-filled tone. "I mean… yeah? But it was just that they wanted me to pass on a message or two sometimes."
...and serve as a walking advertisement to draw other, less-public Rogues into their fold, you don't immediately counter.
Your eyes flicker to the phone. "What's the message, then?"
She blinks, surprised by your grudging acceptance, before a room-brightening smile erupts across her face.
"Really?! O-okay! Well, they just wanted to to talk with you - you can press '1' on that phone and then 'Call' and someone should answer! They said it was a short message, so it shouldn't take much longer!"
Flipping the phone open, punching the specified keys, and bringing it to your ear in a single smooth motion, you keep meeting Paige's relieved eyes with your own flat stare as the phone starts ringing.
Four rings in, there's a slight click as the other side picks up.
"Heh. Knew she was good for it."
The phone's plastic creaks as you manage to restrain yourself from crushing it into powder.
"Bastard Son," you sneer. "Hello again. Get out of my city. Goodbye."
"Eeh, wait wait wait wait- I got something for ya," the mass-murdering Elite enforcer calls out just before you manage to crush the 'End Call' button. "You're gonna wanna hear this."
You keep staring at Paige, who blinks at your naming of the Elite bigwig in confusion. Not entirely surprising: Bastard Son's horrendous body count isn't something widely known outside of PRT circles, due to the Elite's own PR efforts.
"... then talk."
There's a brief pause, then the smug psychopath huffs a one-note laugh.
"Smart girl, heh. Right. Found some 'a them Fallen pokin' their noses around the place."
Your eyes drift away from Paige, then you turn fully to face the wall.
"Which ones? Where?"
"Mmmm…" he ponders aloud for a moment, before snorting. "Nevermind, not as smart as I thought."
Maker, you are going to give this human stain to Riley whenever you catch him.
"Right. How could I forget," you grit out, "'If You're Good At Something, Never Do It For Free'."
He laughs. "See, this is why we can work, Weaver. You don't make me repeat myself."
Ignoring the byplay, you reason out his motives aloud. "You wouldn't be calling if this wasn't something time-critical. I'm going to find them - and you - eventually."
"Got it one. Offer's still open if you want a place with us, you know?"
"... If you're expecting mercy? Don't."
"Heh. Sure thing, babe. Not interested, then?"
You almost spit out a negative just on reflex, but… as much as you hate to admit it, he's not an idiot. The Elite didn't get to be the second-biggest cape organization in the US (just behind the PRT) by being incompetent.
"... Can I have a moment to talk to my superiors?"
"Pff," he mockingly sputters, "'Superiors'? We ain't dumb. You run the show. Besides, this is a… limited-time offer, get me?"
You sigh, briefly considering pushing your still-healing Shard of Perfect Administration enough to find Chevalier or Miss Militia, amass a swarm, and relay the question… but no, Bastard Son isn't going to let you play for that much time.
"The dead aren't worth much to me, Bastard Son. Tell me what you have and I'll tell you what it's worth."
The PRT doesn't have a photo of his real face, but you can imagine the smirk stretching across it.
"Nah. How's this? You're a busy girl, so… Four months, you find our guys, you leave 'em be, and we'll hand over any Fallen we run over."
"Run-?" Wait, no, he probably meant that.
"Heh."
You sigh again. "Why bother?"
A bit of the sociopathic humor drains from his voice, revealing some of jagged edges beneath. "You've picked up they're makin' suicide fodder, yeah? Turns out they've got a lot more where that came from."
"Ah, I see," you sneer. "Not a fan of imitators?"
There's a beat of silence, then you hear a flicker of a old-style lighter - followed by a deep intake and exhale of what's probably a cigarette.
"Heh. Whatever gets ya off, babe. So? Deal?"
There's a crack from the phone as it starts to give under your grip, but the signal doesn't cut out yet.
"You seriously think it's going take me four months to get rid of the Fallen? Did you somehow forget I destroyed the Slaughterhouse Nine in three days?" you snarl. "I'll give you a week. If I find any Elite around after that, they're going into a prison you'll never find a way to crack."
Puff, exhale.
"Two months. If they're still around... we renegotiate." He chuckles. "I'll even make sure to hang on to any pieces that might… fall off for ya, too."
You grunt.
"End of the month. Keep the pieces - I just need their brains intact."
Paige has gotten considerably paler as this conversation has played out, but that last line of yours causes her to go green and head towards the rear of the bus.
Bastard Son, however, gives you the most genuine laugh you've heard from him in your two short conversations.
"Hah! I was gonna press for a full month, but… you've given me ideas. Deal."
You feel like you need a shower, more than ever before.
"Then we're done here," you spit out.
"Heh. Always a pleasure, Weaver."
You don't hear the click of him disconnecting, because you've already crushed the phone.
Absorbing the remnants with Technomorphic Integration Engine before they can fall through your hand, you glance back at where Paige has yet to emerge from losing her last meal in the bus' bathroom.
With a thought, your armor's helmet extrudes from your storage and snaps closed around your head, seals clicking into place just as you stride back down the bus' ramp and push open the door.
A few feet past the (obvious, in retrospect) Elite-payroll bodyguards, the assembled Philadelphia Wards stare at your furious exit in surprise.
Halting at some of their blurted expressions of surprise, you spin back around and march back inside, grab one of Paige's discarded feathers, then storm back out and past the guards.
"Uh, hey, did you-"
Shoving the feather in Clockblocker's hand as he raises it in greeting, you turn to Tatsu.
"We're going. Now."
"Wh- whoa, wait, is this-"
Stepping past a shocked Clockblocker, Kid Win raises an armored gauntlet tentatively.
"Um, Weaver? Chevalier said he wanted to talk with you before you left."
You stare at him. The glow of your eyes, visible even through the mostly-opaque glass of your helmet, is enough to cause him to step back.
You look back at Tatsu, then extend your arm for her to grasp.
"Ah-... ano," she stammers, glancing between you and the group, then offers a weak smile that noticeably causes the rest of the group to relax slightly. "It's... It's okay! We'll be right back..."
With a twist and a pull, you leave your nervous friends behind for a horizon of black and white.
Can't Handle All This Competency: (Choose THREE, ONE Stunt Allowed For Each)
[X] Narrative Focus: Assembly Building
[X] Narrative Focus: Camden Bureaucracy/Relief Management
[X] Narrative Focus: Tinkering
Let's Make Iris Nervous: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[X] Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair (Infrastructure Drone)
- [x] Stunt: The foreman took a final look around the construction site, and at the PRT officers keeping gawkers at bay behind the caution lines. "We're clear. Let her rip." Thirty seconds later the heterodyne whine of heavy-duty agrav drives presaged the arrival of the serpent-dragon construction drone. Multitools unfolded as it began to stump over to the bombed-out electrical installation.
There's No Way This Ends Well: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[X] Taylor Goes To The Charity Relief Concert
Not All That Glitters Is Gold: (Choose THREE, NO Stunts)
[X] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Glaistig Uaine
[X] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Accord
[X] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Armsmaster
We Have Always Been At War: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[X] Denounce Holy Crusade, Forever Alone
The interrogation viewing room is barely larger than a dozen feet wide and double that in length, with walls covered in a pale brown foam that's been shaped like angular waves to dampen sound. There's four chairs and a small table here, but when you arrived they were already pushed back away from the one-way mirror that dominates one of the longer walls. Through it, you've been observing Sergeant Murray as he tries to calmly talk the morose Lieutenant Peters through her memory of the last two days, step-by-step.
The same Lieutenant Susan Peters that thanked you in the halls yesterday for making a second drum of coffee for those PRT field agents rotating in for the morning shift. When you'd started trying to memorize at least one quirk or habit of each PRT officer in the building - both for Master/Stranger protocols and to get to know the men and women helping to bring stability to Philadelphia - her penchant for humming 'Flight of the Valkyries' whenever she took the stairs or elevators was one of the first you noted.
Only this morning, she'd come in a few minutes ahead of her normal shift and tried to break your bedroom door down with her standard-issue shotgun (loaded with lethal slugs) before swapping to anti-personnel grenades. Luckily, the ceiling-mounted containment foam sprayers had hit her before she could release the pins on her explosives.
While most of your thought processes are focused on your various Optical Enhancement scans of Lt. Peters, one of your eight consciousnesses is considering the fact that you didn't hear anything in your bed, and thus slept through the security breach; her opening attack barely even scuffed your door, so it wasn't a case of you being a deeper sleeper than usual. Should you be grateful that the improvements you've helped put in place through the Quarantine level these last few days are already proving themselves to be wildly successful?
Or have you... somehow... overprepared?
Ugh, what are you thinking? Of course not. If anything, you need to install more monitoring devices around the Headquarters to prevent something like this from happening again without your awareness. You add the idea to your ever-increasing mental lists and focus your consciousness back to answering Director Uriel's question.
"Modifications to long-term memory and impulse control, some linked and some not," you frown, casting a glance with your eyes at the older man at your side as he stares through the glass - his posture slumped and bored as usual under the dark-navy flak jacket, but his eyes reflecting an intensity that you only have seen when PRT agents come under fire.
"Same as the radio hosts."
"Effectively," you acknowledge with a grunt. "I still can't pick up exactly how long she's been Mastered, but it can't have been more than twenty-four hours."
Uriel grunts, but otherwise remains still for a few moments before absently taking a sip from his lukewarm coffee (which, due to your Omnitool Implants, is somehow still amazing when cold).
"Guess these were a waste, then," he grumbles, reaching up to adjust the aviator-style, full-coverage mirror shades on his face.
It had been a long-shot, but after the clearly-Mastered radio hosts had been picked up two days ago, you'd shifted priorities to ensure all PRT officers and employees would be issued reflective eyewear - PRT tactical face shields are similarly mirrored for this very reason, which is why Uriel had approved the expenditure of resources. You'd been able to mass-produce the batch of five hundred functional-but-stylish glasses with barely an hour's time with your large-scale fabricator, so it wasn't too large a waste of time, it's still grating that the low-hanging fruit didn't satisfy.
For a moment, one of your consciousnesses wants to comment that they're still basically ballistic and chemical goggles, that there is a lot of clamour in your email box from the Image department about marketing the design to the public, and nearly everyone appears to enjoy wearing them regardless.
"Preventative security: easier to notice when it fails than all the times it worked," you shrug, turning your eyes back to the interrogation. "They might have needed to pin her with another power before getting the glasses off her. Not all of Beleth's faction need eye contact, but we can't make everyone wear earplugs and gas masks too."
Uriel runs a hand through his mop of unkempt brown hair with his off-hand, grimacing at the reminder.
"If it worked, I'd order it. We had brainwashed civilians flipping out years after these freaks came through here last time," he sighs, finally turning his head just enough to the left peer at you out of the corner of his eye. "You're absolutely sure you need the gremlin in order to build that scanner?"
Straightening up fully, you otherwise don't react to his derogatory nickname for Riley - one which has quickly spread through PRT HQ, though no one else has dared mimicking Uriel's feat of calling the tiny bio-tinker that to her face.
"Dragon is spread too thin, and this is outside of Armsmaster's specialty. I can reason my way around most medical problems, but that takes time."
His left eyebrow raises just above the top of the shades.
"Then stop working on all those other toys. Like the lizards. And the bugs."
"I was already accounting for de-prioritizing my other projects," you counter, pursing your lips slightly as your increased glow betrays how annoyed you actually are by that quip.
Both you and he know that you're fully capable of working on many different things at once - your Shard of Perfect Administration charm effectively allows you an unlimited number of "helpers" for any task, which means your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade is nearly always working at maximum capacity. A major boon, to be certain, and it's what has allowed you to rapidly churn out things like your new power armor in a fraction of the time it would have taken you without the charm... but working only with you-piloted drones doesn't give you the ability to make anything outside of your own spheres of knowledge and expertise.
Which means a large part of your recent focus has been devoted towards either micromanaging the daily schedules of the people you can control (Riley, Kaylee, most of the PRT's various desk-jockeys and interns, Accord, and most recently Armsmaster) or rigorously keeping track of the schedules of those whom you can't (Dragon, Glenn, Uriel).
… well, "control" is a strong word. And you're not going to say "administrate" because Vision of Vengeance's stunt has soured that word for you a bit. So… "guide"? "Coordinate"? Something to bring up to Glenn.
And maybe your therapists.
Uriel doesn't say anything in response to your last statement for a few moments, staring at you from behind his reflective glasses (and you don't feel like spending the essence for Mass-Penetrating Scan, since he's probably just giving you his typical half-lidded glare).
"She knows you're just looking for an excuse to get rid of her, sir," you sigh. "You've reminded her enough."
He snorts, shaking his head before turning his focus back to the interrogation, which is still just Lt. Peters verbally reciting everything she remembers from the last forty-eight hours. They're on the third repetition, and at no point has she recalled meeting anyone or seeing anything out of the ordinary.
By her repeated accounts, she'd had an epiphany over her morning cereal: you are a magnet for the evils of the world, and the city - maybe the whole world - is doomed if you don't die.
It's a variation of the line the local radio hosts of four different stations started spouting during their morning shows two days ago. The timing was suspicious enough that you flew over and scanned one, and your charm's readings served as enough evidence to have the PRT shut down the broadcasts and bring all the hosts in for further questioning. A nightmare for PR, since you still don't have concrete proof that the Endbringer-worshiping cult "The Fallen" are in the area... and thus the PRT hasn't been able to make a public statement about why it looks like you're stomping all over the First Amendment.
"Evil" gangs pop up from time to time in cities across North America, but the Slaughterhouse 9 had served as an odd check on them - a gang could only cause so much havoc without drawing Jack Slash's attention, which was as good as a death sentence for most.
Only one group had ever survived multiple such encounters with the Nine.
You have no doubt that the Fallen will publicly announce their presence in time, but that declaration will undoubtedly be punctuated with a body count. Unacceptable.
Director Uriel waves his left hand at you dismissively, resignation clear in his voice.
"Stop wasting time, then. Clock's ticking."
***
It's been three days since the Simurgh scrambled Armsmaster's brains, but sitting at his minimally-furnished workbench in Quarantine the man himself looks like he's aged a decade. Where before he maintained proper posture at all times, both to keep himself ready to move at a moment's notice and to prevent long-term damage to his body, the tank-top clad Tinker leans sluggishly with one elbow on the counter as he regards you with tired eyes .
Though that may be an unfair evaluation, as Riley's manic enthusiasm can wear on people in the best of times. Ever since she learned that she's behaved "well enough" to be allowed to help you work on your brain-scanner project...
"Brains brains brains! Eeeeee hee hee hee!"
For a moment, standing there in his doorway with Riley vibrating with glee at your side, you see a flash of his usual indignance surge through the un-armored Colin Wallis: the tensing of his hands, the accentuation of the muscles in his neck, the clenching of his jaw muscles, and a slight narrowing of his eyes.
Four days ago, maybe he would have sneered, demanding that the young bio-tinker control herself. Or perhaps he would have bitten out some questioning remark to you, wondering why you're interrupting his tightly-controlled schedule. A schedule that you - a probationary Ward - made for him - a veteran hero, and long long-time leader of the Protectorate's ENE division.
It's only a moment, then it's gone. Replaced by a tired sigh, a worsening in his posture, and a darkening of the shadows beneath his eyes.
For nearly a decade, every mind 'touched' by the Simurgh had been considered forfeit. Their thoughts, their memories, their impulses forever bent towards sewing chaos and misery at some unknown point in the future - if they weren't twisted and unleashed upon their friends, families, and allies on the spot, that is. Entire cities have been Quarantined, those tens-of-thousands of inhabitants that hadn't managed to escape the city within the first fifteen minutes of the fight considered ticking time-bombs to be kept contained for the good of the rest of Humanity.
Grimacing slightly, Colin brings up a hand to pull at his unshaven face before turning his gaze from the tiny Tinker to you.
"Brains?"
You sigh. It's not as bad as Riley asking to examine Saki's charms the first time the two re-met, but… someone really needs to teach the young girl some etiquette. Back in your own lab, you turn the drone you were using to watching Channel 4 News to instead start working on an email to Riley's therapists about building that into her rehabilitation.
It barely takes a nudge towards the table in the center of the minimalist workroom and the young blonde scurries over to her usual seat. You follow the pre-teen with a more reserved gait, nodding in answer to his question while gesturing with your right hand for him to join the two of you at the table.
Riley's dubbed it the Tinker Thinker Table. No one else calls it that.
"The Quarantine Alarm today was due to a PRT trooper trying to break into my room with her shotgun," you begin, extruding a folder filled with a printed write-up of the event that you've already written-up and submitted (via your drones, of course). Sitting down in your own chair, you slide the folder over to his own usual seat a moment before he drags himself over to it. "When that failed, she tried to use grenades - in the hopes of doing at least some damage to me, even at the cost of her own life. She's still in interrogation, but until Tatsu gets back we won't know exactly who Mastered her or when it happened."
The mention of Saki takes the winds out of Riley's sails long enough for Colin to flip open the folder and cast an intensifying gaze through the report. He finishes in less than a minute of awkward silence, after which his eyes flicker towards Riley in understanding before meeting yours with some of his usual determination starting to peek through.
"It's been tried before," he frowns, though his tone is more considering than dismissive as he narrows his eyes in thought. "A tinker in Wisconsin - 'Doctor Science' she was called - tried to spearhead development of something similar after the Simurgh's attack on… London? Either that or Hanoi."
Four rooms over, you're already turning two of the orange drones in your lab away from their other tasks (filling out a Worker's Comp. insurance claim for Lt. Peters and browsing Parahuman Online's Philadelphia's-specific forums, respectively) and use each to run searches through the PRT's databases for more information. Your first avenue is to look into the internal Tinkertech database for any Tinkertech Testing reports for… ugh... "Doctor Science"... while the other drone checks through the Protectorate employee database for the Tinker in question.
Hmm... ah. Nothing relevant about this project that Dragon hasn't already mentioned in passing, though the fact that affably-goofy Tinker died at the hands of Leviathan six years ago is something to add to your running "Proof of Endbringer Collaboration Before Weaver's Appearance" list.
"Hanoi," you nod in confirmation, frowning to yourself as you consider aloud what you're reading with your drones. "You helped on one of her last prototypes… it appeared to work at the start of the Colombo attack, but by the end was showing too many false-positives?"
He grunts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his bare arms over his chest - his own orange jumpsuit is rolled down to his waist, leaving only his sweaty white tank-top to contain the smooth flexing of his well-maintained upper chest and abdomen. It's… slightly distracting, but you're not going to comment.
"That was my first Simurgh fight," he begins, trailing off for a moment as his eyes gain the distance inflicted by hard memories. "At first, the scanner only flagged people as 'Compromised' if they'd been exposed for longer than fifteen minutes - that's where we got the idea we had a… buffer. That she couldn't just..."
He snorts in dark humor, mouth tightening as he stares through the table for a quiet moment.
"Near an hour into the fight… we noticed the exposure time was dropping. By the time Scion showed up, everyone that heard the Scream at all was flagged as 'Compromised.' Even the Triumvirate. We…"
He pauses again, long enough for the room's insulated nature to drive home the silence.
When he meets your gaze again, he expects you to understand just how right and wrong they were. "We couldn't afford to think that, back then. No one would have ever shown up to a Simurgh attack."
You offer a silent nod in agreement, several of your minds briefly considering ways to give the winged Endbringer another kick to the teeth - both literally and figuratively.
The solemnity of the moment is shattered by Riley clapping excitedly.
"That means it worked! You just need to copy it, Taylor!" she cheers, only to abruptly stop as a second realization causes her to sag dramatically in disappointment. "Aw, sugar. That means I don't get to look at brains."
Colin gives you a look that clearly communicates how much he enjoys what his life has become, that he must suffer these antics. You, having already made peace with the fact that such sacrifices must be made for the greater good, shrug in return-...
… just as the drone looking through the Tinkertech database finishes following the trail of Doctor Science's finished and unfinished projects after her death.
"Damn it," you hiss, causing Riley to give you a disapproving pout and Colin to frown at the apparent non-sequitur. After blinking once, you shake your head and turn back to the veteran hero. "The last copy of the scanner was in storage… on Protectorate Island."
He scowls even harder in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.
"That's…" he manages, before closing his eyes and releasing the emotions in a large exhalation through his nose, shoulders sagging in resignation as he runs a hand across his face. "I shouldn't be surprised by now."
"How much do you remember of it?" you ask, spreading your arms out onto the table as four of your minds begin sorting through the materials and parts you have stored in your Technomorphic Integration Engine at the moment. The sensor suite you packed into the first prototype of your new power armor might work for this, so probably worth extruding that first…
Colin's right eye twitches as he watches your charm disgorge a partially-assembled helmet and attached wires, his gaze becoming unfocused as his Tinker power subsumes more and more of his conscious thought.
"I… don't remember the hardware as much. I was focused on the programming," he admits absently, leaning forward on his elbows as he considers the helmet. "See if you can access my email account - there should be a copy of the code she sent me in there."
You nod, then push more essence into your arms to activate your Omnitool Implants so you can begin disassembling the helmet properly - but just as you're about to begin, a squeeky voice tentatively pipes up.
"Sooo…"
You roll your eyes, then turn your head to the near-to-bursting Tinker tween.
"Yes, Riley," you sigh, then tap her the giant diamond in her forehead with one of your remaining fingers, pushing an application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into her while simultaneously activating Synergy-Promoting Upgrade. Her eyes unfocus and pupils blow wide at the rush, but after barely an instant she is alert and focused - a wide grin still managing to creep in through the mechanical mannerisms imposed by the charms.
She sits up fully in her chair, nods once, then brings her hands together in a solid clap.
"So!" she begins. "Brains."
***
As good as you have become at melding different Tinkertech innovations into a new, more efficient, seamless whole, when it comes to designing something "new" you are still sorely outclassed by actual Tinkers. Which is to be expected; you and Iris have come to the conclusion, based on the fragmented memories your own Shard-spirit has given you and the data provided by Cauldron, that the mountainous bio-crystalline supercomputers that yield "Tinker" powers are likely the Entity shards that serve as memory banks for storing the records of past civilizations they've consumed.
It's humbling, in a way, but helps put things in perspective; crafting is a means to an end, for you, not something you want to dedicate your entire existence towards. Caste-wise, your understanding is that it's a role more typically filled by Starmetal… and Orichalcum.
You eye Colin and Riley. Hmm.
It… would free up more of your time to focus more on field work and managerial efforts - your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade charm has been revolutionary for so many different projects these days. Insurance claims, invoices, damage evaluations, or repeatedly crafting the same thing over and over again (sunglasses, insect drones, etc.); you've enjoyed speeding up "busy work" to the point where you may actually get ahead of it sometime in the next few weeks, much to the shock and awe of the PRT and city council clerks.
But while in all those projects you've been the driving force - the "leader" of the collaborative effort, for the purposes of your charm - now that you've truly allowed Colin and Riley to take the fore during a collaborative Tinkering session? It's resulted in you becoming barely more than a glorified crafting tool and resource gatherer, directed to and fro by wordless requests from the hyper-focused Tinkers. They only really need your Charms… Charms that Autochthon would undoubtedly give to a dedicated "Tinker" Alchemical for their own use.
Colin might not be too hard a sell to the rest of the Assembly. The bigger problem is whether this… humbling… he received as a result of the Simurgh's attack (and isn't that eerily convenient!?) would stick. If it didn't, you'd run into the same problem you may have with Alexandria: a new Alchemical trying to usurp authority and command of the Assembly from you. On the other hand, like Accord, he might dive head-first into Clarity and never come back.
As for Riley… well, if Iris himself hadn't subtly (for him) suggested her, you wouldn't even be considering it now; Riley needs at least few months to re-develop her understanding of people as more than "spare parts," and Saki has barely taken the first steps towards overcoming her trauma at Bonesaw's hands. Not to mention that, like with Ciara, the PRT would fall over themselves in panic at the mere hint that you're considering her for Exaltation.
You don't groan, but it's a near thing. Your best Orichalcum candidates are all walking disasters in some way, all suffering from problems you could fix if you had time. Even if you tossed Missy or Hannah in just as Aisha gets out, that still only buys you another week - nowhere near enough...
You blink, an odd feeling of resistance briefly passing over your hands as you reassemble a series of circuits under Colin's watchful gaze. What…?
It's as if your Omnitool Implants are trying to work through a viscous medium, instead of smoothly flickering through empty air. The sensation is gone as quickly as you notice it, but over the course of the next few minutes the feeling appears again four more times… until, when it happens a fifth time, you find your Omnitools suddenly swerving away from where they were about to fuse together two gold wires...
… because the wires somehow fused together on their own.
You process this development with barely a twitch, as neither Colin nor Riley appear to have noticed the (to you) blatant interference by one of their shards. This isn't the first time you've noticed something like this, as your collaboration efforts with Riley under Synergy-Promoting Upgrade have occasionally yielded sudden, strange alterations of matter or chemical compositions. But in the dozen-or-so times past, you were always forced to undo or "correct" whatever subtle flaw or imperfection her Tinker shard had introduced into your work. This time… the change was productive. Helpful.
Less than a minute after the first incident, it happens again: a jagged seam in the circuit board from a previous cut silently smooths itself out to slot in smoothly with the piece alongside it, just before you're about to sand it down.
Four minutes later, a drop of solder from Riley's soldering iron cools several fractions of a second faster than it should, just as you were going to reach over to prevent it from spilling out onto the nearby resistor.
Iris had posited that Entity shards could potentially understand the workings of Essence - even if they couldn't use it themselves - or begin to pattern-match well enough so as not to be completely blindsided by your reality-twisting. Much like the component spirits of Primordials, however, different shards will likely have varying amounts of difficulty grasping the conceptual nature of Essence-based magic; the shards themselves blend the concepts of "tools" and "organs" writ large, and they actively want to be used in new and interesting ways.
This feels like... instead of fighting your efforts, the shards are actively collaborating. To see if they can mimic your effects without essence, maybe? An unnerving prospect, if Riley's and Colin's shards begin using what they learn to work in flaws that your Omnitools won't catch automatically anymore - even with your superhuman levels of awareness, it's only by your Omnitool Implants' erratic behaviors that you're able to notice these incongruities.
You can still absorb the final products with your Technomorphic Integration Engine and then use the knowledge gained there to rebuild an improved version, but that is just… horrendously inefficient, not to mention a quick way to make Colin and Riley know that you don't trust them-...
… well, it's really the space-parasites peeking through their brains you don't trust… but they don't know that...
Sigh.
You'd resigned yourself to the understanding that Essence wasn't going to remain an out-of-context advantage for you forever, since your ultimate goal is to make local reality friendly enough to Essence for Autochthon himself to survive living here. Still… you've learned the hard way that guessing at how Essence works can be more hazardous than leaving well enough alone. Can you make this work for you?
Iris had commented that interfacing directly with unconverted shards would be difficult even for him, given their extra-dimensional existence and Nowhereverse composition. In addition, both of you suspect that Scion will be quicker to react to any further blatant dimensional breaches in the future, and that is a fight neither of you can risk at the moment. However... before he dropped everything and left to go sit atop the Cradle, he mentioned that Saki's Personality Override Spikemight be a backdoor for interfacing with a shard if both it and its attached Parahuman were exposed to sufficient Essence for the charm to not be working completely blind. Shards are reliant on signals and commands from the shard-brain interface, after all…
Hrm. Riley's specialty would be perfect to brainstorm on this, but you'd only really have the privacy to talk this over with her while inside Saki's pocket dimension… which would cut her off from her Tinker shard.
Meanwhile, as you've been contemplating interdimensional breaches and mind-jacking continent-sized supercomputers, the two Tinkers at the table have grown more coherent in their mumbling to each other.
"... wavelength interruptions can't be detected unless their mind is trying to access the portion that's been modified-"
"You can, silly billy! See, if you just increase the amplitude-"
"...it's not a solid wave, but an array of different signals that come together in a rhythm…?"
"Mmmhm!"
"I see. But to pick that up you'd boil their brain if you left the scanner on them for more than a few seconds."
"... Taylor has good aim! She can make it-"
"No."
"Aww-!"
"But… what if we shorten the distance? In Brockton, I had an idea for graviton-induced space-tunneler based on Vista's power…"
The back-and-forth is… interesting to watch,since your own idle scans of their minds when they're truly in the element reveal that there's an alarming amount of conscious thought being overridden by their powers. Not a complete take-over, like what happens when you've seen Chris, Riley, and Colin go into their "Tinker fugue" and become completely unresponsive to the outside world, but it's clear that their bodies (and mouths) are largely on autopilot.
You're torn on whether their behavior is amusing, creepy, or fascinating. Regardless, the numerous clocks you can see through the eyes of your various drones, insects, and animals within your range indicate that your time here is up.
"It's 11:30," you sigh, pulling your rapidly-recombining hands back to yourself while simultaneously dropping Synergy-Promoting Upgrade. "I have a meeting in Camden at noon… and none of us ate breakfast."
Both Colin and Riley blink a few times as their bodies twitch slightly from the withdrawal of your charm's magic, their respective mannerisms returning with Synergy-Promoting Upgrade no longer suppressing the traits that aren't immediately relevant to the task at-hand.
"Oooh," the tinier Tinker groans, shoulders slumping as she falls back into her chair in exhaustion. "So that's why I started having more and more ideas about trying to also scan for unbalanced insulin levels."
Colin is considerably less fatigued by the three-hour, charm-empowered Tinker-blitz, but he still takes a few fortifying breaths to steady his composure before opening his eyes to review the almost-completed work laid out on the table.
"We…" he begins, then turns a determined gaze to you. "We can finish this without you."
You raise an eyebrow at him. You're not offended - working with him both in Brockton Bay and here in Philadelphia has taught you that you'll know when he's trying to offend you - but rather at his presumption.
"That would be a violation of your Quarantine," you hum, then glance at Riley. "Technically, it'd be a violation for both of you."
Riley boggles, her jaw dropping in shock. "Whaaat?! But you've let me Tinker alone since Saturday!"
You wince, because… well, you didn't want to bring it up, but….
"... Dragon was watching you."
"Well, sure, but what does that-..." she begins, before her eyes flicker to a stiffened Colin, "...ooooh."
Colin is, after all, still classified by the PRT as a potential Simurgh bomb. Given the memetic nature of some of the Simurgh's attacks, all outside contact is to be kept to the bare minimum for at least three months, after which he'll undergo a rigorous screening process similar to what's used to vet potential releases from cities quarantined after Simurgh attacks. After that, he'll probably get a re-branding and shuffled off to start from the bottom of the ranks in Los Angeles, New York, or Houston.
You know he's cured, because your scans of him are clear of all the warnings your Diagnostic Overlay scans brought up during and after the fight. Saki knows he's clear, because her Personality Override Spike is how Colin's mind was put back together. Riley believes whatever you tell her, which is a whole separate can of mindworms that you aren't dealing with right now.
Everyone else… just has to trust you. By now, you'd think that would be a given… but when it comes to the Simurgh, you can't truly fault the PRT for its caution.
There's an odd irony that he's helping build a device that could ostensibly be used to clear his name; the mental damage done by the Simurgh should be caught by the scanner, even if you're initially intending to use this to root out anyone Mastered by the Fallen.
The fact that he is helping build it means that no one will trust the device to work reliably on him.
If you were on the outside looking in, you certainly wouldn't.
He undoubtedly realized this from the start, yet… he didn't ask to abstain.
Was it pride? The other projects you've asked for his help with will all be high-profile when they see the public eye, and this is no exception.
Was it conviction? His past work on a similar Tinkertech device has helped make it possible that you three could feasibly finish this device by tonight, not to mention his specialty in efficiency and miniaturization has resulted in the physical device's intended final form looking similar to a grocery store's barcode scanner.
Or… does he just not care enough to say "No"?
You'll have to get Saki down here when she gets back. Might be worth another poke around in his head; the more ways she can use it to show it has legitimate (non-mind-control) therapeutic uses, the more likely the PRT will allow her to use it in the field.
Rising up from your chair, you extrude one of your orange drone storage racks and guide four of the ten that are in the room into their respective cubbies. With the remaining six, you manipulate their integrated cyber-insect brains to guide four to the high corners of the room, and two just above the door… then leave them in Sentry Mode.
You cast meaningful glances at the drones you've stationed around the room, then turn back to the two Tinkers and nod.
"I'll be watching this time."
Colin blinks slowly, expression softening slightly as you see a twinge of a smile start to melt his stern expression. He takes another deep breath as he leans back slightly in his chair, then nods once.
"But…" Riley wonders aloud, tilting her head as she scratches at the ponytail she's adopted to mimic your own, "... aren't you always watching?"
Only for realization to strike her like a lightning bolt just as you're opening your mouth to respond, causing her to slap both her tiny hands on her cheeks in affront while looking at Colin.
"So that's why you're all smelly! You know she'll watch you wheackbplththththhh!"
You manage two expertly-aimed squirts from the water bottle before you're out the door.
***
Over the course of their twenty-five year existence, the Slaughterhouse Nine completely depopulated twenty-seven cities across the United States, Mexico, and Canada. Most of those were small, sub-two-thousand-population towns that the marauding psychopaths swept through while recovering between their strikes on major cities, but nine small cities were specifically targeted during a stretch in the early 90's after Jack got a hold of the 1990 United States census and decided to start culling cities that officially had a population of less than one hundred permanent residents.
The 2010 United States census hasn't been released yet (you've checked, it's expected to be done in April), but the New Jersey state census was released on February 10th. According to it, before the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived, Camden had a population of 52,128 permanent residents - down from 63,021 in 2000 - with 48% of the populace below the national poverty line and 53% of buildings in the city condemned.
On Tuesday, only 48 hours after announcing that the remaining bombs strewn throughout the city constituted a National-Guard-led mandatory evacuation of the city, New Jersey's governor declared Camden to be officially disincorporated.
By next Sunday, there shouldn't be a single living person or standing structure within the former city limits.
Not because you're letting Accord's murderous impulses dictate the new living conditions in the officially-past-tense city, of course - PRT and emergency vehicles are currently finishing scouring the city for the thirty-plus thousand that didn't flee from the Slaughterhouse Nine's rampage and relocating them to the Philadelphia relief shelters or the shelters set up in Cherry Hill and Deptford Township.
Instead, Accord is getting the next best thing by way of being formally tasked with plotting out how to completely raze everything within the city limits once the National Guard has given the "all clear" signal. You even added in the caveat that his plans should allow for easy reclamation of raw material (brick, metals, plastics, glass, etc.) from the destruction.
"I would have accounted for such, regardless," he had retorted, his fingers tapping an eager pattern on his cane as he stared out from the PRT Headquarters' rooftop towards the smoky haze across the Delaware river. "Waste is the enemy of Order."
As ludicrously effective his plans may be, they occasionally get Rube Goldberg-esque in their over-complexity if he has insufficient tools and/or resources for a task. To stave off those tendencies, and since part of your working agreement with him is that you won't ask him to dip into whatever funds he still has earmarked for his "End World Hunger" plan, you've instead given him permission to drain your own personal Number Man account if he has to resort to the more expensive and… esoteric contingencies in the plans he's shown you.
Judging by the email that just existed in your inbox long enough for you to notice its subject line, you expect this progress report meeting he's called is going to be… interesting.
Likely in the Chinese Proverb sense of the word.
The flight from Downtown Philadelphia to the Camden Relief-slash-Staging Camp is only a matter of a few miles, so it takes you less than a minute to cross the distance with your new armor's enhanced flight capabilities; most of your time in the air is spent ascending and descending in speed and altitude. Still, you're more than capable of taking in the view as you travel, even if you didn't make a few swings around Camden's water line to check on the ferries that are still transferring people across the river to Philadelphia.
It's… peculiar. Past the crowds and National Guard presence at the waterline, the smoldering, acrid smoke-choked ruins of the city are more peaceful than they've ever been. The air above it isn't filled with emergency vehicle wails, and the sounds of ever-present gang violence have gone quiet with the local parahuman-led gangs have… mostly shipped out alongside the civilian populace.
…
You're reminded of a regular saying from PHO's comment sections: "And nothing of value was lost."
Brockton Bay itself was close to following in Camden's footsteps, before Behemoth showed up. You wonder... if had Autochthon not intervened, would your home city have continued its downward spiral?
How many of Camden's population, when first hearing of Behemoth's attack just a bare few weeks ago, considered Brockton Bay to have been "nothing of value"...?
That line of rumination has popped up more than once over the last two weeks, but once again you squash it before it has a chance to go anywhere; you have more important things to task your various consciousnesses to at the moment.
"Administrator."
The short, business-suit-clad Thinker addresses you precisely as you cut power to your suit's anti-gravity thrusters. His tone is clipped and professional as usual, but something about the way his right hand has a death-grip on his cane gives you pause.
Perhaps it is Prayer's solemn, fully-armored presence at his side, when normally he would be accompanied by his Ambassadors? He's regarded her with nothing but civility and respect ever since her conversion, so… maybe it's the black-brown dirt that's been kicked up onto his shoes and lower pant legs? Not too long ago, you suspect he killed people over less.
You raise your left hand to signal a moment's pause, then close your eyes and push the vast majority of your essence reserves into a single charm.
Six new points of awareness blossom into existence along your forehead as the eyes framed around your soulgem transform into dragonfly-like mechanical insects. You navigate each free of their respective sockets - feeling the recessed prosthetic eye behind each drone pop forward to fill the space left behind - and have them take flight around you.
"Accord," you greet evenly, turning fully to address the pair that have met you several dozen yards from the hectic affairs of the camp. Rotating your head slightly, your tone lightens as you address your Assembly-mate. "Prayer."
The towering mass of hardened cerulean crystal bobs her head mechanically in response, but otherwise doesn't affect a change in her stoic demeanor.
Hmm. You hope Prayer's not still using Clarity to avoid dealing with her emotions, rather than letting it ebb and flow naturally as problems arise. Another something to talk with Saki about when you see the rest of the Wards later today.
The eyes on Accord's mask narrow as they track one of the Mobile Sensory Drones orbiting your head, then fixate on your face again. "What is your current range?"
You frown, not at the question but at the answer you have to give.
"I pushed my range this morning because of the attack, so right now I'm at the bare minimum of one hundred feet."
"Disappointing," he scowls, tapping his cane once. "A Guardsman convoy heard gunshots when they approached Camden High School this morning during their rounds, but didn't approach. I had expected you would be able to scout it from here during our meeting, rather than inconvenience you later."
The drones above your heads buzz louder as your anger leaks through your connection to them.
"Which gang?"
"The 'Resistors'" he sneers, some of his old malice creeping into his voice. "Only filth would be so harmful to both themselves and towards the progress of civilization."
Ugh. As awful as it was, you knew there would still be people refusing to leave their homes for one reason or another. Unfortunate, but expected and planned for. There had even been contingencies in Accord's plan if some of them were fresh triggers.
Three new triggers, all loudly declaring to everyone that they hate you, specifically was…
… sadly, also accounted for. Not the exact number of triggers, but…
You sigh, then begin directing your Mobile Sensory Drones out to take up places around the outside of the relief camp - with your range so limited right now, you're going to have to use their range-extending capabilities just to keep an eye on the whole camp while you're here.
"Is it bad that I hope this is just because the Fallen somehow Mastered them?"
"Not ignorance, nor malice, but incompetence?" Accord snorts. "Their worthlessness would still be proven-"
Even through the din of National Guard, emergency services, and PRT forces mobilizing and redeploying nearby, the sound of Prayer's armored feet shifting against broken, sooty pavement cuts through well enough to be heard by both of you.
She doesn't say anything or otherwise move, but the eyes on Accord's mask flicker towards where she remains behind his left shoulder and he shifts his right hand to lay atop the hand already clenching his cane.
"-... but coercion would improve the chances they will - after treatment - submit to rehabilitation and training."
You hum a note of consideration as you stare the small man down for a moment, then nod in agreement. He's been… better about his more sociopathic tendencies lately, but the utter chaos of this city is really driving up his blood pressure - and, according to the scan you're doing now, giving him an utterly devastating headache. Curious that scan also shows he isn't taking the painkillers the PRT issued him (at your request).
"We can hope. Though... that's only a few blocks away from where the Teeth are trapped. Do your Ambassadors defending the controls have Master/Stranger protocols?"
The intricate, golden clockwork mask tilts as his posture straightens with pride.
"Of course," he asserts, but after a moment's pause his tone gains a slight edge. "After hearing of your attack, I have also... requested to Director Piggot that the PRT Troopers assigned to… accompany the Ambassadors at the trap to receive copies of the eyeglasses you made."
Ah. Judging by his rising blood pressure just now, you think you've found what's really aggravating the "former" murderous crime lord.
You'd hoped that requesting Emily Piggot be assigned to the PRT branch that will oversee the remade "New Camden" wouldn't ruffle too many of his feathers. After all, they both love rules! And order! And petty grudges!
But… yes, you probably should have seen that she and Accord would get along like… well... a city on fire.
You're going to have to get Saki involved here, too, aren't you? Though you'll need to warn her that if for some reason Piggot and Accord end up in some convoluted romance story, PRT rules say that Department Directors can't be married to parahumans. And, apropos of nothing, that she should not use her new charms to encourage PRT rule changes without your say-so.
You make the note in your helmet's HUD, then promptly shove all those trains of thought into the garbage because ew. Taking a fortifying breath, you focus your attention back on why you're here in the first place.
"I'll prioritize an extra batch when I return," you reply evenly, otherwise managing to hide your shudder at the previous thoughts. "My readings for the Time Loop Trap still read nominal, but with the Fallen on the move and the Resistors nearby it might be prudent to move up our time table for the Teeth. Is that what you wanted to discuss?"
Oddly, some of the tension in his posture recedes as you bring the conversation around… while Prayer silently shifts in a way that you almost think is a sign of… nervousness?
"I agree, but that is a matter we can handle through our usual electronic correspondences - I will send you an updated schedule before you leave for Pittsburgh this afternoon. No, I wished to speak with you regarding an... acquisition I just made through the Toybox that may dramatically reduce my time estimates for the city's reformation, as well as similarly improve your own large and small-scale construction capabilities."
You blink, then double-check your email inbox…
Nope. Your folder for Toybox communications is still nearly empty.
"Did… did you tell them that you were working with me?" you ask, eyebrow raised incredulously.
He waves his off-hand dismissively. "I was informed of, and allowed this purchase because I am coordinating with you. While normally I would refuse such an obvious ploy, their underestimation of your abilities and potential can be turned to our benefit."
…
"Accord, did you buy a bomb?"
"Of course not," he scoffs. "Did we not agree? Chaos does not create Order. No, it was something that Toybox themselves only recently managed to acquire-"
Prayer's resonant voice cuts in, just loud enough that only your group can hear her low, ominous declaration.
"What we failed to bury from fools," she grinds out, her gaze a physical force.
"Deep Silver."
***
"Mendez, Colbert? Arrest-"
You balk, throwing up your hands before the two armored PRT agents start moving. "Director-!"
"No, Weaver," Director Emily Piggot fumes, her heavyset form equally armored and streaked with dirt in a way that implies she's been on at least one patrol recently. She leans on the Command Tent's cluttered planning table with her left arm and points angrily at Accord with her right. "Not only am I denying this request, you have one minute to explain why I shouldn't arrest this lunatic for violating his agreement to act within the law!"
You can hear Accord's teeth grinding, even if his golden clockwork mask maintains its level glare at Brockton Bay's former Director - now-turned Acting Director for the upcoming new PRT Department 65 that will be formed in New Camden. Thankfully, beyond a twitch towards the button on his cane's handle, he manages to restrain himself from doing anything rash.
Which is good, because while he might be able to shrug off the two PRT agents… Prayer has managed to silently creep back up behind him again.
"If you would let me finish-"
"I asked Weaver to explain," she sneers, jabbing a thick, gloved finger at you while keeping her narrowed eyes on Accord, "so either shut up or we'll see if that fancy suit of yours shrugs off containment foam."
You sorely want to activate Synergy-Promoting Upgrade so Accord stops digging himself an even deeper hole, but you're pretty sure Piggot would hose you with containment foam as well if you started using charms in her general direction.
You respected her tenacity and adherence to the rule of law in Brockton Bay - it's why you suggested internally and through Cauldron to get Emily Piggot transferred over - but you… underestimated how poorly her overall attitude suffered overseeing the management of the Brockton Bay Relief Camp in Providence. Not only that, but your medical scans reveal that her pallid complexion and baggy eyes aren't just for show; she's in even worse shape than before, and whatever dialysis routine she's on isn't cutting it these days.
She spent years in Brockton Bay with Panacea on-call, and she's undoubtedly aware that Prayer could heal her in a matter of moments. Looks like this is yet another task for Saki to deal with when the Wards' vacation ends on Friday.
Bringing your left hand down and nodding to Accord that you'll handle this, you wait a few seconds for the gears in his mask to stop whirring ominously before turning your head back to meet Piggot's gaze.
"Accord's deal with Toybox is that they turn over - to the PRT - the sample of Deep Silver that they somehow acquired, the containment unit it's stored in, and every computer and piece of equipment that interacted with the sample for the few minutes of research they did on it. The only things we're not getting are the devices they used to obtain the sample... because Toybox already atomized them."
What possessed an enclave of Tinkers to think it was a good idea to snatch a piece of self-replicating nanites that automatically suborned all technology within several dozen yards into making more nanites? You're not sure what shocks you more: that they actually managed to contain the sample, or that they didn't accidentally start another apocalypse.
Piggot's nostrils flare as she lets out a huff, brushing back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen out of her helmet into her eyes.
"You didn't lead with that statement… why?"
You're quick enough to rest a hand on Accord's shoulder before he manages to open his mouth, and it's a mark of his progress that he doesn't reflexively unsheathe his sword cane at start of physical contact. Still, he twitches in a way you understand means that anyone other than you would now be missing an arm (you're not sure how Prayer's armor will handle a monomolecular blade), so there's room for further improvement.
"To Accord's credit, Director, you didn't allow him to even complete his first sentence."
She squints at you, dark green eyes narrowed and mouth pursed, before she closes her eyes fully and sighs. When her eyes open again, her gaze flickers to Accord and she manages a curt nod.
"Fine. Continue."
You're certain Accord is fantasizing of all sorts of vicious ways he could exact a grisly price from Piggot for such blatant disrespect, but he manages to remain silent and stoic behind his golden mask. To allow him the time to get ahold of himself again, you keep talking in his stead.
"With such short notice, the PRT does not have any storage facilities that would be capable of safely holding the Deep Silver sample, which was why the PRT chose not to take any samples from the battleground after dealing with the main mass in Antarctica last week," you explain, turning your head to look at Prayer.
Apparently Ned had a blast for the first half-hour of fighting and playing bait, only to be bored for the next twelve hours as the mountain-sized blob of nanites that had eaten him was slowly whittled away to nothing by his own chewing and everyone else's combined attacks.
Last you checked, he's still playing 'Tag' with Ash Beast near the southern border of the Sahara. Possibly literally, since the two are basically tossing each other around the desert at this point; the initial hope that he could distract the walking chain-explosion long enough for the nearby village to evacuate has morphed into an attempt to lead Ash Beast deep enough into the uninhabited heart of the Sahara that it will give the surrounding countries some breathing room.
It's been two days and (as far as the last report noted) Ned still hasn't become completely immune, so at least he's probably having fun while you wait for Saki to get back and break the news to Piggot that he's being assigned to New Camden.
Prayer nods silently in response to your questioning gaze, so you turn your head back to meet the stouter woman's resting frustrated face.
"That leaves us with two options: immediately annihilate the sample and accompanying materials, or-"
Piggot nods. "Approved."
"-or," you stress, raising a finger as if it would have stopped her interruption, "allow me to quarantine it within my Technomorphic Integration Engine charm until such time as the PRT possesses the means to safely do so itself."
The Director nods, blinking owlishly a few times before finally squeezing her eyes shut completely and rubbing her face with her gloved right hand.
"Are you trying to get me fired before my department even exists, Weaver?"
"Of course not, Director," you sigh, rolling your eyes.
"Then please, enlighten me. Why I should allow a Ward, who is a full-conversion cyborg, near an S-Class Threat that comandeers anything within a hundred yards more complicated than a pencil?"
Prayer's resonant voice cuts your own response off before it reaches your tongue.
"The Maker's Chosen are beyond its sway. Even submerged in its tide, I was unaffected."
"Fantastic," Piggot bites out with a snort, opening her eyes and gesturing to your giant blue Assembly-mate. "Vajra can quarantine it."
After a brief, awkward moment, Prayer shuffles her heavily-armored boots.
"...I have not been gifted with a Charm that would allow this, Director."
"Director Piggot-" you begin, wincing at Prayer's dejected admission, but the shortest armored woman in the tent cuts you off with a slash of her hand.
"Weaver, I'm not sure why I'm the only one that seems to be telling you this, but stop collecting S-Class threats."
"But-"
"No!" she fumes, punching the table with the arm she's been leaning on. "If you didn't already have at least half-a-dozen other S-Class threats in your care or currently out for your blood - and I just bet that there are more that I'm not yet cleared to know about - then I might request a Director council meeting to discuss this… insanity. As it is, the only reason I'm not petitioning Director Uriel for you to be removed from active duty is because I know it'll be dismissed before the ink's dry. But you two...-"
She jabs a thickly-gloved finger at Prayer, then at Accord, scowling furiously.
"...- I have actual authority over. So: Vajra and Accord, I order you to annihilate the Deep Silver sample and anything even remotely related to it."
Tens of millions of dollars… wasted?
Just because she refuses to understand what you're capable of? No… you…
You take a breath. Close your eyes. Calm. Focus. Clarity.
This… is not the hill you want to die on. Emily Piggot won't give on this one; she was one of the few survivors the the PRT's disastrous expedition into Ellisburgh just as Nilbog forged his legend, so mass-replicating threats are her nightmare scenario.
Besides, with your hand still on his shoulder, you can feel that Accord is practically vibrating with restrained rage. As much as you want to argue this… it might be best to cut your losses before he snaps and destroys the bare facsimile of a working relationship that he's built with the PRT here.
"Fine," you bite out, not bothering to hide your own frustration or disappointment. Accord momentarily stills in shock at your acquiescence. "I still need to discuss other projects with Accord and Vajra. May I speak with them before they leave?"
Director Piggot's jaw muscles work as she studies you for a long moment, then frowns and waves you off.
"Dismissed."
You spin on your heel, subtly nodding at Accord as the eyes of his mask side-eye you as he and Prayer follow suit. Just as the three of you are about to reach the weathered-white tent flaps to pass outside, the Director's voice calls out to you again.
"Weaver."
You pause, but don't bother turning around. She knows you can see her flinty stare, regardless.
"We can't afford to lose you. Stop looking for trouble."
You give her words a full five seconds of thought, then step out into smoke-choked ruins of what used to be Camden city.
Proof of what happens when you let your enemies come to you.
"Administrator-"
The glowing stare you give Accord is enough to halt his seething remark before it finishes reaching his lips. After a second of silence, you incline your head towards the northern exit of the PRT Command Shelter.
"Let's go pull some Teeth."
***
As your trio moves north, out from the PRT Relief Command Center that has largely taken over the remains of a United States Postal Service depot, you opt to walk instead of getting a ride from one of the various government or civilian vehicles going your way. This is largely due to Accord being the only member of your group that can't fly, but walking across most of the ruined city isn't a waste of time; Accord uses this opportunity to catch you up on smaller, non-emergency developments since you spoke with him yesterday morning, while it's also a chance for you to get a ground-level perspective of how the evacuation and demolition of the city is progressing.
The first, most obvious example of this is what's going on only a half-mile northwest of the PRT Relief Command Center, where the 47-Acre construction depot has been turned into the primary hub for both materiel coming in from outside the city, and for salvage gathered from the local ruins.
Massive piles of concrete rubble, twisted metal girders and rebar, used plastic bottles and jugs, and broken wooden beams are arranged on the eastern side of the lot, where caravans of dump trucks, garbage trucks, and civilian pickup trucks are streaming in to deposit what they've claimed before venturing back north into the heart of the former city. While there are a dozen PRT troopers keeping guard, most of the thousand-plus force of men and women hard at work - talking with drivers about where they found their loads, helping sort salvage into their proper piles - are contracted civilians laborers that lived in Camden.
Even though you're only observing them through your Mobile Sensory Drones and commandeered fauna, you're able to recognize most of the individuals running the show. You did most of the paperwork for this, after all.
The piles of rubble and salvage themselves are smaller than what a casual observer might initially expect, what with the constant stream of vehicles entering the yard full and leaving empty. One only has to watch the piles for a few minutes to see why that is: almost as quickly as they're fed from the east, the piles are being devoured from the west.
"Devoured" in a literal sense, as the four bus-sized dragon-ish drones you set up last week have been working around-the-clock to turn unusable raw materials into processed, easily-used blocks and bars. They're nowhere near as animalistic as the drones you're planning on installing Riley's… pets… into, looking more like someone slapped Chinese New Year costumes on a set of busses; the true dragon-machines are still being worked on in the cavernous basement below the Quarantine floor back at HQ.
Even if they only barely resemble animals, you still made sure that the "output" from each drone comes out of the sides, instead of from their… backside. To do otherwise would have been, to quote Riley, "naughty and icky."
They've been chomping along at a quick clip, and in the five days they've been active have converted tens of thousands of tons of materials. Aside from the two visits you've had to pay to repair them - both times due to residues from exotic Bakuda ordinance building up their internal workings - they've largely operated without your input or control. Nonetheless, since you're already walking by the yard you take this opportunity to float a Mobile Sensory Drone near enough to extend your (still limited) Shard of Perfect Administration range; with their synthetic "animal brains" installed under your control, you run quick diagnostics…
… hmmm, nothing alarming, but you'll probably need to stop in tomorrow to clean out the concrete-conversion drone again. It's both the busiest and most problem-prone one, so it's to be expected.
Beyond any operational concerns, you notice through your Mobile Sensory Drone that… it appears people have painted some small artistic designs on the four drones to make them more "life-like." Colorful scales, giving each dragon a rainbow hue; nothing that looks like gang tags, thankfully, but rather just… art. You're not sure if you should be flattered or concerned? Or both? You didn't get any notices from the PRT agents on-site of people asking permission, and none of the art overlaps important seams or service hatches so your brief study doesn't reveal any problems it might cause - if anything, in a few days the art will be covered over by the dirt and grime constantly being kicked up in the yard.
Dragon herself checks in on these daily, since officially you gifted them to the Guild in order to get them out in the field without a Tinkertech review. You wouldn't be surprised if she authorized the touch-ups, but you make yourself a note in your helmet's HUD to ask her about it.
As your trio progresses further into the ruins of Camden, however, the utter destruction and desolation of what was once the economic 'heart' of the city becomes more and more prevalent. Storefronts are all shattered and looted, if their buildings stand at all. Traffic lights and signs are either off, blinking red, or their wires and poles have been ripped away altogether.
The noon-day sun finally manages to break through the oppressive grey-brown haze choking the city for a few minutes as your trio walks on. Streaks of light intermittently cascading through the cloud cover highlight the burned-out and blasted husks of long-abandoned and condemned buildings. Distant wails of emergency vehicles intermingle with occasional gunshots and smaller explosions.
Accord pauses mid-sentence when a sunbeam drifts in front of your group, just as the three of you are about to step into a faded crosswalk.
"A moment."
Both you and Prayer halt, having stepped into the street already, and half-turn to look back at his stilled form. The eyes of his mask are closed and its mouth is drawn in a tight line, while his right hand has a death-grip on his cane.
A quick scan shows alarming blood pressure levels, and while you're still not entirely able to understand the details of what your scans show for brains, it's clear even to you that his power is consuming most of his conscious thought. This means he's fully-engaged plotting out some kind of astronomically-complicated scheme, but… you have a feeling it's not one of the nice ones.
When he doesn't do anything but breathe for a few more seconds, you trigger your armor's backpack and unleash a large enough portion of your robotic swarm to surround the three of you in a near-solid dome. Consciously directing the tens of thousands of horsefly-sized drones to operate as quietly as possible, all that can be heard now is a quiet susurrus of mechanical wings beating a pattern of white noise.
As Accord's vitals and brain patterns slowly begin to normalize, you idly wonder if Prayer would be capable of making a similar protective dome with a single activation of her Shard-charm? You don't doubt that she could extrude enough to form one piece-by-piece, but… hmm. Possibly worth talking with her to see if she's experimented at all with the charm since she fully configured it? The only thing of note she mentioned was that absorbing arms and armor is no longer as… uh… overwhelming.
Which brings you back around to Accord: you've noticed that Prayer has far more tolerance for the be-suited crime lord's impulses once you and Riley figured out that his power has been filling his head with violent impulses. It was particularly eerie, being able to track how his murderous intrusive thoughts increased whenever he dedicated his power towards infrastructure and administrative tasks - both because of how blatant his power's manipulations have become, and how Accord himself would never have noticed this trend if you hadn't pointed it out.
Both he and Riley had picked up that you knew much more about the whys of this, but you'd held off revealing your knowledge about what you've learned about the Entities and their "Cycle" - telling them both that you'd only feel secure telling them within Saki's dimension, but that they'd get the full explanation soon.
Accord lets out a small, tight breath and slowly opens the clockwork eyes of his golden mask, meeting your own gaze. He holds it silently, before flicking his gaze to the nearly-opaque dome of robotic insects shielding you three from the hellish landscape beyond.
"I have difficulty appreciating this small mercy when it is your hand that has driven me into needing it."
You frown, allowing a small measure of contrition to seep into your expression and tone.
"It is not without purpose," you acknowledge. "Your self-control has improved. It is a common note in any report I receive regarding your performance."
He turns his head and eyes back, allowing the cold, impassive eyes of his mask bore into you.
"Exercise or torture, it cannot continue. My optimistic projections for my own personal growth… wane. The greater the demands you place upon my skills, the more frequent the impulses become with each passing day. You know this."
"I do."
His eyes narrow, the gold of his mask reflecting your own glowing eyes in the darkened dome.
"I. Am. Trying," he grits out, pausing after the last word to briefly close his eyes momentarily and take a fortifying breath. "I do not yet possess the strengths of a Chosen of Autochthon. I am, still, only human. When the moment comes that every conscious thought becomes murderous, it will be on your head."
"False."
Prayer's deep, crystalline voice is all that much powerful in this enclosed space.
"You are not held by throat or leash. You choose to remain."
Gears whir in his mask, and Accord's left hand comes up to adjust his gold tie as he visibly considers her words before turning back to you.
"A residence apart, then? Would my candidacy suffer?"
You raise an eyebrow. "What about your Ambassadors?"
"They would remain, of course," he nods, only for him to blink as an idea visibly comes to him.
You blink once, straightening up and absently tapping your thigh as you consider his proposal in turn. It's a development you… half-expected, honestly, but his improving self-control had given you hope that Accord might be able to keep it together on his own.
That was before Camden was set to be razed to the ground, uprooting him again. The fact that he hasn't grievously harmed someone is frankly astonishing, though Prayer's mentioned she's needed to check him a few times these past few days.
Hmm. There's another option here beyond just shoving Accord in a deprivation chamber somewhere outside of the city.
Checking the time… 12:19 PM.
You're consciously trying not to interrupt Saki's vacation every other hour of the day. You'll see Saki tonight, in Pittsburgh, so you'll ask her there when she'll be free next.
"Before that," you begin, raising your right hand with index finger poised, "would you accept the implantation of a soulgem?"
He manages to control his shock, stilling momentarily before he straightens himself and taps his cane on the sidewalk.
"Of course. Yet I recall you said the PRT had confiscated the equipment for testing? They have returned it?"
You hum, withdrawing your hands to the small of your back. "I'll have it by tonight or tomorrow. I'll also be able to provide you with the… background details of your power that I withheld earlier."
Uriel shouldn't be too difficult to convince. You didn't have a pressing need to jam diamonds into people's heads before, but "Accord's going to snap and kill people if we don't do this now" should suffice. You can even spin it as further 'field testing'!
It'd be best if you did it in Saki's personal dimension, though, which is why you might as well give Accord and Riley the full space-parasite rundown while you're there. Unfortunately, that means you need to convince Saki to let the bio-tinker into her "Safe Space."
Better make sure you bring some cheesecake to the meet-up tonight. You're not sure why Saki giggles while eating it, but it's apparently her favorite.
Accord nods, satisfied. "I will adjust my schedule to ensure I am available."
Prayer shuffles, drawing both of your attention, but she merely holds her helmeted stare at Accord for a silent moment before nodding once.
The golden clockwork mask whirrs a bit, the brow of the onset face furrowing slightly, only for Accord to nod again in apparent comprehension. He turns back to you and meets your gaze again.
"Thank you."
You let only a small smile creep onto your face before closing up your helmet again - then let the dome around you slowly thin out so as to not bombard Accord all at once with the sudden return of Camden's chaotic ambiance.
Instead of returning your swarm to your backpack, however, you begin to draw out more and more of the drones stored within...
... until nearly the entire 100-foot radius hemisphere around your trio is saturated with the millions of robotic insects you have at your disposal.
You turn back, leading the group towards your original destination, only to pause as both Accord and Prayer haven't moved yet.
"Shall we?"
They share a glance, then make to follow your lead.
***
With the usual two-tone chime, an "Incoming Call" alert comes up on your helmet's HUD. Caller ID: Director Martin Uriel.
Hmm. That took… longer than you expected, but you answer the call regardless. Which provides a second surprise: it's a video call, not a simple voice call, which means he's contacting you from the conference room instead of his office. Odd. There weren't any Director conferences scheduled for today that would necessitate his presence there.
Except, even in a video call, he's not looking at you. He seems to be… doing paperwork, judging by the angle of his posture and slight twitches of his eyes.
"Director."
"Weaver. I just received a call from Director Emily Piggot."
"Ah."
"What are you doing right now?"
"Walking."
"Then why do I suspect that I would be able to track where you are if I went up to roof and looked across the river?"
You side-step as a person-sized chunk of concrete sails into and through your dome of robotic insects, the cloud parting to allow it through with only a few dozen insect drones being clipped by its passage.
"... An enthusiastic walk."
"Mhm," he grunts, shifting his gaze as you hear the shuffling of papers. At least, you're fairly certain you heard that, since it's a bit difficult to hear the fine details of the conversation over the gunfire and explosive punching.
"It says here, on the schedule that you submitted - and I approved - this morning, that right now you should be 'Meeting With Accord and His Ambassadors To Review New Camden Infrastructure Developments'."
"I'm doing that as well, Director," you nod, idly extruding another set of containment foam grenades which your drones carry away from your hands to be deposited elsewhere. "I have exceptional multi-tasking skills."
He pauses, finally sparing a moment to actually glance at you through the teleconference camera.
"Accord is with you. Right now?"
"Of course."
"May I speak with him?"
You blink. "... I don't believe his head will fit in my helmet, sir. His mask is rather robust."
"Just open your armor's external microphone and speakers. I don't need a visual feed."
"Yes sir," you confirm, pursing your lips as you quickly crank the noise-cancelation features of your external mic up to its highest setting.
Prayer tears a car in half just as you switch to externals. Great.
"Accord."
The small man to your right, encased in the stationary shield generator you've set up for him, tears his gaze away from where First Prayer of Perfection is methodically taking apart the remains of Camden High School... and the parahuman gang within. Given that you've surrounded the area with your swarm of robotic and organic fauna - blocking off any chance for the few hundred individuals within to escape - they've grown rather panicked and desperate.
"Yes?"
"Director Uriel would like to speak with you."
The brow of his mask furrows as he considers the statement. "Is this a pressing matter?"
Before you can answer, Uriel's voice crackles through the two external speakers tucked underneath your helmet's jawline.
"Director Emily Piggot is still waiting for you and Vajra to finish up your discussion with Weaver, so that you can explain to her how you intend to receive and dispose of the Deep Silver sample."
Accord makes a grunt of acknowledgement, but it's lost in the sound of Prayer slapping an RPG out of the air that would have continued on towards populated areas.
"She sounded impatient. You might want to turn back from wherever you've been… walking."
Golden clockwork eyes swivel to meet your own, even though your helmet's opacity is still a maximum.
"Her feelings are not my concern. Recent developments require that I revisit my itinerary for the next three days, and the delivery time and location for Toybox's delivery has not been finalized. Inform Director Piggot that-"
"Whatever," Uriel sighs, the video window in your HUD showing him rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning back to his paperwork. "Tell her yourself, I'm not your message boy. Weaver, one more thing."
You quickly flip the external microphones and speakers off, while holding up both hands to placate an eerily-still Accord.
"Yes, Director?"
"Is there a reason you didn't inform the local PRT forces that you would be engaging a parahuman-led gang?"
You don't bother holding back the simmering rage you felt when the school-turned-hideout came into your range. The glow within your helmet increases.
"I did call in that we engaged the Resistors, even though I knew there's no way they have the manpower or resources to respond by the time we're done here."
"After you already engaged," he emphasizes, drawing out the first word. "I'm guessing you were just going to scout them out at first, but found enough reasons to engage immediately."
His tone at the end isn't quite as sarcastic as normal, so you treat it as the statement of fact that it is.
"Yes, sir. They'd started taking hostages, some of which need medical attention."
"Not why I'm disappointed, Weaver," he sighs, finally looking back to you. "What was the chance that you wouldn't have engaged a new gang whose sole reason for existing is to get in your way."
You can think of a few ways to twist your response, but… you've got better things to do right now.
"I…" you trail off, letting out the breath in a huff before shaking your head. "I should have informed local dispatch that I was moving to patrol the area."
"And?"
"... and you, sir."
He grunts, leaning back in his chair such that the shadows of the room draw out his shallow cheeks and the bags under his eyes. "There's nothing I can do to you that wouldn't be political or literal suicide, Weaver. All I ask is that you keep me in the loop."
You grit your teeth in frustration and shame, but he's not wrong. Iris did not like him.
"Yes, sir."
He waves the hand still holding a pen, absently.
"You've been good about it, since the Nine. I guess I'm more surprised than disappointed, honestly," he sighs, still sounding completely bored. "Are you about done, there?"
Through your many, many viewpoints, you see that Prayer has cornered the trio of new capes in the school's gym - the unpowered gang members all either foamed, wrapped in rebar, or possessing too many broken limbs to do anything but moan. Sure, you could have simply flooded the place from the start, but Prayer had asked to take responsibility since this is ostensibly "her" district now.
You also suspect she took offense at the fact their gang tag is a big red 'X' over a black cog.
The only thing she did ask for help with was to make sure the four-dozen hostages they'd taken were safe. You freed them easily once Prayer drew away their guards, and while you've taken care of any external wounds, the only one you haven't healed (via medical supplies extruded through a controlled stray dog and utilized by your robotic swarm) are the ones with more severe broken bones and internal damage.
Accord, for his part, has been largely silent as he watched the two of you work. You're somewhat curious as to his thoughts, but you've found he will engage you in conversation when he desires it.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you planning on dealing with the Teeth, since you're in the area?"
You shake your head. "That was why we were headed this way, but only because the Resistors were likely to try and free them. Director Piggot's team doesn't have the resources to deal with the aftermath of two gang fights, so I'll stick to my original schedule and deal with them tomorrow."
"Good. Any other updates to your itinerary I should know about?"
Well, if you have him on the line now… might as well ask. The chances he'll be in a better mood tonight are slim.
"Accord's mental state is deteriorating in these environments. His power is overloading him with violent thoughts, and he doesn't have anything like a 'safe place' to retreat to when it gets bad anymore. I want to give him a soulgem; Riley has proven that soul-based willpower can shut down power-induced intrusive thoughts."
Uriel's lidded stare bores into you for a long moment, before he slouches on his right elbow and uses that hand to cover his face.
"Does Piggot need to sign off on this, since he's working for her?"
"No sir. I made sure of that when I drew up the contract."
He sighs. "Of course you did."
As he thinks, you wonder if the explosive collapse of the high school's gymnasium can be heard through your microphone.
"When are you going to do it?"
You don't smile, because that might make him change his mind just out of spite.
"After the concert in Pittsburgh tonight. I'll be doing it in Tatsu's personal dimension."
That causes him to look up from his hand. "She'll let the gremlin in there?"
"I… plan on asking her about that when I see her."
Some genuine cheer creeps into his shadowed expression.
"Please let Tatsu know that she has my support if she wishes to keep the gremlin there permanently, will you? Accord as well."
You're doing a good impression of Uriel's own half-lidded, unimpressed stare.
"Of course, sir."
"Good," he snorts, reaching towards the camera. "Keep in touch."
The call flickers off. You sigh.
At your side, Accord turns just enough to side-eye you through his mask.
"Why have you not moved to replace him?"
You cross your arms across your armored chestplate, shaking your head.
"He's Old Guard in the PRT. Too many connections, the troops respect him, and the current short-list of replacements wouldn't believe half of what he's seen me do - I'd have to fight for every little thing all over again."
Turning back, he watches Prayer carry the crystal-encased forms of three unconscious capes into the highschool's ruined parking lot a few hundred yards away. The be-suited crime lord makes an unhappy sound of understanding.
"The balancing of power between gangs is not so different."
You consider the thought for a moment. "For now, maybe."
Prayer looks up from her pile of defeated parahumans. She nods, and you return the affirmation.
"But not for long."
***
The PRT, police, national guard, and ambulances roll in over the course of the next hour; it's the national guard that are the outliers, showing up nearly a half-hour after all the others. They, too, are strapped for manpower at the moment, but their delayed response isn't really a concern since they're only here to help transport those hostages without other places to go to other shelters.
Amusingly, it's the two ambulances that are largely superfluous, due to you and Prayer healing everyone - including the injured gang members and capes - back up to a level of health that most haven't had since well before the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived. The only medical concern that you left alone was one teenager a bit older than you with a desperate need of braces; sure, you could have probably fixed his teeth so the poor guy doesn't have a mouth like the remnants of a white picket fence after a tornado, but with nearly everyone watching (and thanking) you at the time… it could have been seen as a bit excessive to perform an elective surgery like that without a license or life-saving need.
As effective as your Omnitool Implants are, the soulsteel components of your charm lends any surgical efforts a much more… visceral bent than you suspect is truly necessary. Even if a bunch of the younger kids think your healing was "totally metal," most everyone preferred to wait for Prayer to heal them by the time you were done with your second patient.
You're not really sure what the problem is: all the blood ends up back where it should be when you're done!
… all they blood they need, at least. You have a sneaking suspicion your charm creates blood just so there's enough to leave some splattered around the surgery site at the end. Pushing that idle question to Iris through your familiar link just yields an enthusiastic "[EXPERIMENTATION]," unfortunately, so you hope you didn't just cause a problem for yourself whenever he reunites with Riley.
That isn't the only "dental work" you avoid; Accord and Prayer depart the scene just after the national guard arrive, catching a PRT humvee to go meet up with the Ambassadors and PRT troopers monitoring the presbyterian church a few blocks west in which the Teeth are holed up. Not that the psychotic gang is much of a threat at the moment, as your Time Stop trap currently has the entire structure frozen in place until everyone is ready to put The Butcher down for good.
And by "everyone" you mean "you," mostly. Sure, you estimate that you and Prayer can handle the eight psychopathic capes and their twenty-two unpowered gang members, the problem comes with The Butcher… or, rather, Butcher XVI.
A parahuman power that jumps to whomever killed its last host, carrying with it the powers and "voices" of all its previous hosts as well. More than one hero has tried to shoulder the burden, but in the end the host always finds themselves returning to lead The Teeth by taking up the mantle of The Butcher. The full details of what happens to the host's mind have never been clear, but it's resulted in "The Butcher" never receiving a Kill Order despite each incarnation eventually committing atrocities that would earn one.
Both you and Riley are on the same wavelength for what this means: there is so much potential in a power like that, if only there was a way to make it not drive the host insane! Sixteen (or more!) powers, all in one!
Unfortunately, knowing what you know, you suspect that somehow smothering or eliminating the "voices" would likely do the same to the powers that are carried over - Riley's gruesome history with reanimating dead capes (whose powers became less effective the less of a 'person' there was to control it) leads you to believe that the method the 'Butcher' shard uses to copying powers relies on a personality fragment to control it.
This had ultimately culminated in a rather morbid idea: exploit the Butcher power by having an Exaltation candidate kill the Butcher immediately before being converted, thus having the candidate linked to potentially two (or more, depending on the shard's mechanics) shards but before the Butcher shard could drive your candidate mad. Proposing the idea to Iris through your link, however, you'd been surprised at how vehement his reaction had been.
"[INFECTION]! [CORRUPTION]!"
You… didn't quite understood exactly what he meant, but you gathered that it was something to do with Autochthon's sickness likely not playing well with a corrupting, parasite-themed power.
That also put to rest Riley's idea that maybe one of your Assembly could deal the final blow on the current Butcher and then simply shrug off the Butcher shard through use of Industrial Survival Frame; if Iris is concerned that even Autochthon might not be able to handle the shard perfectly, there's no way you're going to expose one of your Assembly to it.
Since you suspect Saki imprisoning the Butcher permanently would cause the shard to jump to her, that leaves you with only a few options: keep the host of the Butcher shard observably "alive" but permanently restrained, or deal with the shard itself. This trial run of your Time Freeze trap has proven it works for the former method, but sending the Butcher to the Birdcage or to Cauldron would also suffice. Since you don't have a way to deal with shards directly that won't draw Scion's attention, the only other method for dealing with the shard itself is… Ciara.
The "role" of her shard, she told you during your first conversation, was to "take the tired, the wistful, and the recalcitrant fae whom had played their part... backstage, to await the final curtain call." Translated to normal speech: her power not only severs and collects connections to other shards, but prevents collected shards from looking for new hosts again.
Let Ciara out for just a minute or two... and the problem of The Butcher is solved.
Right.
That is one genie you are relatively certain won't fit back in the bottle, in more ways than one.
This wouldn't even be a consideration if the current Butcher was some previous Teeth member or other lunatic. Unfortunately, as with most things in your life, there is a… complication: Butcher XVI is Citrine. Accord's former right-hand assistant who sacrificed herself to allow Accord to flee Boston and join you in Philadelphia.
You could just stick the Butcher… Citrine in the same stasis pod that you used to keep Missy alive and unconscious (after some new hardware tweaks to account for the Butcher's inherited Brute rating, of course) and leave her there until Ciara is safe to let out, if just for a few moments. But… not dealing with the Butcher (the cape or the shard) definitively while the Simurgh is actively targeting you is as dangerous as leaving an active warhead just sitting in your backyard.
Ugh. And on top of that this stupid-
"What's wrong?"
Colin's tired, rumbling voice derails the downward spirals most of your trains of thought were going down. Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and focus on getting a hold of your temper without resorting to Clarity again today - can't afford to be robotic for the concert tonight.
Besides, you should be glad you noticed that this insurance company is denying claims more often if the claim has an obviously African-American name attached. Yes, it means you're going to need to go back through the thousands of claims they've denied to re-evaluate them yourself. Yes, it means you're going to need to gather enough evidence to make the company immediately settle - and fire every single staff member that was responsible for letting this happen - instead of wasting time and money with a court case.
"Sorry," you groan and stop pacing about the room, waving your Omnitool-enhanced hands to disperse the hard-light keyboard and monitor projecting from your armor's chestplate. With three tired steps, you fall back into the same chair as this morning and let your arms fall to your sides while staring absently at the white-tiled ceiling. "The better question is what isn't wrong these days."
Yes, you should be happy that you caught this now, instead of later down the line when it would have been even more work... and more suffering in the city in the interim.
Time to commandeer another of the empty quarantine rooms, requisition enough monitors and computers to fill it, and then build more orange-drones to work them all. Six monitors and PCs per wall, leave one wall for expansion… eighteen more, which make it a satisfyingly-even total of fifty. For now.
You stop one drone as you're mid-reply to the PHO thread about your take-down of the Resistors, minimize the window, then pull up the usual requisition form and start filling in blanks.
Back in the room with your actual body, the quarantined hero's eyes drift away as he grunts in understanding, marking the end of the first conversation you've had with him since you strolled into his room four hours ago. At a glance, he's started work on a more refined copy of the brain scanner that he and Riley finished when you left - you've already absorbed the completed version and are printing copies downstairs in your fabricators.
Thinking of her, Riley should be finishing up with today's therapy session in a few minutes. With the room on the top floor of the building, you can't actually reach it with your current default range - not that you have drones or anything controllable in there, for privacy's sake, but you've had one of your Mobile Sensory Drones parked atop the doorframe in its Ranged Adminstration Repeaters mode ever since Riley went in two hours ago.
If anyone asks, it's so that you can covertly extend your range to the roof without exposing the drone to open air.
"What isn't wrong?"
You blink.
Slowly tilting your head, you stare at the ghost of a smirk crossing Colin's haggard expression.
Opening your mouth, you consider… no, he's not cleared for that… or that… or that… and you can't talk about that outside of Saki's dimension…
… now that you think about it... have you ever talked about "normal" things with him? Something not immediately applicable to your efforts as a hero?
… without Dragon's prompting?
You close your mouth and frown in thought.
"I…" you start, eventually, "... tried... playing the piano again yesterday? On an... emulated keyboard? And wasn't... awful?"
Beyond the light whirr of air conditioning coming through the vent, the room is largely silent as he stares at you.
"I wasn't," you repeat, narrowing your eyes. "I can play the recording to prove it. I only missed half the notes this time."
Colin closes his eyes and gently sets down his tool and partially-assembled scanner handle, leaning back once his hands are clear and crossing his arms across his broad, muscular-...
You clear your throat and grit your teeth. Saki is to blame for this, somehow. You know it.
"I played the violin in school."
You don't bother hiding your surprise as your head snaps back around because-
"What?"
He nods, a genuine smile tugging through his beard, eyes lidded as his memories unfocus his gaze.
"Second chair, from when I started in seventh grade to graduation. First chair was always Sandra Park, one of those prodigies that doesn't need to bother practicing. Never managed to unseat her, even when I tried going to the local college after school to train with violinists that were attending there."
You can't imagine this is a lie, but something doesn't quite fit here.
"But... weren't Hero's apprentice? Did you still practice then?"
His smile droops a bit to become more wistful.
"No," he sighs, tilting his head slightly in further recollection. "He encouraged me to, saying that I should have a hobby, but... I considered it a distraction. Playing during band classes was enough to keep my chair, but I'd gotten good enough to never really need to worry about being unseated myself. I'm not sure Sandra even noticed I wasn't trying any more."
"Did anyone else know you played?"
He snorts, the smile blooming into a full grin that just barely manages to show teeth.
"Hero took me to train with the inaugural Wards team a few times, just before I joined the Protectorate. After one session, I made a hundred microscopic violins which played Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major on a loop. The next time I visited, whenever one of them complained about something, I planted a violin on their costume."
Colin shakes his head, closing his eyes sadly.
"For some reason, they never asked me to come back."
***
You have access to a number of methods of long-distances travel these days, whether it be the various flight- or teleport-capable parahumans, your own power armor, or the more mundane transport planes, cars, and trucks available through the PRT. Given your preference of self-reliance and need for control, you'd rather just fly to Pittsburgh - utilizing your armors recent super-sonic upgrades - and minimize time wasted travelling.
But while the PRT and Youth Guard are… tolerant of your solo trips to the Cradle, given that most of the time your trips there are emergency situations, there was actually more than a token resistance to your expressed desire to simply take to the air and go. Flying to the Cradle, after all, takes you near/over a number of populated and reinforcement-heavy cities, but flying to Pittsburgh directly means going over a long stretch of sparsely-populated - if not outright empty - land.
Perfect ambush territory, especially if your comms are blocked somehow.
Yes, you have a number of camouflaged bird- and bug-drones hidden around Iris that you can control through his inherent Shard of Perfect Administration extension capabilities; in a worst-case scenario, you can activate one of their satellite uplinks and call for help that way. Yes, being in a large, unpopulated area means that if if your life were truly in danger then Iris could dump his gathered Essence to teleport to you and bring out the "big guns" (your Vengeance armor, or his own powers) without needing to worry about collateral damage.
The downside of increasing the PRT's operational paranoia is that you can't reasonably turn down arguments like this. Besides, while you are confident that an ambush by anyone but an Endbringer or Scion himself wouldn't truly endanger you, one only has to look at the actions of the now-defunct Resistors, or the antics of The Teeth and The Fallen to see that there are plenty in the world still willing to lash out at you.
"So rather than think of it as a safety measure, I came around to see it as a time-saving precaution; rather than risk having to waste the whole evening dealing with some dumb ambush, I could accept the offer of travelling with a 'Show of Force' and take a half-hour longer to get where I'm going," you explain, waving your left hand at the small fleet of Dragon-controlled aircraft around your group of flying capes. "And given this whole thing is a PR show anyway, making a big entrance serves as a way to fill up my PR 'quota' with Glenn."
Legend barks a laugh, loud enough to produce an echo effect as the sound comes through your helmet's radio just a split-second before it finishes travelling through the few hundred feet of high-altitude air between you. A number of chuckles join the sound, as the other flyers from New York are more exposed to the Head of the PRT's Image department than most.
In New York, with such a large density of high rises, all flight-capable capes have to take classes on how to fly "heroically."
"I was waiting for Glenn to show up in your reasoning at some point," you see him grin, the light sheen of energy coating his white-and-blue-costumed body making his teeth shine even whiter, somehow. "We're honored that you managed to fit us into your schedule."
There's a few more snickers across the radio at Legend's playful ribbing, but you wince in embarrassment - barely managing to prevent yourself from fidgeting your hands and feet in shame, which would be a bad idea flying at hundreds of miles per hour as you are.
"Wh-... Err… I mean... it's not that I didn't want to travel with this group, it's just that I've got so much else-!"
"It's okay, Weaver," Legend interrupts, chuckling in good humor. "All of us have better things to do right now than spend a few hours at a concert. Just remember to tone down the cold logic when you're talking with the press… at least, if you really are trying to minimize your 'Glenn time'."
"Hey!" one of the younger male voices from the non-flying contingent interjects with mild affront. "Speak for yourself! I'm totally fine with being paid to go to a Bad Canary concert! Especially since I got out of Console duty for this!"
"Her tour comes to New York next week, Tailgate," another non-flier pipes up, the girl's voice unpleasantly nasal. "And you need to stop pushing Kernel into covering for you! What is this, the… sixth time in the last month? Seventh? Ugh, you're such a pig."
"Hey, it's not like I'm blackmailing her or anything! She always looks so happy to-"
"You know she's physically incapable of saying 'no'," she scoffs, "most of all to you."
"Wait," you blurt out, interrupting the back-and-forth as you start opening a secure line to the PRT's internal cape database in your HUD. "She can't say 'no' to people? Is that something caused by her power-?"
There's a moment of silence before the female voice scoffs out an exaggerated, mocking groan.
"Ugghhh. No. It's just a saying. I thought you were supposed to be smart."
Legend clears his throat loudly enough to clear the line.
"Petticoat, please. Be civil."
… well, since you already have it open, might as well check what Petticoat's deal is. Her power probably isn't forcing her be a bitch, but you've been surprised before.
Aaaaand nope. Not even a Thinker rating, just a mid-level Shaker power that lets her harden and control ribbons of cloth that she's touching.
You're about to look up the other Wards with you on this trip, when Tailgate's sly tone breaks the awkward silence that had fallen over the radio channel.
"Don't worry, Weaver, she's just jealous of your-"
"OH MY GOD TAILGATE YOU LITTLE-" Petticoat shrieks.
"MERCHANDISE!" the boy blurts out, hastily, and a quick application of essence to your eyes reveals the NASCAR-Driver-costumed teen is waving his hands to try to ward off a small army of snake-like ribbons streaming towards him. "I was gonna say 'merchandise'! I swear!"
Dragon's calm, disciplined voice echoes over the line. "Petticoat, please do not use your power inside the aircraft. The armor on the craft is strong, but I suspect your ribbons could punch through it easily."
That causes you to blink, as well as flag Petticoat's database entry for potential review for a rating upgrade.
The pale brunette in question pales even further, before quickly retracting the white and red ribbons into the folds of her elaborate dress while muttering scandalized apologies. Tailgate doesn't quite relax, however, keeping his hands up as he glances around at the other Protectorate members in the cabin.
"... because your action figures always have a much better chest than hers do."
"I'LL KILL YOU!"
Tuning out the squabble in the Dragoncraft, you turn your head and stare meaningfully at Legend. Your helmet's cover is down so he can't see your eyes, but he gets the message anyway judging by the chagrined shrug he gives you in response.
You're saved from any further adolescent antics by the appearance of downtown Pittsburgh's soot-covered skyline - your group descending through the dreary cloudcover that's blocking the Steel City's last few rays of twilight. Despite the black char covering practically every building - not all of the city's steel factories closed like they apparently did in Earth-Aleph - the office, store, and street lights still manage to give a facsimile of beauty to the run-down town.
You only saw Brockton Bay from the skies once, but for a split-second you could almost believe you were coming home.
A backhanded compliment that you will certainly not repeat to anyone here tonight.
The comparison does not stretch to your more driving concern these days, however, as Pittsburgh cape scene is almost entirely the opposite of Brockton Bay's former problem; despite just over three-hundred thousand people claiming the city and outlying areas their home, there's barely a dozen known capes that operate in and around Pittsburgh.
There isn't even a dedicated Protectorate base here, let alone a major PRT department. In fact, the PRT doesn't even operate out of its own office, as it shares space with the local Pittsburgh police.
It's such an outlier that you're now thinking you should ask Contessa or Doctor Mother if Cauldron has something to do with this bizarre lack of capes, especially since the inhabitants of such an economically-troubled metropolitan city should be far more likely to be under the kinds of stress that induce Trigger Events. Is it possible that there are the expected number of triggers, yet the new parahumans leave the city for greener pastures? Brockton Bay both created and drew in more capes because of its abnormally-large parahuman population, so perhaps the reverse also holds true?
Something to look into, as your immediate thought is that it would encourage setting up 'cape towns' that are little more than Wild West-style lawless battlegrounds, which would then drastically reduce the villain populations of nearby major cities.
Your group passes over downtown Pittsburgh proper, and over the concert's originally-planned venue of Point State Park. The "Love Conquers All" relief concert for Philadelphia's (... and Camden's) recovery was announced only five days ago, and they'd only expected maybe ten thousand to purchase tickets and express interest in attending.
That was, until you'd had Saki help you get the word out, and suddenly they had enough sales to fill a baseball stadium with over forty thousand attendants.
Glenn had begged you to switch gears - just for a day or two - and turn the industrial-sized fabricators you've assembled in the PRT HQ's basement towards cranking out merchandise, since the PRT hasn't been able to keep up with the demand expected for this event.
Your fabricators are running around-the-clock, but drones and other tech for yourself are only a fraction of what they've mainly been creating. No, even if merchandise would get the PRT funds to help later, the people of Philadelphia and Camden desperately need - right now - the water containers, food packages, medical supplies, power generators, sleeping bags, insulated blankets, and reinforced collapsible tents that you've been churning out as quickly as the trucks can deliver the raw materials.
Which, of course, means that Glenn arranged for Dragon to bring enough materials for you to build one of your fabricators here, and produce the "Limited Edition" merchandise on-site and on-demand.
It's shameless, but the entire point of this concert is to make as much money as possible for charity, so you try not to feel too dirty about it.
Turning slightly right, your group - consisting of four heavily-laden (and polished) Dragoncraft, eight famous New York Protectorate members, two star Wards, Legend, and you - drains its speed as you near where the U.S. Steel Park rests against the northern shore of the Ohio River.
"... so let's make some noise for…"
You barely make out the woman's broadcasted voice for a split-second as the sudden roar of cheers drowns her out - your group now just becoming visible to the assembled mass of bodies filling the stadium. Pushing out your vision, you note the dozens of projected TVs zooming in on your approaching squadron, so you imagine that those sitting in the higher-altitude seats are also seeing you now as well.
Slowing down even further, Dragon spins up the engines so they start pumping out brilliant waves of golden energy. Legend begins glowing in earnest, while changing his flying stance to 'stand' straight up and hold his arms out while fireworks-like lasers begin to erupt from his upward-turned hands. The five other fliers shoot balls of light or - in the case of the Tinker, Patriot - actual fireworks to go with Legend's bombastic display.
Adjusting your spacing in the air so that you're in the center of the whole display, you take a deep breath, allowing the other heroes a full thirty seconds of showboating…
… and then you pump essence into your anima, flaring it as brilliantly as you can.
Smoke explodes from your back and legs, suffocating all other light while simultaneous illuminating the countryside as uncountable arcs of blue, white, and black lightning tear through roiling clouds. Out and up, the fog billows until mere seconds later it fills the horizon and towers at least two miles into the air.
Opening the direct audio channel you've been given to the stadium's speakers, you throw your arms wide as you absorb your power armor - letting the swirling mass of insect drones you're guiding up from the roof of the Dragoncraft catch and carry you forward, as if riding the clouds of your anima.
For only a split-second, you consider every single person in that crowd to be your enemy. That they must be cowed.
"PITTSBURGH!"
The fevered roar of the crowd has almost instantaneously choked itself to near-silence as tens of thousands of people stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed as a mountain-sized mechanical spider made of wickedly-sharp soulsteel crawls out of the cloud and rears back.
But they are not the enemy. They are friends, allies, and valued citizens... they are the reason you fight. They are why you win.
"ARE. YOU. READY. TO. ROCK?!"
The design weaver screams, a hissing, peeling sound of divine victory.
Somehow, the crowd manages to drown it out.
***
It says something about your life these days that the lack of an immediate, disruptive attack on the concert surprises you more than anything else.
Allowing your totemic anima to fade away to a more reasonable, billowing cloud that follows you down, your group splits up in order to pursue your various objectives - Legend and the other capes fly down to the stage to make some opening speeches, while you and the Dragoncraft break away to a section on the far side of the covered baseball field so that you can get to work.
You absently pay attention to the musical performances when they eventually kick into gear, if only to ensure their success via spreading your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade to each band in turn. While your own musical skills are lacking, you count as "helping" them for the purposes of the charm by sending some drones into the mixing/lighting booth to help the technicians there. Your limited range means you couldn't spread your swarm through the entire crowd and stadium, so you keep six of your range-extending Mobile Sensory Drones deployed during the entire event: one in the booth, three near the three major entrances/exits, and two moving above and through the stadium in randomized patterns.
For the "roaming" swarms, the Mobile Sensory Drones can't actually move when they're extending your range; to get around this, you fastened them to a bird-drone each and then piloted the bird-drones around as glorified chauffeurs. It's a set-up that's worked quite well in Philly, but here the most you ever caught is a few incidents of… "passion"... in the less-populated areas of the stadium.
You broke up every couple you run across by making sounds like someone was approaching… and you definitely are never going to tell Saki about what you saw.
The rest of your attention, swarm, and essence was dedicated to setting up and manning your van-sized, merchandise-spewing fabricator; it's less than an hour's work putting it together from Dragon's provided supplies, thanks to the initial prototype you still have stuck in your Technomorphic Integration Engine storage serving as a super-speed instruction manual.
Thankfully, you're spared from doing anything more PR-wise until you finish the van-sized molecular fabricator just in time for the first big break after the opening two bands.
Not even three months ago, you would have been a nervous wreck - or simply catatonic - at the idea of taking center-stage in front of a live audience of forty-thousand and a televised/online audience in the dozens of millions.
Now, you barely manage to contain your impatience to smile for the camera.
You easily repeat the inspirational speech (some well-written "We're stronger together" propaganda) that Glenn sent you on the way here, but you only Tatsu and Gloria Sato's off-stage advice in your earpiece allows you to not sound (according to them) like you're only a few seconds away from reaching through the camera and strangling anyone who doubts the strength of the PRT. Synergy-Promoting Upgrade pulls its weight here, as well, as you instinctively understand and execute their suggestions practically as the words are leaving their mouths.
Usually the advice is some form of "smile again," "stop staring at the camera," or "less glow."
You can see yourself through your own drones, for Maker's sake! You're not that bad!
Whether their advice is truly needed or not, the crowd's explosive cheer after you finish indicates that they ate it up. As you float gracefully back to put the finishing touches on your fabricator, you note a quick email from Glenn saying that the call-in and online donations are surging. Not surprising, since the televised version of your speech undoubtedly has some additional post-effect graphics and photos of Philadelphia thrown in to really pull at heartstrings (and pursestrings).
The PRT has these things down to an art.
Setting up the tables and posters showcasing what's available for sale is a matter of seconds… and then the crowd is upon you.
The selection of memorabilia ranges from promoting the PRT, the concert, Philadelphia, and all the capes that either are here or helped fight against the Nine. T-shirts, hats, tank tops, armbands, headbands, lanyards, keyrings, posters, and action figures, the list of available merchandise is nearly two-hundred items long, and you're occasionally getting new emails from Glenn to add to the list as time goes on - most notably a huge, foil-covered, holographic poster of your dramatic arrival to this concert. It's… pretty amazing, actually. You make one for yourself to hang in your lab later.
Sadly, Accord and Defiant don't have any merchandise. You considered making some up on the spot, but… probably best not to poke that bear.
You feel a little guilty that anything even remotely related to you sells far better than anything else, especially since Prayer's best item - a rather impressive action figure - falls behind the t-shirt made to look like the wearer is wearing Legend's costume. Even more awkward is that Glenn is insistent that you offer Tatsu and Uzu merch… and the Uzu merch sells just marginally better than Tatsu's (even though they're identical).
Your vacationing friends - and the two Wards that came from New York - stop by just as the first major rush is starting to slow down, everyone in full costume for the first time since they started their trip three days ago. So, of course, before they can even get out a word of greeting you set out another row of tables on the side and get them signing product. And then you mark up the prices for everything even more, because now everything will be signed.
Your friends are not as enthused as you are by this, but the crowd surges again - you even see a whole bunch of people with bags full of merchandise get back in line again.
However, a quick suggestion to Tatsu gets her to let Crushing Grasp out of her dimension to show him off; Tatsu is still yet to be revealed as an Alchemical, so you make up a cover story that he's a particularly intelligent drone of yours that you've assigned to guard your friends. Perhaps because it gives him a chance to be lavished over by an awed crowd, he goes along with the slightly-insulting cover without any fuss; even though your cover story didn't allow him to speak, the cat-sized Crushing Grasp is more than happy to use the golden-ink pens you give him to sign whatever (and, in a few cases whomever) is put in front of him with his Old Realm name.
Despite the grumbling, everyone seems to be in much better spirits than when you saw them off. You had worried that this concert's focus on the devastation of the Slaughterhouse Nine's attack would rub on raw wounds, but things almost look… normal. Clockblocker's joking around with Broadcast, Kid Win is showing off the improvements to his armor, Gallant is playing up the 'knight' aspect of his costume and persona, Geode is chatting away with Xylophone nodding along, and Mjolnir and Tranfusion are doing the big-and-silent/small-and-talkative stereotype they're known for in public.
And Tatsu...
She was visibly nervous when the group came over, but you'd pegged it as still being unused to such large crowds without her sister around. Except, after you extracted her familiar from her pocket dimension, you noticed her demeanor change: instead of being visibly nervous about the crowd, she appeared to be casting more than a few nervous eyes at Crushing Grasp whenever he got more than an arm's length away.
For the first thirty minutes or so you dismissed it as (justified) concern that he might react poorly to someone insulting him in some unknown way, but when you accidentally met her eyes after a particularly nervous glance, you got a weak smile that asked: 'Umm… Do you trust me?'
While the immediate answer should be 'yes'... that she has to ask at all raises alarms in your head. Is it something about Crushing Grasp? Does she want him to expand to full size? No, that would blow your cover story and it doesn't feel like that's the problem. What else-...
Wait.
Stepping closer, you keep your face neutral and cover your mouth with a hand as you whisper in her ear:
"Where's... C?"
She smiles, covering her mouth and looking down as if you had told her a joke... then glances at Crushing Grasp.
...
All across the stadium, your drones flinch as you desperately hold yourself back from strangling your Assembly-mate.
Your visions of the various castes had showed a worrying trend of Starmetal-caste Alchemicals tending towards what would be charitably called... "schemes." While you're glad that the Saki has been growing out of her wallflower personality and is rapidly shedding her life-long dependence on Sakura…
Calm.
Slowly backing up, you take a few deep breaths and let a tiny bit more Clarity creep in than you might have truly needed.
You gave Saki full ownership of Ciara's… rehabilitation, and Glaistig Uaine is not currently turning this concert into a bloodbath. Neither is the Faerie Queen currently attempting to tear you or Saki in half.
You discretely raise your right hand in a fist and hold your left index finger sticking out above it, giving her a questioning glance at the same time.
A litte of the nervousness falls away as she beams and shakes her head. 'Nope!'
You blink, sigh, say a few prayers for the Maker to save you from crazy Starmetals, and go back to work.
Minutes pass.
The signature you're scribbling on your own merchandise might be a little more… jagged than before. No one else seems to notice, or care.
Finally, what feels like hours later but is barely one, the headlining act - Bad Canary - is up next. Your friends make a big show of encouraging everyone currently in line to take a break from trying to run you out of product to go watch the only cape-led show of the night, but it's clear to everyone that it's mostly just so they have a legitimate excuse to go watch the performance themselves.
You watch them go, waving as Crushing Grasp jumps to Tatsu's shoulder and departs with them. He keeps the pens, though.
It takes everything you have not to grab the departing Saki and scream at her to stop being so reckless. That she should shove the insane, mass-murdering cape back in her prison before the PRT catches on and loses any semblance of trust they had in her to keep her prisoners contained.
Hypocritical of you, it may be, but it's not like you take walks in the park with Riley-... okay, there was that one time for testing a scent-tracking algorithm for the dragon-drone brains...
And Ned… and Accord…
...
You are a terrible role-model.
***
You trust Saki. Logically, you can understand that her preferences regarding… illicit material… might not always align with yours, but when things get serious she's already shown that she has the will and cunning that befits a true Chosen of Autochthon.
But the Faerie Queen making an appearance here (or anywhere) would be a catastrophic blow to your Assembly's credibility and the PRT's faith in your judgement calls. Not only that, but it could result in a significant body count by the time she's either re-captured or put down for good.
So.
Trust… but verify.
Even though Glenn's going to have your hide for it, you shut down the merchandise booth just as Bad Canary and her band are about to take the stage. After apologizing to the small mob currently waiting in line - and reiterating your friends' previous speech about supporting the cape-led band - you direct your swarm to lock up the fabricator and cover the whole booth with a tarp. Leaving the booth unattended would be simply asking for disaster, so before you walk away you navigate one of your roaming security swarms to stay behind and buzz ominously at anyone getting too close.
You're almost out of feedstock for merchandise, anyway, even despite people giving you the shirts off their backs so that you could have the fabricator turn the shirts into new, Weaver-branded ones. When that had first started, you made very clear that you would NOT be making any kinds of pants, dresses, skirts, or underwear in exchange for re-made versions.
Not that it stopped people from throwing those kinds of garments at you anyway. Some even had phone numbers or email addresses written on them. Ugh.
Flying would attract more attention than you want, so you are forced to walk ("like us peasants" as Dennis once said) through the crowd - though most give you a large berth once they notice your approach, since you're in your full armor and letting your drone swarm drift around your shoulders and back like a shimmering cape.
Cameras flash, your name is called so many times it blends together into a dull roar, and people look torn between approaching you for autographs or jumping over their friends to get out of the way.
Before today, you'd never been to a music concert or a baseball game, so you're still having difficulty getting past the surreal nature of being surrounded by so many people crammed together… having fun. Perhaps it's a byproduct of effectively becoming a hivemind unto yourself, but walking through the throngs of fans cheering and waving… it feels... wrong, somehow. Almost... claustrophobic?
The legs of your Shard of Perfect Administration itch while a tremor runs down your body at the thought of so many unknowns in such close proximity. It would be easier, safer if you could...
No.
NO!
You grit your teeth hard enough to throw sparks in your helmet, and for the long moment the world around you loses focus as you shove those thoughts out of your head. You can't risk turning the charm off, you've got too much going on right now… but you are sorely tempted anyway.
Breathe in.
Breathe… out.
… better.
Urgh. Hopefully that kind of impulse is just a byproduct of your charm's spirit purging lingering traces of... whatever Vision of Vengeance did, because the impulse is beyond useless: you can't even turn on the submodule that would allow you to control humans! And even if you could, that would be… disgusting. Against everything you stand for!
....-ise again, you can't deny
Watch me as I take the sky!
… you start moving again, slipping through the last parts of the crowd between you and your friends with a little more force when people don't pay attention to your approa- oh.
How long has Bad Canary been playing?
Sur~viiiive!
Tomorrow comes! We'll be as one!
Sur~viiiive!
Hrm.
Shoving that concern away for later, you dip under the cordon between the general public and where the Wards are standing up from their seats a few dozen feet away from the left-front of the stage. Oddly, there's an empty chair on the end of the row, so you slide up and stand in front of it as if you were supposed to be there all along - retracting your drone swarm into your armor at the same time.
This ache, this wound
Will never heal, I cannot feel
I'm blind, I'm dumb, I'm lost again.
Mjolnir, in his Thor-but-fully-armored costume, notices you standing next to him before anyone else realizes you've arrived and turns to give you questioning head-tilt. Pausing slightly, you give a quick point to the attractively-dressed, all-female band playing not twenty feet from him and raise an eyebrow.
He shrugs.
You shrug in response. Not surprising, given his preference for listening to opera through high-quality headphones whenever he stayed overnight at Wards HQ. This is all probably a bit… louder than the silent giant enjoys, too, given the giant speakers hanging almost directly over your group's head.
Your love, so near
I know it burns
But in your arms I'll never fear!
Nonplussed, he turns back to at least feign polite enjoyment of the performance just as the lead singer, Paige Mcabee, grips the microphone with both hands and screams out the final chorus-
Sur~viiiive!
Your Industrial Survival Frame sparks across your body, shrugging off the mental effect paired with Paige's harmonic tone.
That… is… alarming. You'd read that she had a Master-like effect of projecting emotions through her song, but that felt considerably more like… well, like a command.
Instantly, you switch your trains of thoughts to scanning everyone around you, Wards or no, for mental alterations-...
You stop bothering after the first eight come up positive.
Thankfully, everything you're seeing is extremely minor; you'd miss it if you weren't specifically looking for changes within the last few seconds. Even your limited medical knowledge suggests that just a good night's sleep will probably cause it to wear off like it never happened.
Oblivious to your concerns, the crowd's already fever-pitched cheering erupts into a near-ecstatic cacophony as the guitarists close the song with a decisive riff, Paige herself grinning madly as her blond, feather-festooned hair whips about from the breeze.
...
… you're going to go back over her song lyrics later, not because she has disturbing visual similarities to the Simurgh but more that-... okay, yes, it's totally because of that.
Thankfully, the end of the song allows you to dip down and stealthily dash over to Tatsu, who is sitting-but-actually-standing between Gallant and Broadcast. Just as everyone starts to make noises of "Weaver?!" in surprise at your appearance, you bring your hands together in a wedge and slide in between Broadcast and Tatsu, then glare at the attention-loving part-time radio jockey to scoot over.
The taller boy frowns, and you see his eyes through his half-mask narrow in suspicion.
"Hey!" he huffs out loudly, poking you in your armored breastplate with a white-gloved finger. "You can't fool us, imposter! The real Weaver never stops working in order to have fun!"
The ham he is, the mock accusation attracts enough attention to earn some laughs from your friends and the civilians in the surrounding seats.
You give him a scalding glare in return.
"Do you want ants in your pants? Because this is how you get ants in your pants."
Despite the increased laughter this generates, Broadcast only frowns even more mightily at your threat before placing his fists on his hips dramatically.
"And the real Weaver would never sink to harming her friends! Begone, fa-!"
The bombastic Latin-American Ward abruptly turns into a statue, his voice cutting out as he ceases to experience the passage of time.
Clockblocker's fully-masked form leans forward to blankly stare at you past Broadcast's statuesque self.
"... Get me Canary's autograph and we're even."
You sigh and roll your eyes.
"Fine."
Ignoring the arm-pump and cheer from the time-stopping Striker, you turn back to see Tatsu covering the exposed part of her mouth to stop herself from laughing too loudly.
You try to smile, but the shift in Saki's eyes means the attempt isn't successful.
"I need to speak with you about something before you all leave tonight…" you whisper just enough so the words don't get lost in the press of cheers filling the air. Deliberately maintaining eye contact, you subtly tilting your head towards Crushing Grasp. "Not about that. Can we jump away for a few seconds?"
Her deep brown eyes search your face for a long moment, hope warring with doubt in her own expression.
"Okay," she sighs, before turning briefly around to glance at Gallant. "We'll be right back!"
The empath's knight-like helmet pulses with white light once, but he nods quickly as you hear him chuckle and wave the two of you away.
"It's alright. I'll save your seats."
Tatsu giggles quietly in good humor, then turns back to grab your armored left forearm and-
Urk.
Hastily, you drop your Industrial Survival Frame just as Saki pulls you into her personal dimension with barely a whisper of displaced air.
Even if the transition hadn't been so abrupt, the looming presence pervading the empty, black horizon of Saki's dimension always puts you on the back foot as you try to regain your bearings.
You are extremely glad that you've programmed your drones to simply hover in place if you lose control of them. Hopefully you'll be done here before anyone notices that the merchandise stall isn't actually guarded anymore...
"You're getting quicker at that," you say in Old Realm, clearing your throat to cover the awkwardness of the teleport.
Crushing Grasp, still perched atop Saki's costumed shoulder, huffs indignantly. "Well, I should hope so! I've been ensuring that she practice at least a half an hour before bed each night!"
"Mmm," Saki grunts, crossing her arms across her stomach while trying not to look nervous herself. On her shoulder, Crushing Grasp "So…?"
You hold up a hand.
"I do have something else to talk to you about, but first: Ciara? Can you hear me?"
Both Saki and Crushing Grasp freeze for a moment, before a small, hoarse voice drifts out of the mechanical scorpion's body without his mandibles moving.
"... yes, Herald. Your presence reaches me."
Saki puts on the 'kicked puppy' look, causing you to flinch. "Going back and forth is really disorienting for her, Taylor! I didn't want to tell you 'no' before but…"
You close your eyes, holding up both hands as if you're either going to reach out to strangle her or hold your own head in exhaustion.
"Saki, Ciara isn't supposed to leave at all! Do you-..."
Breathe out… breathe in…
"Do you at least have a plan if she fights her way out of Crushing Grasp? Or if she just teleports away?"
Crushing Grasp makes an offended sound as he bristles, but Saki beats him to the denial.
"She won't!" Saki declares, stomping her foot in such a way that the entire dimension echoes with a resonating boom. "She's got the Dragonsuit in there with her, I gave her an eighth-dose of Regulator-Issue Tranquilizer so her blood pressure won't spike easily, and a full dose of Dutiful Militat Formula so she can ignore her shard's visions while she's out there. But all that doesn't matter because she gave me her word - she never breaks her word."
You grunt. "Did you make sure she won't?"
Even behind her mask, you see her shock.
"What?! No!" Saki denies, reeling back as if you'd just slapped her. "No! We're not supposed to mess with the heads of people that might be Exalted later!"
Grimacing, you tentatively reach out and place your left hand on her right arm. "Saki, I'm... not… sure we're going to have enough time for Ciara to be a safe choice-"
"Pfff," she huffs, letting a burst of air through her mouth in a mocking half-laugh. "What about Alexandria? Have you even talked with her about conversion since we healed her? And Accord-"
You take a step back and hold up both hands. "Wait, Saki, stop. We don't have time to go over this right now, but Accord is actually what I wanted to talk with you about: I need to give him a soulgem tonight, after the concert."
The costumed Mover blinks at the seeming non-sequitur, but you see the gears turning in her head as her eyes begin to narrow when she puts the pieces together. "O-okay… but why-? Oh! You want to do it in here?"
You nod. "Right, after the concert I want us to teleport back, grab the equipment, Accord…"
You pause, then carefully say: "... and Riley."
Saki's mouth snaps shut as her eyes harden. Crushing Grasp's gleaming eyes narrow, giving you a dangerous look.
"Can you not perform this procedure yourself, Administrator? What good is served by exposing Warden to that demon-childe unnecessarily?"
"I should be able to do it by myself, yes," you sigh. "I've absorbed it with my charm, so I know exactly how it works. Iris designed it with Riley in mind as the operator, though, and she knows what it's like to go through the procedure herself. I also want to give them the full background on Entities and shards, since I'll need both their help on that front in the future - and that's a discussion I can only have here, or in a Cauldron base."
Listening to your explanation, Saki hunches slightly and digs her fingers into the costume lining of her upper arms. Her breathing is strained for a long while, but eventually her eyes drift back up to meet yours.
"Only if I get to imprison her, after."
You hold her gaze, until her human disguise eventually forces her to blink - only then do you close your own eyes and allow your resigned sigh to escape.
"I was going to ask you to hold Accord for the night, letting your charm heal him while also keeping him from experiencing the nightmares and pain. I… guess you can keep Riley for the night, too."
You know that's not what she meant, and her narrowed eyes means she knows you know.
Crushing Grasp nudges her neck with his right claw's 'elbow', and she turns her head enough for them to have a silent stare-conversation for almost a full minute. A conversation that ends with him crossing his claws in an impatient manner, and Saki turning back to you with a bit more steel in her spine and fire in her eyes.
"Fine. But I want you to talk with Ciara after those two are locked up. She's made a lot of progress, and she'd be way better for the Assembly than anyone else you've talked about."
Keeping your face relatively neutral, you nod. "That's… fair. Though… what are your thoughts on Armsmaster?"
Eyes widening for a split-second, Saki's eyes drift away as she purses her lips in thought.
"He… was a total mess when I was done fixing what the Simurgh did. And he and Kali… ah-" she pauses, a blush blooming across what's visible of her face before she brings both hands to her mouth and coughs loudly. "R-right, that was bad. Wrong. Ahem. So... I think Prayer wouldn't want him, too. And he totally would try to tell you what to do all the time, like Alexandria."
Leaning back, you cross your arms again and give her a speculative nod.
"Maybe, but I think you should check his head again when you get back. He's been acting much more subdued and… well, humble since then. Did you do anything that would have caused that?"
"I don't… think so?" she shrugs, before closing her eyes and scrunching up her face in thought. "I don't have your super-memory, so I can't remember every tiny detail of what I saw and did, but it was pretty clear what was caused by the Simurgh and what was his own problems."
Opening her eyes again, she lets out a breath and nods. "Let me know if anything weird happens, but if that's all that's wrong he should be fine until I get back."
"I will. Thank you, Saki-"
"The songbird, Warden," Ciara's small, tenuous voice calls out - causing Saki's eyes to widen dramatically while she straightens up with a squeak of panic.
"Taylor, the concert!" she blurts out, grabbing your arm again as she spins around while the massive portal behind the two of you bursts to life with a distorted image of your former spot in the audience.
"Uh, Saki, wait-" you manage, trying to resist the pull-
"There's no time!"
And then you're, somehow, unbalanced by Saki's tug - tripping and falling through the portal, only to land sprawling, face-first into your seat. Saki, of course, stands by and looks on in mock-horror... as every available camera has apparently been pointed at your group while Paige has making some kind of speech between songs.
"...-oise for the heroes… of… Philadelphia…?!"
Sigh.
When you'd asked Saki for help on appearing less "terrifying" and more "relatable"... this is not what you were expecting.
But it is probably what you deserve.
***
Stepping into the converted bus, you note that it's significantly more cluttered with fast-food trash and shopping bags than you'd expect from a-... wait, right. Rock stars.
"Oh!" A frazzled, sweaty Paige Mcabee pops up from one of the reclining seats near the front of the bus, surprise and cheer temporarily dispersing the obvious exhaustion tugging at her features. "Weaver! You came!"
You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow at the short blonde, the suffocating noise of the emptying stadium cutting out as the bus' door closes behind you.
"You sent a team of five bodyguards. I don't need to have worked with a mob boss to know that means 'right now.'"
She pales, gaping like a fish for a split second before she steps forward in a desperate, apologetic plea.
"Ohmygosh, no! I-I only told one of them to go ask you if you could come see me if you had the time! I knew you were busy, but maybe you'd swing by to see me whenever you finished with that factory you made!"
Some of the tension drains out of your posture as you let go of the anger from having your timetable shifted around.
"You should talk with your bodyguards, then," you sigh, shaking your head while you force a half-smile. "Anyway… it's nice to meet you, and thank you for performing on such short notice, but I do have a lot I still need to get done tonight - is there something I can help you with?"
The twenty-something blonde winces slightly at your mention of her bodyguards, but steps forward and offers her hand - which you take - while smiling tiredly and nodding her head. The motion sends her feather-infested hair twitching, more than the motion would do for a normal human.
"No, no, it's just-... it's an honor to meet you! You're THE Weaver! You're so important and awesome and heroic and you didn't even look bad when you fell before even when that's always been my biggest fear on stage and- and I'm just some silly girl singing dumb songs for fun! I could never do even a tiny part of what you've done to help everyone, not just the people in Philadelphia!"
Her voice is weary, but the genuine awe and emotion… it's not the first time you've heard the sentiment tonight (or even the thousandth time) but… it does cause your smile to be a little less strained.
You keep staring at her as she continues to shake your hand, though, trying to drive home your point…
"Oh! Right!" she blinks, pulling away from the handshake she's been leading for well over a ten seconds. "You're so busy, I'm sorry! I always get a little... bird-brained after shows."
She laughs and the self-deprecating pun, waving absently at her head as she turns to start rooting around in a old Chevalier-themed backpack on the table next to her former seat. You just grunt, shoving down a few of your spare thoughts that wonder if she'll be dumbed down enough to fall under your control.
"So, yes, I did have something I needed to talk with you about," she goes on, her voice gaining a hint of nervousness as she continues to search through the bag. "Did you… hear about my arrest in February?"
"Mmm," you hum, smile sliding away in concern. "Your boyfriend accused you of Mastering him? Weren't the charges dropped when testing revealed he was lying?"
She pauses in her search, but then finds what she's looking for and turns back around-
- only to flinch hard at the sight of your glowing scowl.
"You did Master him, didn't you? I could feel it when you sang, tonight - you can implant commands."
Pale and shrinking away from you, Paige grips the burner phone she's uncovered from her backpack.
"I-I didn't-..." she gulps, screwing her eyes shut for a moment before taking a deep breath to steady herself and look back at you with pleading eyes. "L-look, I… it was all screwed up, and I'm so so sorry about what happened, but… I think the PRT was going to try to send me to the Birdcage. For one accident... that got fixed, too!"
As your features obviously reveal how patently ridiculous that accusation sounds, she barges on just as you're opening your mouth to respond.
"I know, now, yes! I never knew I could make someone do anything, I'd never even tried or tested it before! That's wrong!" she cringes, obviously disgusted with herself, before turning back to you and thrusting out the burner phone for you to take. "But that's not why I wanted to talk to you! Here, this is for you!"
You stare at the burner phone, cursing internally: By the Maker, if this is another shady conspiracy trying to rope you in, Paige is going to need a new bus.
"... who gave you this?"
The flatness of your tone causes her to gulp, but she rallies admirably.
"Listen, I know… you probably don't like the Elite-"
You spin around. "We're done here."
"No, please! PLEASE! Wait! Let me explain!"
You freeze, stilled by the desperation in her voice… and surprised that you don't feel your Industrial Survival Frame sparking to shrug off her power. Most untrained parahumans almost reflexively use their power when pushed like this, so that she didn't...
Slowly, you turn around and meet her tear-filled, emerald-green eyes.
After you hold the stare for longer than a few seconds, she catches on and hastily takes a step forward to place the phone in your hand.
"They saved me, Weaver! I couldn't afford the legal bills, and I was going to have to get a state-provided lawyer, and-... then they just helped. They didn't even expect me to join, pay them back, swear some evil oath or anything! I mean, they started because the PRT screwed over a bunch of capes in show business in California, right? To protect Rogues like me!"
"Mmn," you grunt, clenching your fingers around the cheap plastic phone. "Maybe. But they're a crime racket now." You narrow your eyes again. "They had to have asked for something in return."
Paige squirms a bit, giving a half-shrug to your venom-filled tone. "I mean… yeah? But it was just that they wanted me to pass on a message or two sometimes."
...and serve as a walking advertisement to draw other, less-public Rogues into their fold, you don't immediately counter.
Your eyes flicker to the phone. "What's the message, then?"
She blinks, surprised by your grudging acceptance, before a room-brightening smile erupts across her face.
"Really?! O-okay! Well, they just wanted to to talk with you - you can press '1' on that phone and then 'Call' and someone should answer! They said it was a short message, so it shouldn't take much longer!"
Flipping the phone open, punching the specified keys, and bringing it to your ear in a single smooth motion, you keep meeting Paige's relieved eyes with your own flat stare as the phone starts ringing.
Four rings in, there's a slight click as the other side picks up.
"Heh. Knew she was good for it."
The phone's plastic creaks as you manage to restrain yourself from crushing it into powder.
"Bastard Son," you sneer. "Hello again. Get out of my city. Goodbye."
"Eeh, wait wait wait wait- I got something for ya," the mass-murdering Elite enforcer calls out just before you manage to crush the 'End Call' button. "You're gonna wanna hear this."
You keep staring at Paige, who blinks at your naming of the Elite bigwig in confusion. Not entirely surprising: Bastard Son's horrendous body count isn't something widely known outside of PRT circles, due to the Elite's own PR efforts.
"... then talk."
There's a brief pause, then the smug psychopath huffs a one-note laugh.
"Smart girl, heh. Right. Found some 'a them Fallen pokin' their noses around the place."
Your eyes drift away from Paige, then you turn fully to face the wall.
"Which ones? Where?"
"Mmmm…" he ponders aloud for a moment, before snorting. "Nevermind, not as smart as I thought."
Maker, you are going to give this human stain to Riley whenever you catch him.
"Right. How could I forget," you grit out, "'If You're Good At Something, Never Do It For Free'."
He laughs. "See, this is why we can work, Weaver. You don't make me repeat myself."
Ignoring the byplay, you reason out his motives aloud. "You wouldn't be calling if this wasn't something time-critical. I'm going to find them - and you - eventually."
"Got it one. Offer's still open if you want a place with us, you know?"
"... If you're expecting mercy? Don't."
"Heh. Sure thing, babe. Not interested, then?"
You almost spit out a negative just on reflex, but… as much as you hate to admit it, he's not an idiot. The Elite didn't get to be the second-biggest cape organization in the US (just behind the PRT) by being incompetent.
"... Can I have a moment to talk to my superiors?"
"Pff," he mockingly sputters, "'Superiors'? We ain't dumb. You run the show. Besides, this is a… limited-time offer, get me?"
You sigh, briefly considering pushing your still-healing Shard of Perfect Administration enough to find Chevalier or Miss Militia, amass a swarm, and relay the question… but no, Bastard Son isn't going to let you play for that much time.
"The dead aren't worth much to me, Bastard Son. Tell me what you have and I'll tell you what it's worth."
The PRT doesn't have a photo of his real face, but you can imagine the smirk stretching across it.
"Nah. How's this? You're a busy girl, so… Four months, you find our guys, you leave 'em be, and we'll hand over any Fallen we run over."
"Run-?" Wait, no, he probably meant that.
"Heh."
You sigh again. "Why bother?"
A bit of the sociopathic humor drains from his voice, revealing some of jagged edges beneath. "You've picked up they're makin' suicide fodder, yeah? Turns out they've got a lot more where that came from."
"Ah, I see," you sneer. "Not a fan of imitators?"
There's a beat of silence, then you hear a flicker of a old-style lighter - followed by a deep intake and exhale of what's probably a cigarette.
"Heh. Whatever gets ya off, babe. So? Deal?"
There's a crack from the phone as it starts to give under your grip, but the signal doesn't cut out yet.
"You seriously think it's going take me four months to get rid of the Fallen? Did you somehow forget I destroyed the Slaughterhouse Nine in three days?" you snarl. "I'll give you a week. If I find any Elite around after that, they're going into a prison you'll never find a way to crack."
Puff, exhale.
"Two months. If they're still around... we renegotiate." He chuckles. "I'll even make sure to hang on to any pieces that might… fall off for ya, too."
You grunt.
"End of the month. Keep the pieces - I just need their brains intact."
Paige has gotten considerably paler as this conversation has played out, but that last line of yours causes her to go green and head towards the rear of the bus.
Bastard Son, however, gives you the most genuine laugh you've heard from him in your two short conversations.
"Hah! I was gonna press for a full month, but… you've given me ideas. Deal."
You feel like you need a shower, more than ever before.
"Then we're done here," you spit out.
"Heh. Always a pleasure, Weaver."
You don't hear the click of him disconnecting, because you've already crushed the phone.
Absorbing the remnants with Technomorphic Integration Engine before they can fall through your hand, you glance back at where Paige has yet to emerge from losing her last meal in the bus' bathroom.
With a thought, your armor's helmet extrudes from your storage and snaps closed around your head, seals clicking into place just as you stride back down the bus' ramp and push open the door.
A few feet past the (obvious, in retrospect) Elite-payroll bodyguards, the assembled Philadelphia Wards stare at your furious exit in surprise.
Halting at some of their blurted expressions of surprise, you spin back around and march back inside, grab one of Paige's discarded feathers, then storm back out and past the guards.
"Uh, hey, did you-"
Shoving the feather in Clockblocker's hand as he raises it in greeting, you turn to Tatsu.
"We're going. Now."
"Wh- whoa, wait, is this-"
Stepping past a shocked Clockblocker, Kid Win raises an armored gauntlet tentatively.
"Um, Weaver? Chevalier said he wanted to talk with you before you left."
You stare at him. The glow of your eyes, visible even through the mostly-opaque glass of your helmet, is enough to cause him to step back.
You look back at Tatsu, then extend your arm for her to grasp.
"Ah-... ano," she stammers, glancing between you and the group, then offers a weak smile that noticeably causes the rest of the group to relax slightly. "It's... It's okay! We'll be right back..."
With a twist and a pull, you leave your nervous friends behind for a horizon of black and white.
***
"Taylor…"
The oppressive weight of Saki's personal dimension is something that you hope you'll eventually get used to, but for now it's an omnipresent feeling - like there is a massive presence looming just out of the corner your eye… judging you.
Right now, you're fine with that. You probably deserve it.
"Paige is working with the Elite," you sigh, letting your balled-up fists unclench as you absorb your power armor and extrude your 'casual workshop' bodysuit. Armored, of course, but just flexible plating in critical areas - not in any way that might impede sitting down cross-legged or crawling around in weird positions, and your forearms and hands are left free for your Omnitool Implants to work unimpeded.
"W-what?!" Saki balks, glancing back in shock at the empty air between the massive portal ring. "But… but why did the PRT let her perform at the concert, then?! We need to go back and tell-!"
"Saki, it's alright," you interrupt, before she can get ahead of herself. You wave away her panic with one hand and massage the roots of your shard-charm's legs near your temple with the other. "They bought her cooperation - probably through legitimate law firms and shell companies - but they're only using her as a messenger and as good PR. She 'accidentally' mind-controlled her ex-boyfriend and the PRT was going to throw the book at her for being reckless with a Master power, but the Elite stepped in to save her from prison… and save her career."
Saki wasn't very emotive even before her Exaltation, but her charms and augmentations have generally made her nigh-impossible to read if she wants to keep a poker face. As a result, you're a bit surprised at the visible shifts of emotion visible on her face now as she processes what you just said. Shock, disgust, anger… all there-and-gone in a flash until she finally settles on pity.
"Do… you know what she did to him? Her ex-boyfriend?"
You shake your head. "Does it matter?"
The flat look your pithy response earns makes you flinch.
"Taylor… you know you got away with a lot because it wasn't really… you… at the end of that big mess with the Nine, but the PRT really doesn't like mind-control powers. I'm technically not even allowed to equip my spike without Director Uriel's approval, and I'm a Ward. They were probably going to try to give her a life sentence or force her into the Protectorate!"
"She should have joined the Protectorate!" you counter, frustrated that you have to explain this to her. "Saki, we're fighting multiple apocalypses right now! We need every cape, every power, no matter how weak or strong if we want to make it through all of this… and her power is really strong, if what I felt during the performance was even half of what she's capable of!"
Saki's large brown eyes are steady as you fume, and the shorter girl remains silent in her own judgement for a long moment after you finish. Her gaze never leaves yours, not even as her body shifts - the facade of mortal limits to beauty shedding as her 'skin' shimmers away to reveal her burnished-metal skin tone.
Her voices is light, enchanting, yet somehow as vast as the star-lit sky.
"Taylor… no. Enduring Order Administrator. You need to take a break."
You can't stop the shiver that goes down your spine, but you can grit your teeth against the wave of pressure her sheer presence radiates. You're fairly certain she isn't using any charms right now, but that's almost an unspoken threat on its own: "Don't make me use charms on you to get this through your thick head."
"I'm..." fine, you want to say, but that's the dismissive response of the suffering. You turn away to gaze at the open, empty horizon, as if that would free you from her gaze. "I can't, Saki. There's too much at stake, too much to do-"
Folding her hands together in front of her, the air around her shimmers as her armored costume morphs into one of her opulent, long-sleeved dresses. An illusion, certainly, but almost as entrancing as the real thing.
"When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"
Your clawed gauntlets draw blood from your palms. "Stop being so pretty, Saki. I know what you're trying to do."
"Answer the question."
Several ways to escape this situation come to mind, but you'd rather not sabotage your Assembly's nascent cohesion by starting a brawl in Saki's personal dimension.
"... I don't actually need a full eight hours, Riley made a-"
Her brow furrows, and you only just barely stop your knees from trembling.
"Taylor."
"...eleven days ago."
She blinks. "How-"
"Coffee helps, too."
"... Taylor."
"Saki-"
Saki holds an arm out, sleeve falling away to reveal the manicured hand within, and your voice catches in your throat.
"You told me that your power-charm lets you… be whatever you're controlling. That every drone, every insect, is you. Doesn't that mean you should be getting tired as if you were living that many lives at once?
You wince. "It doesn't work… exactly like that-"
"When was the last time you turned off your power-charm before you slept? Or just relaxed with it off?"
"I can't turn it off now, Saki," you frown, crossing your arms under your chest. "It needs an open connection to me in order to heal."
Her mouth tightens as her eyes flash with something you can't quite catch, but she exhales a quick burst of air with a nod to concede the point.
"Fine. Then is Prayer useless?"
You straighten up and narrow your eyes at the horizon, because you already see where this is going. "Of course not. But-"
"Dragon? Chevalier? Director Uriel? Director Piggot? They can't do anything without you?"
"Saki, people are dying in the streets," you spit out, spinning back around to face her fully. "The Fallen are turning people into suicide bombers. The Elite are growing stronger each day. I trapped the Teeth only yesterday morning, and that will only hold for a few days... if nothing goes wrong. There's at least a dozen new cape sightings each day. I'm fighting the insurance companies for every cent. Basic utilities for the entire city are still at least a week out-"
Whipping her hand up, Saki points furiously at Crushing Grasp's scowling form on her shoulder. "Taylor, even during the war that the Exalted were designed to fight, people had to take breaks or they went nuts! And I'm pretty sure none of them were also thousands of drones and insects and animals all at once, too!"
"And before you protest: I have not filled her head with tall tales, Administrator!" the mechanical scorpion huffs, the exhalation creating a puff of steam from his mandibles. "Your duty and dedication honors the Titan of Industry, but from Warden's own re-telling of your exploits it sounds as if you have barely taken an hour for yourself in total since your Exaltation! Truly, I am baffled that Lord Iris himself has not rolled in to address your skewed priorities."
Saki pauses, but you snort derisively to cut her off. "Says the pleasure palace."
"Then you should be all the more ashamed that it is I that must remind you of your goals, Alchemical!" he hisses, gears below his carapace spinning in tune with the sound. "Have you already forgotten Lord Iris' commands, not even a fortnight past? Did you not use this understanding against Warden, to remind her of her own purpose? Your divine mission is to Finish. Your. Assembly! Not to coddle every mortal that so much as sneezes within your realm!"
…
There's a flash of uncertainty in Saki's eyes as she glances at the over-wound cog-scorpion on her shoulder, but when she looks back to you there is no disagreement.
You can spot holes in their logic miles wide, and your eightfold consciousnesses are itching to stomp out their argument so that you can get back to work.
The number of dead civilians per hour of your inactivity is something you've been charting ever since you stepped out of Iris. It's a neat bit of code that tallies all the many reports across the city and feeds it into your armor's HUD. It's helped to keep you motivated. Driven. Relentless.
Tired.
"Just-" you try, weakly, before shaking your head and sighing - arms falling to your sides as your shoulders slump. "Give me until Aisha comes back? It wouldn't be fair to just drop everything without a warning."
Crushing Grasp looks like he's about to protest even this compromise, but a side-eye from Saki causes his mandibles to clack together.
"Hmph. I suspect Lord Iris would not allow you such mercy, should you ask him, but perhaps it would be best if we disturbed his work as infrequently as possible."
You wince. He's… probably not wrong-
"Wait," you frown, turning back to narrow your eyes at the ostentatious shoulder-sitter. "You... learned English."
"As if such a barbaric tongue was difficult," he gloats, legs dancing as he preens.
Your flat stare swivels to Saki.
"You could have at least corrected his accent. It still sounds like he's trying to speak Old Realm, just with English-sounding words."
Another mixture of emotions flickers across Saki's face, eventually ending up on a bashful smirk, but Crushing Grasp makes an affronted puff of steam again - only for a small, subdued throat clearing to be heard over his indignant noise.
Quickly followed by Ciara's quiet, equally-awful attempt at Old Realm drifting out of his carapace.
"Herald-Prophet, blame-fault-shame is mine to own-bear. I sought-desired to retain-maintain his vocal-diction purity-essence-clarity."
You keep staring. Saki coughs into her hand and looks away.
"Of course it is."
Sighing, you turn, take a few steps forward, and then allow yourself to near-collapse into a sitting position on the hard, black-jade floor.
Behind you, Saki and Crushing Grasp glance at each other, exchanging a silent conversation as you stare out into the empty horizon.
After the silence has long stretched past awkwardness, you wearily lift your right hand and extrude the dentist-chair-turned-soulgem-implanter that you collected before you left PRT HQ. With your left hand, you wave absently towards the conspirators at your back.
"Fine."
Saki blinks, then looks at you warily.
"... Fine…?"
"Yup," you drawl, lazilly popping the 'p'. "I'm relaxing. Focusing on what matters. Which means you get to work, now."
Saki and Crushing Grasp share another look, before your Assembly's Starmetal caste turns her worried glance back to you.
"U-um, Taylor, I didn't-"
"Go grab Accord," you wave again, ignoring her protest. Finishing extruding the Soulgem Implanter, you start extruding a case of soulgems next. "Then go get Riley."
Saki blanches, her mouth snapping shut as regret shines in her eyes.
You snort.
"You know what? Get Armsmaster, too. Might as well save time, right?"
There's another awkward, tiny cough.
"Herald, may-potentially-?"
"You can have one too, Ciara."
"... I am honored-humbled."
Tilting your head at the quiet words, you hum aloud in thought.
"I guess we might as well start giving everyone-"
The portal spins to life behind Saki, who nearly dives into it in wide-eyed panic.
"OkaysoundsgoodyesberightbackTaylorbye!"
With a light rush of non-air, the twisted view of night-time Camden disappears along with her.
Leaving you alone in a giant, suffocating, monochrome landscape.
The landscape is unamused.
"Whatever," you snort, slapping away at the empty air. "You're no Vision of Venge-"
[INDIGESTION]
The feeling shoved through your familiar link makes your back arch and your words get strangled by your returning lunch, it's so powerful and abrupt. Slapping your hands over your mouth in panic, the spike of adrenaline that comes next focuses your minds past the lethargy that had been seeping over you these last few minutes.
Iris?! What's wrong?!
Even as you're thinking the question, your attention is riveted to the small zone of Shard of Perfect Administration control that extends around Iris - the only zone you have access to while you're in Saki's personal dimension. You've left about a dozen bird-drones there to guard over a few deactivated orange drones in case of an emergency, which means you're booting them up as quickly as possible.
The actual birds and insects in the area don't notice anything out of the ordinary, however. Just a six-foot-diameter obsidian sphere defying physics as it floats, perfectly stationary, seven feet off the cluttered forest floor.
[INTERRUPTION] comes the response, though it's a mixture of surprise, excitement, and indignation that you're not quite grasping-
From the bottom, the sphere disgorges a massive robotic beast, which spins in the air to orient its four legs downward just in time to land with feline-like grace. Despite sticking the landing, even the worms several yards down can feel the thud.
Uh. What? A car-sized, silver-metal panther-?
With a rippling of the sphere's topside, a brilliant, silver, feminine figure leaps out and lands with both feet upon the now-solid surface, both arms spread wide in triumph.
With a whoop, the figure leaps into the air, mounts the now-similarly-airborne mecha-panther, and then disappears into the darkened forest in a blur of silver and echoing, cackling laughter.
...
You flop down, letting your arms splay out as you stare upward into the empty white void.
Slowly, calmly, you breathe in.
…
"Ffffffuuu-"
***
You are now What Memory Serves, suckers.
Buckle up.
***
CHAPTER 10.2 - INTIMACY CHANGES: RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Ciara|Glaistig Uaine (Victim of Power) [Illusion] [4/4] EOA - Intimacy STARTED: Colin Wallis|Armsmaster (Will His Ego Remain Tempered?) [Emotion|Hope] [2/3]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Riley|Bonesaw (Monsters Start As Victims) [Servitude] [4/4]
As a reminder: from now on, each character will have ONE Ability, Specialty, and Background (each) available for purchase at the end of each Chapter. These options will either be relevant to the events of that Chapter, or will be forecasting events of the next Chapter. Spending XP on these Abilities/Specialties will also serve as another way to influence the narrative of the subsequent Chapter, as there will be at least one scene dedicated to showing off how the character is improving/has improved that Ability/Specialty. Note that because what is available will change each Chapter, you may want to jump on options when they appear; multiple Chapters may pass before you get the option of spending XP on that Ability/Specialty/Background again.
Virtues, should we ever want to raise them, may be increased with XP at any point - such a dramatic shift in character personality, however, will likely dominate the subsequent Chapter's narrative.
WMS - CHARACTER GENERATION CLOSES WITH 10.3, THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE TO SPEND XP IN CHARGEN MODE
Oh dear. Aisha Laborn, with even more stealth and combat potential? What has magical bullshit science wrought?! Taylor, you have no one to blame but yourself for what comes next.
And what DOES come next is going to be a bit of a departure from our normal posting/voting procedure, and a quasi-return to how this quest used to work in the very beginning: Chapter 10.3 will be a series of shortish posts (~1.5k words), each followed by ~24 hours of a limited-option vote, at which point the story keeps rolling. Once the full chapter is done, I'll compile it together like I've been doing with these past chapters - that way, people that still would rather just read full chapters when they're finalized can see how everything shook out. My hope is that this will allow me to have some more flexible combat and infiltration scenes, since we'll be able to pick how things go "on the fly" as it were. We'll see how it works!
The lives of the other, less terrifyingawesome Assembly members will continue apace while we follow Aisha, however, and there are quite a few concerns that each have to deal with:
- Taylor is capable of maintaining her current workload for a while longer, but it is definitely taking a toll on her decision-making processes. The question becomes, then, will Taylor take a break now, or swan-dive into high levels of Clarity as the stress and workload mounts ever higher? Keep in mind that Clarity actually helps with making intellectual decisions, so Taylor would actually get better at managing her workload as she gets higher into Clarity... though the expression "Brutal Calculus of War" applies here, since her ability to feel Compassion would nose-dive. If we do decide to have Taylor take a break, the Stunt for this vote should be used to determine what that "break" is and where she's taking it (Note: trying to take a "working vacation" will not actually help her stress levels).
- Taylor has made a deal with Bastard Son to leave his Elite crew alone until the end of the month (~9 days) in exchange for the Elite helping put the Fallen down before the cape-cult can stir up city-wide chaos. Taylor has the option to ignore this deal, however, and either hunt down Bastard Son herself or have one of the other Assembly members do it. Letting the deal stand helps "legitimize" the Elite as they get entrenched, which is double-bad because Bastard Son is basically the rabid dog the Elite keeps in its basement until things get real bad (so his presence here is even more alarming). Breaking the deal is also bad, but more from a PR standpoint as villains and neutral capes will know that Taylor doesn't honor her deals.
- Sirkalla's has a lot of responsibilities these days. As the Protectorate head of "New Camden" though beyond punching the occasional supervillain face she's mostly riding herd on Accord to keep the Thinker on the track to self-control and lawfulness. As an established S-Class Threat eliminator, she's expecting to go help Ned deal with Ash Beast in Africa within the next 48 hours. As an Assembly member, she needs to help Taylor not go crazy and vet Taylor's choices for Orichalcum and Jade castes. As a girlfriend, she should probably stop smothering her emotions with Clarity and go home to actually talk to Bladedancer instead of simply sleeping in cots to avoid the issue altogether. What should she focus on?
- Saki's conversion therapy (Lord Grasp helped!) with Ciara has perhaps been a bit... too successful. At least, from the point of view of any reasonable individual on Earth-Bet. Iris, however, is thrilled that we now have our first actual Cultist! Do we (Saki, Taylor, or a combo) want to start talks with the PRT to see if they're ready/willing to start testing whether she's ready for a "parole" of sorts (ie: Ciara can come outside, but always has to hold Saki's hand when she's not inside [Saki Note: LEWD!])? Or do we want to keep secret the fact that Ciara is now quite ready to incite a holy war against the Parasites whenever we give the signal?
- Aisha is excited. You should be, too. In what direction is Aisha going to channel this excitement? Towards home? Towards Missy? Towards finding some punks to wear in her new knuckles?
CHAPTER 10.3 - VOTING:
The All-Mother Needs Her Nightcap: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Taylor Takes A Break Now
[ ] Taylor Takes A Break In A Few Days
[ ] Taylor Does Not Take A Break
Faustian Bargains Don't Honor Refunds: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Taylor Honors Her Deal With Bastard Son
[ ] Taylor Does Not Honor Her Deal With Bastard Son
Interesting Times: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Keep Camden/New Camden Clean
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Take Down Ash Beast With Ned
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Keep Taylor Sane
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Fix Relationship With Kali
Praying For Fun And Profit: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Work With The PRT To Start Ciara's Parole Process
[ ] Keep Ciara's Religious Epiphany (and Excursions) Secret
Let's Get This Party Started: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Aisha Heads For Philadelphia
[ ] Aisha Heads For Missy
[ ] Aisha Heads For Trouble
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
NO VOTES WILL BE COUNTED UNTIL VOTING BEGINS
CHAPTER 10.2 - INTIMACY CHANGES: RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Ciara|Glaistig Uaine (Victim of Power) [Illusion] [4/4] EOA - Intimacy STARTED: Colin Wallis|Armsmaster (Will His Ego Remain Tempered?) [Emotion|Hope] [2/3]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Riley|Bonesaw (Monsters Start As Victims) [Servitude] [4/4]
As a reminder: from now on, each character will have ONE Ability, Specialty, and Background (each) available for purchase at the end of each Chapter. These options will either be relevant to the events of that Chapter, or will be forecasting events of the next Chapter. Spending XP on these Abilities/Specialties will also serve as another way to influence the narrative of the subsequent Chapter, as there will be at least one scene dedicated to showing off how the character is improving/has improved that Ability/Specialty. Note that because what is available will change each Chapter, you may want to jump on options when they appear; multiple Chapters may pass before you get the option of spending XP on that Ability/Specialty/Background again.
Virtues, should we ever want to raise them, may be increased with XP at any point - such a dramatic shift in character personality, however, will likely dominate the subsequent Chapter's narrative.
WMS - CHARACTER GENERATION CLOSES WITH 10.3, THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE TO SPEND XP IN CHARGEN MODE
Oh dear. Aisha Laborn, with even more stealth and combat potential? What has magical bullshit science wrought?! Taylor, you have no one to blame but yourself for what comes next.
And what DOES come next is going to be a bit of a departure from our normal posting/voting procedure, and a quasi-return to how this quest used to work in the very beginning: Chapter 10.3 will be a series of shortish posts (~1.5k words), each followed by ~24 hours of a limited-option vote, at which point the story keeps rolling. Once the full chapter is done, I'll compile it together like I've been doing with these past chapters - that way, people that still would rather just read full chapters when they're finalized can see how everything shook out. My hope is that this will allow me to have some more flexible combat and infiltration scenes, since we'll be able to pick how things go "on the fly" as it were. We'll see how it works!
The lives of the other, less terrifyingawesome Assembly members will continue apace while we follow Aisha, however, and there are quite a few concerns that each have to deal with:
- Taylor is capable of maintaining her current workload for a while longer, but it is definitely taking a toll on her decision-making processes. The question becomes, then, will Taylor take a break now, or swan-dive into high levels of Clarity as the stress and workload mounts ever higher? Keep in mind that Clarity actually helps with making intellectual decisions, so Taylor would actually get better at managing her workload as she gets higher into Clarity... though the expression "Brutal Calculus of War" applies here, since her ability to feel Compassion would nose-dive. If we do decide to have Taylor take a break, the Stunt for this vote should be used to determine what that "break" is and where she's taking it (Note: trying to take a "working vacation" will not actually help her stress levels).
- Taylor has made a deal with Bastard Son to leave his Elite crew alone until the end of the month (~9 days) in exchange for the Elite helping put the Fallen down before the cape-cult can stir up city-wide chaos. Taylor has the option to ignore this deal, however, and either hunt down Bastard Son herself or have one of the other Assembly members do it. Letting the deal stand helps "legitimize" the Elite as they get entrenched, which is double-bad because Bastard Son is basically the rabid dog the Elite keeps in its basement until things get real bad (so his presence here is even more alarming). Breaking the deal is also bad, but more from a PR standpoint as villains and neutral capes will know that Taylor doesn't honor her deals.
- Sirkalla's has a lot of responsibilities these days. As the Protectorate head of "New Camden" though beyond punching the occasional supervillain face she's mostly riding herd on Accord to keep the Thinker on the track to self-control and lawfulness. As an established S-Class Threat eliminator, she's expecting to go help Ned deal with Ash Beast in Africa within the next 48 hours. As an Assembly member, she needs to help Taylor not go crazy and vet Taylor's choices for Orichalcum and Jade castes. As a girlfriend, she should probably stop smothering her emotions with Clarity and go home to actually talk to Bladedancer instead of simply sleeping in cots to avoid the issue altogether. What should she focus on?
- Saki's conversion therapy (Lord Grasp helped!) with Ciara has perhaps been a bit... too successful. At least, from the point of view of any reasonable individual on Earth-Bet. Iris, however, is thrilled that we now have our first actual Cultist! Do we (Saki, Taylor, or a combo) want to start talks with the PRT to see if they're ready/willing to start testing whether she's ready for a "parole" of sorts (ie: Ciara can come outside, but always has to hold Saki's hand when she's not inside [Saki Note: LEWD!])? Or do we want to keep secret the fact that Ciara is now quite ready to incite a holy war against the Parasites whenever we give the signal?
- Aisha is excited. You should be, too. In what direction is Aisha going to channel this excitement? Towards home? Towards Missy? Towards finding some punks to wear in her new knuckles?
CHAPTER 10.3 - VOTING:
The All-Mother Needs Her Nightcap: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Taylor Takes A Break Now
[ ] Taylor Takes A Break In A Few Days
[ ] Taylor Does Not Take A Break
Faustian Bargains Don't Honor Refunds: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Taylor Honors Her Deal With Bastard Son
[ ] Taylor Does Not Honor Her Deal With Bastard Son
Interesting Times: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Keep Camden/New Camden Clean
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Take Down Ash Beast With Ned
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Keep Taylor Sane
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Fix Relationship With Kali
Praying For Fun And Profit: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Work With The PRT To Start Ciara's Parole Process
[ ] Keep Ciara's Religious Epiphany (and Excursions) Secret
Let's Get This Party Started: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Aisha Heads For Philadelphia
[ ] Aisha Heads For Missy
[ ] Aisha Heads For Trouble
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
NO VOTES WILL BE COUNTED UNTIL VOTING BEGINS
