Another split chapter. This is becoming commonplace, so I'm going to explain the purpose of it. Basically, the ongoing head decisions is, when it has multiple parts, it has multiple perspectives that all fall in line with the subject of the chapter, or the timetable that exists within the chapter itself. In this case, while Kaiser's POV will span over two days, it still relates to the overall focus of the chapter itself.
Hopefully that helps answer for some of you exactly what there are Parts. Thank you.
Now on to the story.
Sprout 3.2 Part 1
Max Anders
Brockton Bay, Medhall
(Minutes after Taylor hangs up on Jean)
All change involved sacrifice. The more drastic the change, the greater the required sacrifice. Decisive action was essential in times of change in order to maintain control. But more importantly, a steady hand was necessary in order to ensure the
right change came to pass.
It was the only lesson his father had impressed upon him that actually had some use. There were others, but like the late Richard Anders, they were as shortsighted as the man himself. It was why Allfather was but a distant memory of Brockton Bay, and Kaiser was ascendant.
Max considered this as he watched the gentle rain fall on Brockton Bay. His office in Medhall was exactly as he had intended it to be; a symbol of power and wealth, and a place of contemplation. From here, he overlooked what would be
his city. With all the opulence and comfort that he was entitled to; by circumstance of his birth, his lineage, and his efforts.
He had always considered Medhall to be a means to an end. That the Empire Eighty-Eight was a weapon that he would wield to create a place of power for himself and those loyal to him. But things had changed… and said change now required a change of sacrifice. Medhall would be the vehicle of his ascension, and for that to be true, the Empire would have to be… pruned. Reformed. To better fit the coming future.
And if necessary, sacrificed root and branch.
He drank slightly from his glass, a rich ten-year-old bourbon, with the sound of the falling rain the only accompaniment to the glass returning to the metal table at his side. Leaning back in the plush chair, he watched the rain, and thought.
Leviathan had hit Boston. In the scramble to respond to the PRT's emergency summons… certain Empire members were… delayed. Others? He made sure they made the teleporter's jump to Boston. Hookwolf, Stormtiger, Alabaster, Cricket. They were necessary sacrifices. Radical elements that had always rallied around Hookwolf. The man's savagery and simplicity had always been a useful tool to be used. But much like the Sturmabteilung had been for Hitler, Hookwolf's usefulness had come to an end for him. The brute would be a detriment to the future that he was building.
But at least he could serve one final use until his demise. His death, along with those of his cohorts, would help pave the way for the necessary change for the Empire. They would be memorialized for their 'sacrifice', of course, just long enough for the rest of his ilk to join the others in the refuse pile.
A soft knock at his office door pulled his attention away from his musings.
"Yes," he asked curtly. He had given clear instructions that he was not to be disturbed. The fact that someone dared to violate those orders was an irritant that had best be ameliorated by a good reason. Otherwise there
would be consequences.
His secretary leaned her head in, appropriately deferential and apologetic in her body language.
"Pardon me, sir. Ms. Brown of Zero Dawn Technologies is very insistent on meeting with you. She claims it's urgent."
He took a moment to enjoy the woman standing in his door. Deferential, wearing a flattering outfit with a skirt that was professional, yet teased possibilities. Good. It appeared that she was far more pliable than the last one. She might just last longer because of it.
"Very well. Send her in."
He took the moment to place his drink on the desk.. Rich wood contrasting nicely with a pair of polished metal art pieces that flanked it. In walked the woman that had deigned to demand his attention. Her heels struck a steady beat, her dress immaculate, and her hair an artistic tangle that looked effortless. By all accounts, he may have considered courting her. But an Emperor did not share his throne; he had no need for equals.
She sat, placing her slim briefcase on the floor beside her. Reaching across the desk, she took his offered hand.
"Mr. Anders, thank you for meeting me so promptly. I am hoping to secure your assistance in a matter of some urgency."
He smiled, already sensing an opportunity, even if it was currently nebulous in its detail. He had pegged based upon his few interactions that Miss Brown was a slow, methodical manager, and to have her show up at his doorstep without the usual trappings of a fellow executive, certainly suggested that negotiations would be in his favor.
"I'll certainly help if possible. Our two companies would assuredly benefit from a closer relationship."
Her lips twitched for a brief instant.
"Indeed," she intoned, before she reached down, bending slightly, the fold at the top of her dress providing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh. It was a calculated move, meant to innocently tease. He certainly enjoyed the view, even if it was a blatant trap. But once a trap was spotted, it lost its bite.
She then placed a yellow stone on his desk. He glanced at it, not understanding what purpose it served. Though there was a niggling feeling that he
should know what it meant.
Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, exuding the confidence of a woman who felt in control of the situation, "My employer is a dedicated and methodical man," she declared, "he spent quite a lot of resources and energy in crafting me into the woman I am today. When he finally deemed that my training was sufficient enough to serve him, he gave me this memento and my name."
Her name?
His eyes snapped up from the stone and to her, body tensing as things clicked into place. Jean Brown was employed as the Vice President of Zero Dawn, doubling as the manager of their finances. But before that, she was the Vice President of Far Zenith, a hedge fund out of Boston. And there were only a handful of gemstones that were gold.
One of which was
Citrine.
Her head turned slightly towards the window, gazing out at the rain-battered city, "I will admit, Mr. Anders, you have quite the view of your office. One could think of himself as a
Kaiser overlooking this city from here."
His fists clenched, feeling the metal shiver around him in reaction. He was on the backfoot now, a position that he
always hated. It was time to retake the initiative in this and show this woman that he was not some fool to push around with a simple threat of unmasking.
"I can imagine the difficulty in being caught between two masters," he probed, looking for an opportunity to strike. It seemed that Citrine, and by extension Accord, were not interested in any sort of escalation, with the information they had, it would be child's play to irrevocably damage both Medhall and himself, so there was another angle at play. One that he was not yet aware of.
And furthermore, was this all some sort of elaborate trap sprung by Accord? Tempt him into a bountiful future for Medhall, while breaking the Empire in the process? It was the sort of plot that he would expect from the Bostonian cape, but this lacked the elaborate preparations that were a hallmark of the man. So could this be just a happy coincidence, or was there a different plan being executed?
The responding smile, a slight thing that felt more like a reaction to an inside joke than something funny, only served to ratchet up his tension, "In many circumstances, their intentions align perfectly. Like today, for example."
He realized he was not going to get the information that he wanted, at least through normal means, he was on his backfoot and he couldn't see just what playbook that she was operating from. So there was only one solution to the matter that may bring the advantage back to his side.
He stood, leaning over toward her, letting his power manipulate the metallic sculptures in his office, slowly twisting them into blades. It was not quite explicit yet, but it was enough to warn Citrine that he was not in the mood for games.
"What do you want," he growled, wanting to see her flinch. Only for his rage to grow further stroked when she met his threat without a reaction.
"Peace Mr. Anders. Peace," she raised her palms, "There's no need for violence. This is a deal between equals over mutual self-interest," she reached and palmed the gem, twisting it between her slim fingers with a thoughtful expression, before looking back to him, "The instructions from my patron were clear, I am to ensure that Zero Dawn succeeds. As you are no doubt aware, Miss Hebert is talented, driven, and innovative. But at the same time, that very drive is also her detriment, pushing her to take risks you and I would consider reckless, even for a company."
He settled back in his chair, willing the metal back to their former places with nary a thought.
Perhaps it was not a trap, he thought, considering the implications in what Citrine had said, both subtle and otherwise. The fact that she was admitting, albeit in a roundabout way, that working with Miss Hebert was difficult. And the admission certainly fit with his overall perspective of Miss Hebert as well. The girl was direct to a fault, preferring the use of her personality and technology to impose her will. She had used shock and awe on him in order to gain his allegiance. It was certainly effective, if brutish, to use concepts and blueprints to ensnare him.
A dark part of him found amusement that his father and her would have likely gotten along like a house on fire, if they were able to set aside their ideological differences. They both seemed to subscribe to the same playbook on the imposition of will.
"Yes, your little inventor certainly is impressive, I'll admit. The deal worked between our two companies stands to benefit us both. However, I do not see what would cause you to take the drastic action as you have today. You are risking quite a bit for something that appears to have little gain for you."
"Because Mr. Anders, my 'little inventor' as you call her, has decided to bet everything on the success of another one of her inventions that you have not been privy to. One that has placed her in one of the most challenging work environments possible."
Ah. Now the pieces were coming together, even as he fought the urge to smirk. It would not do well to resort to such base childishness, as tempting as it was to enjoy a bit of schadenfreude at turning the tables upon the woman.
"Boston."
"Yes, Boston. Ms. Hebert will no doubt have her machines as central as possible. If this venture pans out as she believes that it will, and the subsequent cleanup and recovery of Boston succeeds, then Zero Dawn's name will rise accordingly. If it fails? Then my patron's investment will likely suffer a significant setback," she then leaned forward, a hard look in her eyes, "I am not a woman comfortable with failure, Mr. Anders. I
will ensure that Boston is a success story. You can help me do that."
Now, he couldn't help but smile, but it was certainly not polite. Here, he was on more stable ground now, and this was a negotiation. One where the situation was to his advantage.
"I believe I can. After all, Medhall has the resources and allies to call upon. But as you said, 'mutual self-interest', so I have to ask the rather droll question, 'what's in it for me?'"
The bland expression he received only heightened his amusement, he knew that she knew he had her over the barrel. She obviously knew she would have to offer something, but the fact that she didn't know what he wanted only made it better.
"As I said," she began, "Ms. Hebert is a woman of singular focus. I can ensure that her focus remains on projects beneficial to Medhall's interest."
His smile grew impossibly wider. Time to really test the waters.
"Considering what Ms. Hebert has done with this other project, I doubt the veracity of your pledge. And even if you
were able to, those projects would still take time to develop. An eventual payoff, certainly, but that is not guaranteed either."
The way her expression twisted was worth it. It served the bitch right.
"What do you want?"
He pretended to think for a moment, but he already knew what he wanted to do. It was something he had been exploring since his first meeting with Ms. Hebert. And now, he could use it to kill three birds with one stone.
"Ms. Hebert is single right now, isn't she," he asked, already knowing the answer to that, but playing it up just to twist the knife, knowing that a woman like Citrine would be disgusted by the action. But she would not have a choice, because this was the price he was going to demand, "I know of a fine young man who might make for a good partner for her. Perhaps you could…lend your weight in encouraging the two to interact?"
Certainly, it was a stroke of genius. His son, Theo, was of the right age, and he could certainly benefit from female accompaniment. There was no doubt in his mind that a personality like Ms. Hebert would season the boy into finally asserting his preordained masculinity. And if it didn't necessarily work outright, there were other means to place his thumb on the scale if Theo was found to be insufficient in acquiring Ms. Hebert's hand. All that matters would be that the relationship be made
fruitful.
Oh yes, there were plenty of opportunities to be had.
But he had named his price, and he knew that if Citrine was this desperate to make a play, then she had no real choice in the matter. He had to wonder just who had given the orders, if there were orders, or if this was her own initiative. He doubted that Accord would be so willing to make a deal like this, the man never struck him as one to operate from a disadvantage. No, this reeked of
female decision-making, too emotional and bereft of logic. She had come in her clad in her supposed superiority and he was going to take pleasure in
breaking her of that illusion.
Just the visual of her expression becoming strained was
exhilarating. She knew she was in no position to negotiate, and she had worked herself into a corner with barely a push from himself. If she wanted his support for Boston, she would have to ensure further future projects to Medhall and pressure Ms. Hebert into interaction with his chosen partner.
"Much of this will depend on the conduct of your 'fine young gentlemen'," she spat out, as if she were tasting something foul, "but yes, I think that will be acceptable."
She then reached across the desk, and he shook her hand sealing their pact.
In the end a Kaiser
always won.
AEH
"Protests continue today in the wake of President Durling's declaration of Martial Law..." - Good Morning America
"And I will continue to fight against this kind of blatant government overreach, and with your support we can win this fight!" - Senator Shaw speaking to rallying supporters
"First images out of Boston show devastation, and tragedy. Survivors share their stories… - Dateline NBC
AEH
Boston
Two Days After Initial Relief's Arrival
Kaiser
With a flex of will, swords worthy of the Colossus of Rhodes exploded from the river before him. As they came to a halt, myriad more blades sprouted from them where the engineers indicated ships could still pass with clearance, forming the frame of a roadway over which cars would pass. More titanic blades appeared adding support that his work would not be quickly undone, while smaller protrusions fractaled out to create the road-bed itself.
Looking around, he could see the industrious hard at work. While he had never been one for dumb labor, he was not blind to the necessity of such. So he treated them as they should be treated, giving clear instructions, rewarding the diligent, and punishing the indolent.
He suppressed a wince as metal screeched against stone, and turned to see his Valkyries hard at work. Fenja and Menja were in their larger forms, clearing the roads of cars that had crashed themselves together from the waves of Leviathan's attacks. Their legs, hands and arms were stained with motor oil, mud and other things. Regrettable… he foresaw several large expenses for spa days in the future. As the girls liked to say 'beauty must be maintained', and if he wanted to take advantage of said beauty, he would be the one paying for the maintenance.
"Sir! I have news!"
Finally!
He turned to see Victor hopping off one of Runes' flying platforms. It supported dozens of gaping civilians and several tons of supplies bound for other locations. He felt a sense of satisfaction at their awe, even as the teen herself scowled and left without comment; continuing her tour of the city. Another one of his capes who would need to be placated following this. He waited impatiently as Victor jogged over.
"What do you have for me?"
"Othala is working with the wounded. I've asked among the Capes; no word yet on Hookwolf and the others. What survivors I can find are unsure of events. By all accounts, it was a very chaotic battle against the beast."
Unfortunate… it would be inconvenient to martyr Hookwolf and the others only to have them return. "Keep looking, openly if you need to. Most capes will be sympathetic to us finding our dead after an Endbringer battle."
If they weren't dead already…well; he would have to make sure they did not miss their date with matyrdom.
"Yes, understood. Sir… have you heard about the machines?"
When Citrine had told him that Taylor Hebert had gone into Boston with 'machines' for rescue, he had expected something simple, perhaps even novel, considering what she had already shown him. Something that would certainly garner enough attention to override the fact that it would make minimal difference in the grand scheme of rescue.
Unfortunately, he found, to his increasing chagrin in regards to Ms. Hebert, that he had once again underestimated her.
No, that was minimizing just what she had done. What he was currently bearing witness was orders of magnitude beyond simple underestimation. He might as well have not guessed at all just what she had wrought upon Boston. Never once, under any circumstance, would have envisioned Taylor Hebert creating what she had.
"I've heard of them, and only observed a few at a distance. What have you heard?"
"It's all anyone can talk about amongst the camps. Rescue workers and the refugees. They compare stories, comment on where to see the creatures as they enter and exit the camps. Vandals are painting their likeness on the rubble, and the police are letting them. And most of all…" Victor leaned close. "They say that a parahuman made them, but they're being operated by regular people. They say the inventor could be the next coming of Dragon."
The next Dragon? No. It was worse than that. It took weeks for Dragon to assemble a new machine from scratch. Taylor Hebert created all of these machines with a team of non-capes using blueprints and schematics
in a month! And each machine was unique in its own way, suggesting a depth and understanding of robotics far in excess of just about anyone he was aware of.
If there had been any doubt on the value of the girl before, it was safe to say that it no longer existed. In fact, it only emphasized the need to assimilate her into his orbit. Theo would need to be impressed upon the fact that failure was
not an option. He didn't care how the boy did it, but Taylor Hebert
must be brought into the fold and made pliable to his ambitions.
Before he was done, Taylor Hebert
would become Taylor Anders. He would not accept anything less of this opportunity. Not when it was so close within his grasp.
Her keen intellect and creativity, guided with his firm hand, would achieve a legacy that would enshrine the Anders name in the annals of history that would be spoken of for generations. All that was needed now was for his son to finally become an Anders and grasp his destiny with both hands.
"Yes, I'm aware of these rumours. Plans are in motion, we'll talk more when we've left this city."
Needless to say, the Empire-88 had received a cool welcome. While Colonel Herres was not in a position to turn away their aid, he had done what he could to split up the help offered. It was inconvenient, but it did not matter in the end. While all eyes were upon him, Victor could serve as his eyes and ears in Boston, providing him with needed reports.
"Has anyone spotted her?"
He was rewarded with a shake of a head from his subordinate, "Nor has anyone seen her father in the last day. They likely have her holed up in the command center at Boston College. Herres is not allowing anyone in the facility that has not been vetted or is not authorized military personnel."
It was disappointing, but to be expected. Herres came across as undeniably competent at his job, considering his progress and success so far. The man obviously realized just how critical Ms. Hebert was to his operations, considering it was from her mind that the machines came from. It would be the height of idiocy not to zealously protect such an asset. Pulling Daniel Hebert to a position where he was not vulnerable only solidified the choice.
If this were Brockton Bay, he would have likely had no problem slipping some of his people in and putting eyes on the Heberts. But alas, it was not, so it was best not to dwell upon something outside of his control.
They would have plenty of opportunities once this was over. And he had other issues to deal with.
Namely Krieg, or James Fleischer.
The Gesellschaft liaison was on his way back from London, but the man was already asking questions. Which meant that his masters were getting curious as to why he was involving himself in Boston. It wouldn't be much longer until they would be able to put the pieces together, if they hadn't already with the news reports that were no doubt starting to leak out from Boston.
They would no doubt realize the opportunity presented through the union of Medhall and Zero Dawn and began demanding of him things that he may or may not be able to provide at significant risk. At the heart, Gesellschaft's leadership were rich industrialists, and the specter of Taylor Hebert's ingenuity would no doubt incite them to take anything they could in order to further their own aims.
He had always planned to rid himself of the shackles of Gesellschaft, it was always a question of when it was the right opportunity to do so. And with the way things were developing it would certainly be sooner than he had originally planned.
But for now, that could be put on the backburner. He had time to prepare his response for Krieg when he returned back to Brockton Bay. For now, he would show the flag here, planting that seed of doubt in the heads of those of weaker disposition.
"Return to Othala," he commanded Victor, watching as the man nodded and quickly took off in a jog. He then turned his attention towards Massachusetts Bay, taking in the massive shape of the USS Enterprise. It had just arrived into the bay this morning, and it was a hive of activity, with helicopters landing and taking off constantly, all the while every once in a while, it was launching and retrieving combat aircraft.
There was a quiet part of him that wondered if this was not a portent for the future. This was one of the first times that he could recall that there was an organized military response to anything. Even the New York response paled in comparison to the amount of men and material that were pouring into the ravaged city.
He then mentally shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was all theater as far as he was concerned, this was the military's last gasp to maintain their relevancy. It would not make a difference, and he was making a mountain out of an anthill. They could enjoy this moment, because at the end of the day, it will not save them from their final disposition. Capes were the future, not mortal men.
He had a future to work towards.
AEH
Christopher Siopis
Kid Win
Hospitals have a certain smell. And it's everywhere, so when something smells different, you notice. So when his teammate walked in holding a bag which smelled of food, and drink? Chris sat up as quickly as he could. Which he regretted, because OW! Bandages rubbed against burns, and skin pulled in funny ways that made everything even more painful.
"Kid, you look more well done than this sandwich I saved for you." Clock jokes, his helmet replaced with a small domino mask.
"Yeah, sure. Hand me the food you jokester." Even talking hurts, a kind of scrape to his voice. Maybe it made him sound more mature?
Clock sat at the end of the bed, laying out items from his bag. Chris reached for it, making the effort. Clock paused, staring as his arm and hand shook in place. He clenched his fist, willing it to stop, which it did… somewhat. Now it was just a small tremble.
"Wow, you're more jittery than Vista on coffee! Remember that time when she brought in that flavored coffee that she got from.." Chris tuned out Clock a little, as he worked around the trembling of his fingers, unwrapping the packaging of a, admittedly, delicious looking and smelling barbecue sandwich. Clock hated hospitals. He made that clear enough. Chris never learnt why, but was touched that his teammate was making the effort to visit him. Clock also deflected serious topics with humour. So he let the older teen tell his story, and nodded along absently as he ate.
And it was serious. The nurse had called it periphery nerve damage. It was something that Panacea
could have healed, but hadn't. It was a decision from on high that Panacea would only perform enough healing to stabilize a patient before moving on. The rationale being that she could always return back to them once things settled, and that time spent on fully healing one person could be better spent partially healing several.
On one hand, he could understand why they made the decision. It made sense. But there was a quiet part of himself scared out of his mind, asking himself "How am I going to Tinker with shaky hands like this?"
Because for the first time, Kid Win felt like a proper Tinker. Capital T included! His inventions were powerful, unique, and utterly unlike anything that had come before. It was… amazing. Armsmaster's final parting gift had unlocked a whole new world of designs, ideas and plans for him to explore. Even if the man had been a bad mentor previously. He had come through at the finish line.
"So have you got any idea on when you're getting out of here?" Clock asked, munching away at his own snack.
"They haven't told me," he said, before taking a bite from the sandwich, his taste-buds luxuriating in the departure from the cracker and peanut butter sandwiches that had been his meals since he had awakened. He was interrupted by his enjoyment by the sound of rotors reverberating off the building.
"What's going on out there," he finally asked as the sound faded.
"Man, it's like an old war movie out there," Clock sighed, "choppers coming in, dropping things off, then flying off right away. They've turned the football field into a landing zone, and someone went around with a cutting tool and removed the fencing. Now trucks are rolling in and out of there, loading up supplies and heading out of there."
"I've been working with the hospitals on critical cases, running patients back and forth. You're kind of lucky you're getting the prime treatment. Most of the hospitals are chock full and the urgent cases are being shipped to Panacea here. Oh!" The other Ward leaned forward, a boyish grin on his face, "you'll never guess who I've been paired up with."
He blinked, trying to figure out who Clockblocker, the eternal jokester, would be amused by being paired up with, because he obviously found it funny based upon his expression, "Who?"
"Rune."
"Bullcrap."
"Yep," Clock declared with a pop then chuckled, "I'm working with Sabrina the Teenage Nazi."
Sabrina the Teenage Nazi? What?
Clock must have seen his confusion before laughing, "One of the military guys called her that. I'm honestly embarrassed that I didn't think of it. Blonde, kind of cute in a 'as long as she keeps her mouth shut you can introduce her to your parents' kinda way, and can fly around? I need to take some pointers from the military, methinks. They have some untapped creativity."
He finished chuckling along with his friend before putting the remains of his sandwich down.
"So… what happened after I was knocked out? Most people don't really have time to talk. Just keep saying that it's chaos and they don't know who's where."
Clock dropped his eyes, taking a long sip from his drink. His heart sank; it wasn't good news if this was Clock's reaction. Did he not do enough? Was the Alternator Cannon not enough?
"Yeah," Clock's voice was soft, previous joviality completely gone, "It was a mess, man. With Dragon down, we didn't know where anyone was, you know? You hit Leviathan really good Kid, you did. I saw the flash from across the city. But… Velocity didn't make it."
"Oh…," suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. Someone he worked with, who was friendly and talked to him about his inventions was just… gone. And here he was in a hospital bed. A few inches from also being gone.
"And the others?"
He really didn't want to know, but he couldn't resist. He had to know, because that was what a hero does, right? Take all of the bad news at once and get it over with?
His fellow Ward leaned back, sighing deeply. He pulled off his mask, and Chris was a little shocked by how drained his friend looked. Black smudges under his eyes, mud or maybe blood on his cheek. Rubbing his forehead, Clock continued.
"Vista made it, but she's out cold, sleeping it off in one of the tents. She was helping move people to chase Leviathan most of the fight. Damn near fried her brain doing it. Armsmaster was found last night, but now he's arm-master… he lost an arm in the rubble." Clock tried to smile, but he couldn't follow through. It should have been a solemn moment. A quiet moment. Like… rain, and gloom at a funeral. But… overhead another copter roared in, truck engines roared outside as they moved supplies. All this loss, and not a moment to stop.
"Who else?"
Browbeat hadn't made the jump from the Rig to Boston. Aegis was missing, somewhere in the rubble of downtown. Gallant was alive. Assault and Battery were fine, nothing beyond sprains and lots of bruises. Miss Militia was fine as well, but he hadn't seen her, she was trying to coordinate what was left of the Brockton Bay contingent.
They found Triumph's body this morning.
"If we didn't have those ZD machines, I'm sure things would be a lot worse."
"The what?"
"Oh man, they're really cool. You know Scarface? From the Bay? Well she rolled into Boston with a bunch of supply trucks, and this whole team of these… animal-looking machines. All built for rescue work. And they really work! Scanning, digging, the whole kit. And somehow they're not Tinkertech, so even the army guys are going around giving the machine-team orders."
Just then, there was a quick knock at the door, before it was thrown open. There stood Rune. And here he was in a hospital bed wearing a hospital gown. Then again, the girl didn't look good either. Her green dress was stained with mud and other things. It was torn, all the way up to her thighs, showing the long basketball shorts she wore underneath her outfit. Her hood was missing, and her blond hair tied up in a messy bun.
"Come on, shit pants, we've got to go. Break's over."
Clock didn't even try to put his mask back on, just sighing and running a hand through his hair before standing and stretching. "Copy that Grumpy-Cat, let's go be heroes."
He turned to Chris, holding out a fist to bump. "You get some rest, yeah? Be good to see you on your feet in a few days." Chris bumped back, ignoring the way his biceps spasmed.
"Jeasus, can you two save your gay buddy-buddy shit for another time?! Let's go, we're back on the clock, Clock-boy!"
"Clock-man if you please," he retorted, finally placing on his mask, "And speaking of pleasure, can I say that your legs look great? The mud really brings out the tone of those calves of yours. And those boots!"
"I will shove these boots up your ass so hard you will be tasting shoe leather. If you bring up th…"
The conversation faded as the pair retreated out of the room and down the hall, the door closing behind them, leaving him to his own thoughts. Which… were honestly a bit of a mess. He didn't want to dwell upon the people that had been lost. Didn't want to think about the empty spots on the Rig, or the fact that new people would soon fill those empty spots, erasing any sign that his friends and fellow heroes might have been there once.
Burying his head in his hands for a moment, he fought the myriad of emotions that were warring for primacy. It felt like too much, all of this, and if he dwelled upon it, he would break.
He needed a distraction, he thought, raising his head up. His eyes came to rest upon the phone that had been left beside his bed, Clock having left him it. He needed something to take his mind off of everything. He needed to see how the rest of the world was reacting to all of this. It was customary for Endbringer battles to be somewhat taboo in the news; but while the battles themselves weren't reported on, the outcomes were. Time would be set aside for those who fell, along with their accomplishments, and the impact of their loss.
It was…nice to see that they were remembered. He had been a Ward for a couple years now, and he had always tried to pay attention when the memorial programs came on. If only to take the memory of them to heart and provide him with a drive to be better.
There were even times in which the villains were mentioned. Sometimes their actions merited acknowledgement in spite of their crimes.
Reaching to the stand, he grabbed the device and struggled through twitching fingers to find some news sites, then to Parahumans Online when he didn't find what he wanted, and when that failed, to a few blogs that he followed. Yet everywhere he looked, he saw the same thing, to his mounting frustration.
Tossing the phone on the bed, he grimaced when it bounced off and landed on the floor.
"It's not fair," he huffed, leaning back into his bed. Another spasm shot down his arm, and he clenched his first together as he ground his teeth.
It was the same news everywhere. The same tired lines revolving around the same thing: Zero Dawn Technologies. About the machines that were currently scouring Boston and saving lives. The implications of the technology, the performance, and even the stories of those rescued by them.
And
Who was Taylor Hebert?
No mention was given to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice in the defense of Boston. Not even an attempt to post an 'in memoriam' for those who had fallen, highlighting their accomplishments and who they were.
All gone. Like they didn't matter.
He breathed deep, resisting the tears that fought to be shed.
It wasn't fair, he wanted to scream to this cruel world.
A knock at the door ripped him out of his thoughts, as he scrambled to sit up again because he wasn't expecting who walked in without acknowledgement or preamble.
Black cape, black helmet, and a white tower emblazoned upon her chest. You had to have been living under a rock not to recognize Alexandria of the Triumvirate.
And here he was, clad in a skimpy hospital gown. Today was really not his day.
"Mr. Win, glad to see you are recovering. Considering your actions in Boston, I felt it was right to set aside a time to meet with you."
Meet with him? Alexandria wanted to meet with him?!
"Um, yeah," he stumbled over his words, "Sure. How can I help you?"
The woman folded her arms in response, not even acknowledging his stammering, and leaned back on a leg against the wall.
"The cannon that you used against Leviathan? Do you think you can rebuild it?"
He frowned, looking down at his lap as his hands bunched the blankets, "Yes. If I can get the resources approved…The cannon misfired because I overrode the safeties to get that second shot," his head shot up, staring at the visored eyes of the member of the Triumvirate, "It's perfectly safe otherwise, I swear!. It's just…it didn't seem to have enough of an impact…"
"Nonsense. You had a huge impact on the fight, even if you weren't there for the end of it. Make no mistake, Mr. Win," she stepped closed and offered her hand to shake, "Those of us who
matter, who aren't mesmerized by the tricks of an opportunist, are very aware of your value and the impact you can have."
He couldn't help the large smile that spread across his face as he shook her hand. Alexandria liked what he did and she wanted to see his cannon again?! Just then, just to show how unfair the world really was, his arm began to tremble and his hands shook. It was like his world was crashing down around him again.
What good was a Tinker with shaky hands…
However, if he expected Alexandria to release his hand, he was sorely mistaken as her hand tightened around his, holding it until the shakes finally abated.
"Hmmm," she mused aloud, releasing his hand, "I did read about this in your medical chart. Don't let it hold you back, Mr. Win, I look forward to seeing how you overcome this."
He frowned. Overcome this? He wasn't a bio-tinker. He didn't work with bodies!
Alexandria seemed to pick up on his mood, and answered before he could snap back at her, "Tinkers are defined by their limits, and Heroes are defined by overcoming their limitations. Your former mentor, Armsmaster, is the same way. He has already turned down healing by Panacea and seems intent on solving the problem himself. I think he's actually looking forward to it, honestly."
The indomitable's woman seemed to stare into his very soul as she continued, "Hero was the same way. Anytime he found a limit, he would invent a way past it."
She leaned down, letting him stare into his reflection off her faceplate, "Don't let anything hold you back, Mr. Win. I look forward to seeing how great a Hero you can be."
And with that, she turned and left, leaving him to gape at the open door. Alexandria actually believed he could be as great as Hero?! That…
He smiled widely, unable to stop himself at the idea that someone like Alexandira could have faith in him. In him of all people.
He couldn't let her down, he thought, as he grabbed his phone again, this time with a purpose as he began opening websites and note programs. Every spasm of his fingers was an impetus forward. A problem to be solved. Okay…modularity? Nerves were conduits designed to send signals, could he bypass those conduits? No, but maybe he could replace them? But with what material?
He spent the rest of the day reviewing medical texts and asking questions of every nurse that happened to check in on him.
By the day's end…he took his name off of Panacea's healing list.
AEH
"I'm telling you man, the PRT conspiracy is real! Look at those machines, remind you of anything? Eagleton, Machine Army! It's been a PRT controlled zone for years. They're not keeping people out for some threat, they're keeping people out because they don't want everyone knowing that they're experimenting on controlling the machines!" - LizardsAllOverTheShop, PHO Online
"Religious leaders across the country are organizing ceremonies of mourning and remembrance for those lost in Boston. And dozens of charity organizations have begun preparing supplies to be sent once travel into the city becomes more clear." - CNN Tonight
AEH
Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, USAF
Acting Governor of Massachusetts
Boston College Conference Room
"Okay, that's the updated status on water and electricity. What's next?"
He scanned through the room. Half a dozen tired faces looked back at him, likely seeing the same from him. The table was strewn with papers, half-full coffee cups, note papers, and maps. Off to the side, the holoprojection hung, showing dozens of icons, pins, notes, and color codes.
"Boston Harbor," grunted Admiral Nathan Grayson, who had come in on the Enterprise. It had been a hell of a thing to see the ship pull into Massachusetts Bay. The Grey Ghost should have been mothballed ages ago, but with the Navy budget for building ships cut down to pennies, everything old was being reactivated, updated, and polished. Especially with the President's insistence on maintaining six active carriers in the Fleet.
Herres nodded, noting a man in a yellow safety vest clear his throat, even as the exhaustion gnawed at the edges of his vision. He had only gotten four hours of rest since the initial relief convoys had arrived. They still weren't out of the woods yet, but things were starting to come together. All that was left was organizing everything that still needed to be organized.
"Name's Robert. I'm the acting harbor master. Short answer? Harbor's fucked. Long answer? Harbor's completely fucked."
There was an exhausted chuckle that broke through the gathering. While it was certainly a crass statement, it both served as a moment of levity, while still enhancing the seriousness of the situation. Herres actually appreciated it.
"Alright. What will it take to get it unfucked?"
"At least six months, two dredges, a marine salvage team, and a lot of manhours."
He couldn't resist the urge, especially with news that was honestly not good, and rubbed his eyes.
"Okay," was his response, even as he rubbed his eyes, "break it down for us. What's wrong?"
The man sighed and pulled out a battered notebook, opening it up to look through it.
"Okay, so firstly, if we want to start bringing in supplies via container ship, we're going to have to remap the seabed. Leviathan and the waves he brought in has completely rearranged it, all of our depth and hazard charts are completely useless. Moving on, we get to the facilities. At least ninety percent of the cranes and unloading stations are a complete writeoff. Too much structural damage to the cranes, and the cargo containers that were not destroyed and/or drawn back to sea, are currently part of the local scenery. Throw into that mix the various smashed boats, ships, and everything else, we have a bay that is completely littered with debris that will need to be charted and cleaned up before we even think about bringing anything with a draft more than five feet."
He then closed the notebook.
"Finally, and this is probably the worst part of it, the refueling stations and fuel storage facilities for the ships. They're completely compromised. What Leviathan didn't crack open and spread throughout the bay and city, is so full of saltwater that it will take months to safely inspect and scour out the fuel reservoirs. And even
with them passing the initial checks, I wouldn't trust them until we did an integrity check, which will take an additional month or so. I'm being generous when I say six months, Colonel, I'm leaning more towards a year before we could get back to fifty percent operational capacity."
He thumped his notebook with the back of his hand, "Like I said, harbor's fucked."
That was honestly what he hoped not to hear, but expected. He had taken the time to look over Ms. Hebert's Scenario Boston-Theta, both out of curiosity, but also to prepare him for what could be. The harbormaster's description of the port facilities had been contained within the notes and projections within it, almost for rote. It was scarily accurate in its analysis, and the fact that it was one of over twenty different scenarios she had wargamed
for Boston alone, only made it more abundantly clear that Ms. Hebert's importance going forward could not be understated.
He honestly wondered what Ms. Hebert would suggest as a solution. Even if it was a test, it would provide a better indicator into her thinking process and how she would approach it. She had provided a textbook answer on how to handle a disaster area, and she had offered solutions to it through her machines and communications, even if she couldn't initially see past her own personal involvement in it.
In hindsight, it may have been unwise to extend her rest for another day, despite her being healthy after her treatment, even if waking her would have been over the protests of Doctor Saunders and Panacea. But for right now, it was a pointless mental exercise, he had to at least figure out a tentative solution now, instead of waiting for the wunderkind.
His head turned away from the harbormaster, "Admiral, what's the closest port facility that can accommodate large-scale cargo containers?"
Even as he asked the question he was in action, manipulating the holographic display with his Focus to zoom it out from Boston to the region. The holodisplay responded immediately despite him being on the other side of the room, and five other people wearing Focus devices in the room as well.
"Port of Portland, in Maine, and Port of New York and New Jersey," was Grayson's immediate reply, and he immediately dropped pins on the locations, grimacing at the distance. Currently, the city had everything it needed; the refugees had camps, food, and heat. Men and supplies were coming in, roads were being cleared of debris, and infrastructure was slowly being restored as buildings were inspected. It would at least be several more days before the outlying suburbs could be deemed safe for people to return. The inner city? Weeks. Possible months.
But all of that was simply to establish a basis of survival. Cities were, by their nature, hungry beasts; requiring mind-numbing amounts of supplies in order to simply function. All of it required a logistical network in order for it to move in and out of the city in large quantities. And right now? The city was on life support; without its own established networks, it was reliant upon everything being trucked, flown, or brought in by rail. Which meant time in lines, congested roads and tracks, and so on and so forth.
The city was only surviving by the skin of its teeth, and it currently did not have the means to get itself back on its feet without the harbor. They were only two days in, and he'd already been warned that they would need to start serious rationing within another five days.
"Incoming ships are all Panamax class," he spoke aloud, "if not larger variants thereof. Is there any way we can unload them? Get them close to the shore and use the choppers?"
Brigadier General Malika Faraday, commanding officer of the 10th Mountain Division, spoke up finally, having been quiet most of the meeting, "Army's already stretched thin on the rotary-wing assets trying to meet the demand here. I've been on the horn with the Pentagon, but the best they can scrape up is another air battalion, and it will be at least another day or two before we'll see anything of them. I know there is chatter about digging some old Chinooks, Blackhawks, and Super Stallions out of Davis-Monthan, but that's at least a week out before we'll see any activity if it amounts to anything, Nathan?"
The named Admiral shook his head, "What I have is all we got. And they are all hard-pressed just keeping things running as is. There's no way we can add in offloading containerships without it impacting something else. And even if we could, do we even have any facilities for the dockworkers to work their magic if we could offload them?"
He found himself blinking at the Admiral's last statement, his mind suddenly whirling at the mention of dockworkers.
He manipulated the map, wondering if gut feeling was correct. Daniel Hebert, the father of Taylor Hebert, had mentioned he was connected with the Dockworkers Union for Brockton Bay. But the Admiral hadn't mentioned the bay as a possible port. Zooming in, he found what he was looking for. It wasn't perfect for the situation, but it was world's better than what they currently had.
"Why not use the harbor at Brockton Bay? It's a two hour drive by semi, the harbor is more sheltered than Boston, and it shouldn't have been hit by Leviathan's surges."
He turned to Robert, who was frowning uncomfortably, "Harbor's blocked, has been since the 80s. Idiots ran a cape-sized freighter aground near its mouth. Left a lot of ships stuck in the port and they were scuttled."
"But they would still have the facilities to unload Panamax-class ships. We can then move cargo by truck or rail."
Robert was nodding along now, shuffling through maps on the table. Pulling one out in front of him, he checked the rail lines connecting the two cities.
"Yeah, that could work. No idea on the state of the equipment, the rail yard and lines, or anything else like that. But in theory it
should work. Still would need to deal with the ship blocking the entrance though. Damn thing's been rusting out there for years, there's no way we can raise and tow it."
"Blow it up."
The table collectively looked at him for a moment.
"Get a navy engineering team down there. Do a survey on the ship, and if it clears, load it up with explosives and do a controlled demolition. Crack it in two, blow it into little pieces, I don't know. If that isn't feasible, then we'll look at cape intervention. Admiral?"
The other man nodded, handing a hastily-scrawled note to an aide who quickly left the room, "On it. I'll see about getting a team down there. Is the Mayor of the city going to give us any trouble?"
"Not if he has any survival instincts," he added another note to his to-do list. It was becoming depressingly long, and had been rewritten several times already.
"Robert, see if you can track down Daniel Hebert. He should be in the building. If there is anyone who has an idea on the state of the port, it'll be him. And if he doesn't, he'll know someone who does."
Satisfied that they at least had a tentative plan going forward, at least until it could be proven or disproven, he filed it away. Now it was time to focus on the next crisis of course.
"Alright, what's next," he asked, looking over the group.
"Rules of engagement, Governor," Faraday spoke up, "I know we haven't experienced it yet, but sooner or later, some idiot is going to get in their heads that attacking supply convoys is a bright idea. I'd rather not have my men hamstrung by rules that put them at a disadvantage. Especially with the possibility of hostile capes being involved."
His eyes narrowed, searching the General's blank expression. He didn't know much about Malika Faraday, and he wished he did, considering the loaded question she had placed at his feet. The general was right in that there needed to be rules of engagement put into place, especially as people started to recover from shock and started looking out for themselves. Sooner or later, there would be crime and violence, and if the right rules of engagement were not put into place, then it would only add further to the chaos.
"We will be merging units together with the local police to provide support. A recognizable face and uniform will hopefully keep things calm."
The harsh reality was that there weren't many police left in the city. Many had been at the forefront of the attempted evacuations, attempting to keep people moving out of the city. They had become casualties, along with the people they had been trying to help. They would be honored for their sacrifice, but that still left him with a city on the edge of anarchy.
"That might not be enough, Colonel. The PRT has already been sharing what information they have about organized crime and powered criminals in this city. There are significant threats that are almost certain to take advantage of the desperation."
While he doubted that Faraday was looking for something like a carte blanche authorization to use lethal force, the issue was that in this day and age, especially with capes, lethal force was possibly the only deterrent they
did have. The problem was that it created a dangerous slippery slope, especially in a high-tension situation like this.
There had to be a way to provide a level of protection for the men and women tasked with protecting the American people, but also ensuring that Boston didn't become something like the O.K. Corral with the military shooting people at will, not that he would accuse them of planning such. It all came down to optics, and the last thing he needed, in order to ensure stability, was a riot on top of a national disaster.
But there was a possible solution to the situation, one that could hopefully satisfy both sides of the coin.
Tapping the Focus, he spoke aloud, "Conference in Quentin Tate."
Now it was only a matter of waiting as the Focus connected with the only other person who could provide him with answers. Hopefully they were answers that would solve this issue as well.
He was rewarded with a new emblem popping up on the holo-board, and the voice of the man who had taken over the operation of the LRL with Hebert's incapacitation.
"How can I help you, Colonel?"
"Mr. Tate, I have a few questions that I hope you can answer."
"I'll do my best."
"Does the Focus device have the ability to record?"
There was a momentary pause. He had to wonder exactly what the programmer was thinking, but it was more than likely having to shift his focus to the conversation. Usually when he called the man, it was simply to get a progress report or a request to put through, so to have him suddenly asking questions probably put the man on his back foot.
"Why don't we start with exactly what we're trying to record and go from there. It will be much easier for me to tell you what the device can do if I know what you want."
"I need to know if we can get an accurate recording of events and situations that might take place because of the actions of the Focus wearer, or that take place around them."
While Tate and the workers that Ms. Hebert had brought with her were dedicated and skilled, the concept of surveillance was a tricky one with civilians. Both in their need, but also in the moral ramifications of it, and he had no desire to dig up fresh issues.
"Oh! I see. You're wondering if we can use the Focus like body-cameras for police actions and the like. Yeah, we do have systems in place to provide that data. If you'll give me control for a moment."
With a tap of the augmented reality, he handed over control to Tate, and the holodisplay shifted, this time bringing up an entirely different Focus to the one anyone was currently wearing.
"What you're looking at is the Ananke-pattern Focus," Tate started, cutting him off before he could ask what he was looking at, "it's a specialized version for use by law enforcement and military units. It's designed to use frequent 'pings' to map the surrounding area around the user."
A small video appeared, with a man standing in the middle of it, as a ring pulsed out from his Focus, illuminating his surroundings in a wire-grid.
"The Ananke's hardware comes with a high-fidelity camera, allowing us to also capture a point of view recording of any interaction. When several devices are in proximity of one another, they will synergize, building a more in-depth generation of the recording. Essentially, the more devices linked in, the higher resolution and detailed the recording."
"And what's to stop someone from simply taking it off," Faraday cut in.
"When such a mode is enabled, there is a constant diagnostics going on between the Focus, the wearer, and the network. All data is captured and stored for review, either through an offsite server, or within the device itself. Afterwards, we can see everything from heart rate, emotional state, even some body functions. We can't influence any of these, of course, but we can see them. If a Focus is removed, modified, 'turned off', or even damaged, the data will be immediately uploaded into the network and we will be made aware. Even destruction will not erase the data. The Focus is completely connected to the network and all other corresponding devices."
The implications were certainly huge, the idea of a recording device such as that, and the uses of it could not be understated. But right now, he had to keep focused on what was pertinent.
"But you made clear that this model, the 'Ananke', was built for this. Am I to assume that's not what we are using now?"
"No," there was an audible sigh, "I'm sorry to say that we focused on the mass production of our baseline model, the Hathor-pattern. It's the baseline communications model, think like a reliable cellphone," he then fell silent for a moment, "I
might be able to modify the software to run on the Hathor. I don't want to promise anything, but I can certainly try. Can you give me like…six hours?"
"Do your best and get back to me as soon as you have something. And Mr. Tate, please make sure that the recording systems are
ironclad. We need them to be unimpeachable. Herres out," he then cut the link, focusing back on the meeting, and the General who was looking at him stone-faced.
"I want you, and everyone else under my command to understand one thing, General. We are here to keep the peace. Not fight a war. This is not an occupation, this is rescue and peacekeeping. This is the first time in the last century that the United States military has been called upon to keep the peace inside our borders for an event of this magnitude. We
will be setting a precedent for years to come. I want to ensure that the expectations if, god forbid, this ever happens again, are immutable."
He then sighed, rubbing his eyes again, "That being said, I understand you want what's best for your men. So, I'm going to make it clear to you, and anyone else that asks. Anyone who knowingly threatens the lives and wellbeing of the citizens of Boston are to be treated as an enemy combatant. The supplies we bring in; medical, food, water, fuel, all of it, is the thin line between life and death for the citizens we have been charged with protecting. Lethal force
is authorized, but it should be an option of last resort. Every single soldier who guards supplies in the city, brings them in, or is on patrol, will be required to wear a Focus. If Mr. Tate can make his modifications, then we will have records of everything. And they
will be used in the event that weapons are fired in anger. I want to know that your men have used every option available to them, General Faraday. Because not only they, but
we will be questioned extensively at the end of this, and I want to make sure that we are protected."
He looked around, wondering if he had just signed his place in history with blood.
"Alright, what's next?"
AEH
"Behind me, you can see the so-called 'mech-animals' that have proven so crucial to the rescue efforts here in Boston. Rescue crews have been working tirelessly, still pushing to find more survivors inside the 'rescue window' as it's been called. Of course, any assistance that you viewers can provide is…" - The Today Show
"The role of the President is clear, to protect and support the American people. And there are a diverse array of tools on hand to help him do that. President Durling was well within his rights and mandate to declare martial law" …
"That is categorically false, and a dangerous road to travel down. The Constitution was very clear that no one man should have the power of kings, and Durling has stepped all over that. The precedent that he's set here, using military power to suspend civilian governorship, is the first step against Democracy. We have only his word that elections will take place, and since when have we trusted the words of a politician?" - Meet the Press
"We need to talk about this company. Zero Dawn Technologies. This company didn't exist five months ago. But there they are, fielding robots in Boston. AND they're handing out consumer ready communication pieces called Focus devices. A private company that lists the CEO and chief inventor as a fifteen year old girl! Her father is listed as the Vice-President, and the CFO is Jean Brown who is an employee of Far Zenith investing group. Who reportedly sank almost 40-million dollars into this… I would almost call it a fantasy company if the evidence wasn't sitting in front of me!" - Mad Money with Jim Cramer
AEH
Legend
Boston
Reilly Memorial Rink
For such a large and acoustically sonorous place…it was disturbingly quiet. A hush that no one involved worked to interrupt.
He knelt down by the side of a dead woman and did his best to write neatly on his clipboard. It was…depressingly simple. If the body didn't have an ID on them, then you left the name and contact details blank. You filled out noticeable features, tattoos, scars, and so on. Then you filled out what they were wearing and what colors. Then you signed it, folded it up, and stuffed it into a plastic sandwich bag taken from the local corner store. Clipped it to the person's front with a black binder-clip and then moved on to the next.
Because there was always a next.
He was cold, even with the occasional break and the winter jacket he had been leant. His knees hurt from kneeling on the ice, and beyond the cold he just felt…numb. Like he was a dispassionate machine just going through the motions.
Because to do anything else would open even himself up to the lingering despair in the air.
Was it wrong for the leader of the Protectorate to be counting the dead in a cold ice rink? Legend didn't think so. Above all else, he tried to be a hero. And sometimes that meant looking at your failure in the face. And Boston was a failure. The city wouldn't be saved because of the Protectorate, or the PRT.
He released a sigh, finishing up his job and got back to his feet. Placing the clipboard underneath his arm, he headed towards the exit of the ice rink, offering and receiving a grim nod of acknowledgment from others of what someone had morbidly called the 'cadaver corps.' It was grimly appropriate, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.
Leaving the clipboard in its place, he stepped out of the ice rink and into the cold rain-soaked air of Boston, inhaling the cold air and watching it steam in the air as he released it. Despite the weather, small crowds gathered by the entrance and the signboards that had been set up. Each one had hundreds of still faces plastered over them. The unknown dead. The mourners and the desperate left what small mementos they could find. Candles, scattered flowers. Waterlogged stuffed animals. He caught the eye of Reverend Melany Sloan, a kind older woman who catered to the Christian mourners. Legend had met several dozen such men and women. Muslim Imam, Hindu Pujari, Jewish Rabbi and more. They took turns speaking to the mourning men and women who came to them. Reverend Slone was even now standing amidst a circle of congregants, speaking prayers for those lost and missing. Legend bowed his head in respect, but couldn't stop and add his own words, atheist though they might have been.
It wouldn't be long until the Endbringer Truce would expire. It was a general rule of thumb that Capes didn't stay after Endbringer battles. Conflicting jurisdictions, the trouble of having unvetted foreigners on native soil, past cultural tensions, language barriers; the list went on. They were all reasons why it was best to send everyone non-local back home again.
Besides, it's not like troubles at home stopped because an Endbringer attacked.
There were still murmurs that the President was going to take an unprecedented action and extend the truce, but he hadn't seen anything yet. Not that he believed that the man was going to do it either. Despite the rightness of what he had done, the man had made himself a political pariah. There was a distinct possibility Durling would not even finish his term without being impeached.
A good man was going to be crucified for making the only right choice in a bevy of bad. This was why he despised politics as a whole. He could play the game, but he never truly enjoyed it. Not like Rebecca.
He sighed. It was hard to admit sometimes…but they had all changed in the years since the Protectorate had formed. Rebecca was the most notable, but even David and Clarke were changing before they lost Clarke to the Siberian. He didn't know what was said to Rebecca, but she became… a hard woman after that. Dedicated to the goals of Cauldron, dedicated to the fight against Scion. Legend frowned as he made his way down the street.
And gone was the openness that once marked their friendship. Everyone kept a few things to themselves, it was normal. But Rebecca? She kept secrets. So did David. The Doctor. Contessa. Like the issue of Taylor Hebert, who's name he first heard yesterday when she rode into Boston with rescue machines and communication devices.
Something was wrong, secrets were being kept, and he didn't know which way to go from here. Which meant having to pry those secrets from Rebecca and then double-checking the information.
If only the rescue work of the last few days had been the hardest part of his week.
A streak of brilliant white light carving through the night sky drew his attention and turned his thoughts away from the disquieting behavior of the female Triumvir. The source was almost too easy for his superhumanly acute vision to perceive and track, especially given the lack of light pollution from what had once been a bustling and thriving city. With less effort than it took to think, he took to the air.
It didn't take him too long to catch up with the source of the light, who had come to a stop hovering over Logan airport.
A svelte woman clad in a white leather outfit glowed so brightly, it would have been too blindingly bright to make out her face for anyone without enhanced vision such as himself, or a Focus. It was a terrible shame for her secret identity that he possessed both. He frowned as he watched the mystery cape slowly drift lower and purposefully turn her already-blinding luminescence brighter, until she outshone the scant few halogen lamps being used by the crews laboring to finish the work necessary to ensure Logan's continuously expanding operational requirements. He sighed and flew closer, slowly and very deliberately reaching into a certain pocket hidden by the lines of his suit.
She noticed his approach, of course. The blue and white of his iconic costume was very distinct, even in the darkness of night. He could see her shoulders bunch up with nervous tension as he approached. Yet he idly noticed that she was deliberately trying to present herself as unthreatening as possible with her hands positioned down and away in a classical Blaster 'standing down' pose. The pure white of her costume made the ill-fitting MOLLE harness haphazardly fitted on her all the more conspicuous as she dimmed the light slightly.
"I'm just here to help, Legend," she preempted him defensively as he flew within arms' reach, only to blink in confusion as he held out one of the emergency domino masks that he liked to keep on hand.
"As this is our first official meeting, Purity, and one under Truce conditions, I'd like to point out two things," he kindly returned. "The first is that there are almost five hundred Focus devices in use as part of the search and rescue efforts," he pointedly tapped to the device affixed to his temple with his free hand as he said this, "that are being used to locate and identify survivors, and more often than not the dead thanks to their holographic imaging systems. The second is that not every cape finds your light difficult to see through."
Her eyes widened in alarm as she got the hint, all but snatching the plain domino mask from his hand and affixing it to her face, with all the awkward manner of someone who'd either never had to wear one before or never had to consider just how useful they are until circumstances very suddenly and inexplicably changed. The light brightened again, before stuttering and flicking as she grumbled in frustration at the unfamiliar task.
"Ground Crew Four to Pixie, Four to Pixie," the radio at Purity's hip suddenly chirped just as she finished donning the new domino mask properly, "You're not about to pass out on us, are you? Your light levels just dropped. Over."
The look of distaste that briefly crossed her features let him know what she thought of the callsign, even as he resisted the urge to comment on it. But it was gone only a moment longer as she awkwardly unclipped the radio from her hip and brought it to her lips.
"Uh, sorry Ground Crew Four, going back to full brightness now. Uh…over," she clumsily replied, and a moment later she was again shining brightly enough to make a halogen flood lamp proud.
He briefly considered for a moment leaving her to it, but the responsibilities that he had as the head of the Protectorate overrode it. The Empire Eighty-Eight was acting strangely, and outside of the propaganda that Kaiser was spouting, no one really had an inkling at what the man's plan was.
"I find myself both grateful and surprised that the Empire decided to help the people of Boston."
There was a moment of silence from the other woman, and he wondered if he was going to get an answer from her. But then, if he hadn't already been straining his hearing, he would have likely missed it.
"I'm not here with the Empire."
What? "I'm sorry?"
"I'm not with the Empire," she said, turning back to look at him, "I parted with them a few months ago."
Now
that was a development he certainly was not expecting. That wasn't to say that he didn't see villains turn hero, but the vast majority of those that did actually turn their coat were individuals. It was much harder to leave an organization or cult, simply because of the human nature of being influenced by their peers. That and the organizations had a tendency of taking any departure personally.
"I'm glad to hear that, Purity," and he was honest, he was glad that she - as a person - was trying to improve her life. Being a villain had nothing to do with any of it. "I won't try and say I understand how difficult it must be for you, but I have found over the years that a hero is defined by the trials they have triumphed over."
"I'm really not in the mood for a speech, Legend," she groused, before shivering from a sudden gust of wind, "I'm doing this for myself."
"Understandable. I'm not exactly the best at giving pep talks on the fly," he chuckled, before accelerating away, knowing exactly where he needed to go, coming to a stop over an aid station and lowering himself to the ground among the suddenly gawking crowd.
"Excuse me," he said, to the woman who was standing behind a table, several coats laying on the table, "would you mind if I take one of these? I have someone who needs it."
"Ummm, certainly Legend," the woman stammered, before he flashed a smile and a nod, slowly bringing himself back into the air, before taking off again. He slowed down a bit further away, hoping that it would not startle Purity, and finally coming to a stop.
"Here," he offered the coat to the woman, who gave a perplexed look at the coat, then to him, and back to it, "It's pretty cold up here. You'll probably feel better if you have this."
She slowly reached out, obviously not used to an act of kindness like this. It sadly reminded him of a feral kitten, experiencing its first kind human contact in its life. But the thought disappeared quickly, as she took the jacket and wrapped it around her. She relaxed slightly, obviously enjoying the sudden warmth granted by the heavy jacket. Despite it being slightly too large for her.
"Thank you."
He smiled, glad that he was of help, "If you want a word of advice for the path of becoming a hero? Start small, you'd be surprised at the impact a simple act of kindness has on people. What you may take for granted, could be a heroic action to that unfortunate individual."
"I- I'll take that under advisement. Thank you, Legend."
His pocket vibrated, and while he kept a smile on his face, internally he was frowning, "No problem. I'll stop distracting you and let you get back to work, I have some things of my own I have to do."
With that, he turned and moved away, reaching into his pocket and extracting a Dragontech satellite phone from it. Flipping it open he looked over the message, his smile slowly fading at the message left on it.
"
Meeting. Site Alpha. Twenty Minutes. Door in Five. - C"
