This started as an idea from @BigBadBen over on SB/SV, and kinda gained a life of its own.
Special thanks to @BigBadBen and @Tigers-Tall-Tails.
Glenn Chamber's No Good, Very Bad Day
Daniel South was a young man with a stressful job. Everyone knew it, even if he tried to downplay it, you would have to live under a rock not to see it. When he had first applied, he had great hopes for things. An introductory position inside the Parahuman Response Team. Secretary work. Just some light work to get his foot in the door, then he could move on to better things.
Unfortunately, better things didn't come. Because Daniel was
too good at his job. He managed his boss' calender with precision and cultivated connections inside and outside the office. So that whatever his boss needed, he could provide. He just…couldn't leave now. First, because he was getting a generous salary, benefits, and so on. Second…it was because his boss had made sure that no one else would take him. Which was…flattering. Sort of. It felt good to be needed and rewarded for your hard work! But, there were times when he wondered…
He flinched as he heard more shouting and the slam of something heavy through the door. Glass broke and he made a note to ask maintenance to…have someone ready. Another roar of frustration echoed from his boss' office and something else broke. Daniel's coworkers gave him pitying glances. His boss wasn't a violent man, he never yelled at his employees. But he was a passionate and energetic man, and when he did feel the need to unleash that energy…in a less constructive way…he would barricade himself in his office. And since it was now a full week since Boston was hit by Leviathan… everyone was frayed and stressed.
The sound of something crashing to the floor made him sigh, as he brought up his contacts list for the interior decorators. It looked like it was going to be one of those events.
Yes…sometimes, all the pay and benefits in the world didn't make up for being Glenn Chamber's secretary.
Glenn Chambers
Glenn Chambers liked to fancy himself a calm and reasonable man. After all, it took the patience and serenity of a saint in order to be the PRT's Head of Imaging. He was regularly handling difficult people, troublesome situations, and potential scandals. Despite the image that he and his colleagues worked tirelessly to present, parahumans were broken people. Heroes. Villains. It didn't matter. They were all twisted to some degree. His job was to smooth out those twists. Make the people who can shoot laser beams from their fingers seem approachable. So that you can feel comfortable shaking their hand and not think about the possibility of getting your arm blown off because the cape twitched wrong.
Of course, he didn't work in a vacuum. The PRT was the largest law enforcement department in the country and that came with opportunity! Glenn Chambers and his team were responsible for merchandising the personas that were crafted for the Capes that made up the Protectorate. After all, it's hard to be afraid of a woman who can bend steel with her fingers if every girl is playing with a dress-up doll of Alexandria. And furthermore…
There was a timid knock at the door and it opened after a minute; Daniel, his ever wonderful assistant walked in with a towel and a cold bottle of water.
"Daniel, my boy, you're a saint," he said, taking the offered bottle.
"Is…there anything I can do?"
He sighed, leaning back in his very comfortable chair and loosening his collar and tie, "I'd like a time machine and a shotgun so I can shoot every department head in the ENE branch."
"...I'll see if Toybox has anything available, sir."
Glenn snorted, unscrewing the bottle's cap and taking a swig of the lovely cold water. This is why Daniel's salary was almost as large as his own. It was also why he would ruin the career of anyone who tried to poach the boy. The young man was a saint with a promising future. He never said no, he always said, 'I'll look into it.' Truly, those monkeys they put in front of microphones could learn a thing or two from him.
Placing the bottle down, he reached over and pulled his keyboard in front of him. With an aggressive stab, he brought his monitor to life then transferred everything over to his big screen. The projector pushed images against the wall, filling his office with light. Sometimes, you just need to look at something in large sizes. Dozens of video clips, photos, and news segments filled the screen as Daniel started tidying. He would admit, quietly of course, that he may have gone overboard. But that bookcase was more for aesthetics anyways, that vase was so last season, and that painting...okay, he did regret that painting. He'd have to find the artist again.
He sighed, "My boy, what do you see when you look at all of this?" He waved one meaty finger at the wall.
Daniel paused in his efforts and looked, "In terms of the actual? Or meaning?
Yes…Daniel was special alright. If only he could have a department of Daniels. Maybe…no, he probably couldn't get Blasto to make clones. Too bad.
"Both."
The young man hummed, tilting his head, "Zero Dawn robots. The media coverage of them. As to the meaning? Hope. Reconstruction? A different perspective?"
Daniel looked to him for approval on his guesses. A small habit that he was trying to break the younger man of. Better to be confident and defend your position.
"I look at it and see
a massive money waterfall that we are never going to see!"
His mouth going to dry again, he polished off the water. Sighing, he dropped it into the bin. Even if he was angry and frustrated, you don't kick the bin. It's just not done.
"The PRT and Protectorate are, at their core, law enforcement agencies. We don't have the manpower or resources to devote effort to reconstruction. Capes get in, fight the bad guy, then leave. But that's not what 'heroes' do. The collective consciousness of the nation has internalized this notion of heroes from comic books. So we play into that. We teach our capes how to stand, how to fight, how to talk like the idealized image that people hold in their head."
He stabbed another button. Various pieces of promotional material scrolled by. He could name them all, having worked or approved them. That was the Legend image from 2001. The Triumvirate image from Time Magazine August 1998. Chevalier news pieces 2003.
"Then, along comes this girl who breaks the norm. She's a parahuman, but not a cape. She behaves as a hero, but doesn't 'act' like a hero. Even if she isn't in the scene personally, people know that those machines are hers. So the actions of the machines become her actions. And her machines are where our capes aren't! They're in the rubble, in the aftermath, long after our capes have gone back to their cities."
"And the public loves it! Which means the news agencies love it! Because everyone loves the nail that sticks out. The tree with different colors stands out in the forest and all that. Do you know I was actually told 'no' by the various news agencies when I tried to get the memorials featured? They said that 'more pressing issues' were being presented during primetime! We got features just preprime on blasted PBS!"
He hurled a pen against the wall, "And we were this close!" He pinched two of his pudgy fingers together, "This
close! Ms. Hebert came to us with a device that
could give the blind back their sight! But NOOOooooo, the person in charge just looked at the little blind girl and thought 'we can't use her to punch criminals, so let's just stuff her in a box."
Stabbing another button, a new headline appeared on the screen. Today's headline with an accompanying shot.
It was of Taylor Hebert, dressed in BDUs, sunglasses over her eyes, Focus on her temple, in a crouch with her hand resting upon a weasel-like machine's head. It was obvious from the shot that this wasn't a pose, but an opportunist catching what was probably a private moment for the girl.
Taylor Hebert: A Blue Light in the Dark
He had to hand it to the writer. It was a well crafted narrative, playing just right on the imagery without making it too heavy-handed, balancing the tragedy with hope. If they weren't a writer with the New York Times, he would have probably looked at poaching them. Alas.
"So here she is. Untouchable, with merchandising opportunities galore, and that's just off of what we've seen already. I would be more impressed and annoyed if this had all been planned."
"You don't think this was planned, sir?"
He chuckled, "Not at all. I don't think Ms. Hebert was ready for this kind of attention. Her company has 380 employees registered. There's no press release, no media, no marketing. Still…we'll see if she can run fast enough to catch up."
His phone started to ring and all of his thoughts about the matter ceased as he recognized the ringtone. It was a ringtone that was only given to one person. And anytime she called, it was always going to be a shitshow.
Daniel smoothly picked it up and answered with a pleasant tone. The traitor.
"Image and Merchandising, Chambers' office. This is Daniel speaking."
He was also a saint, handling that far better than he would have likely done at this point.
Daniel looked at him for a moment, and he frantically shook his head.
"No ma'am, Mr. Chambers isn't available right now. Can I take a message?"
An absolute saint.
"Yes, ma'am, I understand the urgency. Once he is available, I will pass the message along," he stopped, obviously awaiting a response, "I understand perfectly, ma'am. I will get right on that. Yes ma'am, good.."
He then placed the receiver back, "She hung up on me."
"What does the Iron Lady want now?" All respect for the late Ms. Thatcher, but the woman had nothing on Rebecca Costa-Brown. She was intelligent, ruthless, and driven. And was not the type of woman you wanted to gain the ire of.
"She wants you in Conference Room 5 in half-an-hour."
He sighed, wondering just how his day could get any worse.
Feeling slightly more composed, he walked into the conference room ready to tackle the challenges ahead. Despite the occasional pitfalls, he really did love his job. The PRT/Protectorate was
the iconic focus of the century. The world would remember the way that the organization was presented. And he was at the center of it all. He was the one that would shape the presentation. It was everything that he had ever dreamed of since those media classes back in College. When he started to understand just how important 'image' was.
Unfortunately, it did mean he had to work with…difficult people.
Around the table sat several of those examples. Lucius, the Director of Communications, technically his boss. Maks, Director of the Washington PRT office. Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the PRT. There were four or five other people who he knew the positions of, but didn't interact with.
As everyone settled, Costa-Brown began.
"Alright. An Endbringer hit our shores, Boston is devastated, and people are questioning the relevance of our organization. We need solutions. Starting with this: Why didn't the
USS Kidd's warning receive more attention?"
All eyes turned to Lucius, who stared back calmly. Credit to him that he didn't flinch under the gaze.
"The simple fact is that there's no clear lines of communication between the PRT and the military. The military doesn't have access to the Endbringer Alert Systems, they aren't hooked into our phone lines or our radio frequencies."
The man stopped to check over the papers in front of him, leaving the room in silence. Nice trick. He had to remind himself sometimes that his boss was competent, even if his behavior was a little rigid.
"When the
Kidd contacted the PRT, they actually just called the emergency dispatch of Boston. Credit to the dispatcher, they immediately forwarded the call to their supervisors because it was a legitimate military office calling. Said supervisor called Watchdog to confirm the information. This is where the issues crop up. Watchdog checked the systems meant to monitor Leviathan. They even had the Tinker who made the devices double-check that they were receiving good data. Said Tinker was on site for another project, we didn't lose any time there. But all sensors indicated that Leviathan was still waiting. This information was shared with the
Kidd, who insisted that their sonar was showing Leviathan inbound for Boston and insisted on initiating an Endbringer Alert. The supervisor disagreed."
"And where is the supervisor now," that was Helen, Director of Human Resources.
"Dead. He was among the casualties when Leviathan attacked the PRT offices."
Costa-Brown nodded, writing something down, "Alright, we play up the disconnect between the military and PRT. Keep the supervisor out of the spotlight if you can, we don't want the fault to fall on PRT personnel."
Lucius nodded, and made some of his own notes as the Chief Director looked around the room.
"Alright, next issue," she shuffled her notes, "Wards in Boston. The Youth GUard is already building up their 'child soldiers' rhetoric and I would rather
not have the Wards program be axed."
Helen spoke up again, "From what I can gather, without speaking to Director Piggot herself, the Wards were clearly asked about volunteering. Piggot highlighted the Endbringer Defense Clause of the Wards contract, which states that they could be asked to take on 'auxiliary duties dedicated to defense'...without requiring parent permission. Yes, the Director stretched things by saying that Boston was close enough for the aftereffects of Leviathan's attack could impact the city. But every Ward present was there voluntarily."
"Alright, we're going to lean on that. Glenn, prepare a Wards highlight for…Kid Win, Vista, and Clockblocker. Focus on their actions during and after the fight. Also, the only reason they were 'in' the fight was because Leviathan changed tactics."
He wrote a few notes, already planning it out. He would need to get proper after-action reports for those three and maybe dig up some old marketing material for them. Vista was solid and he could market her. Clock was...certainly memorable. He could remember the marketing and PR reps for the Bay calling him in frustrated tears. Kid Win was new to him, so some intern would have to do some digging. He could imagine the headlines now.
Highest values of heroism…hmmm…
Next generation steps forward…Eh, he could workshop it later.
"Last order of business before we get to force redistribution for Boston. Taylor Hebert. Alloy. Optics aren't looking good where she's concerned. How are we going to handle this?"
He immediately raised his pen, pausing a moment while the room focused on him before providing an answer.
"We're not. Any spin we try to put on this mess isn't going to do us any favors. And just trying is going to lean more people away from us."
Oh, he could see that Costa-Brown didn't like that idea.
"Look. It would take two or three FOIA requests for people to get the story out. Director Piggot had a device that could give the blind back their sight back, wrapped up in the most pitiful news story character I could ever dream up. She fumbled and we're stuck cleaning up the mess," he looked around the room, hoping that everyone understood him, "If we make it clear that we're trying to squash her, the public is going to take her side."
Lucious tapped his finger against the table, "What if we do the opposite, try and pull her in closer to us? Right now, some of the attraction is that she's 'not a cape'. We make it clear we do consider her as such, more like an open cape from New Wave. Our public message will be focused on referring to her as a cape and a heroic one. Someone who we would like to work with. If she pushes back," the man shrugged, "Then we can paint ourselves as the bereaved party. We're willing to let past mistakes go, but she's not."
The Chief Director nodded along, "A long term solution, but one that gets us out of the honeymoon phase in the news cycle. Alright, send me the talking points when you've got them. I'll probably be called to the Senate within the next few days and we will all need a coordinated message."
He nodded himself, understanding the base necessity of the decision. The Protectorate survived because they were 'the good guys'. Ergo, anyone opposing them were…'the bad guys'. Comic book, black and white logic pushed in a world of greys, where the populace had access to more information than ever before, but still preferred the strength of a single monolithic perspective.
As the meeting moved on to deploying Protectorate and PRT personnel in the wake of the losses suffered in Boston, he continued to take notes. Which capes to hold up in the spotlight, which capes to transfer quietly. Which to make martyrs, and which to make disappear. All to shape the image that the PRT was doing good work in a world that was slowly falling apart.
Truly, he loved his job.
An aide burst into the room, interrupting the conversation. He glanced up as they hurried to the Chief Director and handed her a paper. His good mood faded. No one acted and looked like that with good news.
The aid left, and the Chief Director looked over the paper before crumpling it in her fist. With a strained breath, she looked up and declared, "Canary has been sighted in Boston. She's turned herself into the police…the
military police. They are refusing to return her to PRT custody."
Just like that, his day was officially ruined. Because trying to keep the attempted murder trial of a beloved, attractive young pop-idol out of the spotlight had literally been a sisyphean task. It had taken him and his staff many sleepless nights in the office in order to manipulate the news cycle and cost him quite a number of favors. And when the verdict had been reached, he had congratulated himself as there had been no riots outside of the PRT building or the courthouse. And now all that was moot.
Truly, it sometimes didn't pay to be Glenn Chambers.
