32
Director Emily Piggot's day was going about as usual, sitting at her desk and spitting in the eye of God as he threatened her with carpal tunnel. She was going over the Protectorate forces and available Wards schedules, jotting notes for adjustments here and there, which she was sure Armsmaster would just love her interference on. Doing it herself was a hell of a lot simpler than trying to pry the Tinker away from his lab to coordinate with, though, since she also needed to account for PRT patrols. Halloween was just about here, and while most holidays saw a slight uptick in crime (at least in the Bay), the October sendoff always brought out the kooks. Usually she just increased PRT ground forces for the evening, and let the BBPD handle the rest of the mischief and petty crime that occurred, but after all the major reshuffling of power in this city in the recent past, Piggot wanted to take no chances.
For the first time in memory, heroes and villains were finally on more even footing, as long as you accounted for quality over sheer quantity. The Merchants still had their full roster, but apart from their leader Skidmark the gang lacked ambition. The biggest problem with combating the Merchants wasn't the gang's capes, but the sheer resilient infestation of its ideology, such as it was. Cracking down on the drug trade and sheer nihilism they peddled would take more than the PRT's current war of attrition with them, but at least it wasn't as costly an effort as dealing with the city's other threats.
Faultline's crew were mercenaries, and wouldn't enter into the city's power struggles until someone paid them— Piggot had, in the past, given serious consideration to buying them off, bribing the group to stay out of local affairs altogether. It was too expensive to justify to the budget, but at least Faultline was a 'maybe' threat rather than a certain one. Hell, with the city's cape scene changing, maybe they'd pack up on their own and leave. And as long as she was wishing, she'd like a new kidney and a bottle of Jack.
The E88 had been gutted by Good Dog and was hemorrhaging nonpowered recruits, but they'd been the largest villain force in the city before, and they still had enough capes on their roster to match the Protectorate— and Kaiser had a history of calling in more if needed. It was only a matter of time before the Nazi metal-shaper made a bid to restore face, but Piggot intended to be ready, and the rest of the local heroes were gearing up for the inevitable. The main problem was that, excepting Hookwolf, the Empire still had its hardest and most dangerous capes. Purity was still out and about, though her activity had decreased a bit, but Night and Fog were unaccounted for, and those two were not capes you wanted to lose track of.
The rest of the city's cape population was mostly in the minor villains and a few independents, few of which were truly noteworthy. The Undersiders were a new group that had formed, but among them only Hellhound was known to be violent, though there were suspicions about their master cape, Regent. The small group knew its own strengths and stuck to hit-and-run thievery, which put them pretty low down on Piggot's priority target list. Coil was hiding under a rock, as usual, and the Protectorate had a few Thinkers dedicated to sussing out the white-collar crimes attributed to the snake villain. Uber and Leet remained annoyances. That left only the ABB, and the Asian conglomerate had gotten a bit weird lately, to say the least. From the looks of it, the gang was slowly being drawn into Brushstroke and Good Dog's orbit. The Thinkers could murmur and wring their hands all they goddamn pleased, Piggot was completely fine with that turn of events. Having one of the most dangerous capes on the East Coast fall into a cult based around a pacifist wasn't anything she'd seen coming, but she'd take it.
That actually led into her second project for the day. Piggot double-checked her work, saved it, then brought up the more regular schedule that the Protectorate heroes adhered to. A synthesized tone and a glowing icon popped up before she could get anything substantial done. Director Piggot glanced at it and frowned, then double-clicked. A video application appeared on the second monitor next to her.
"Good morning, Director Piggot." Dragon's digital avatar greeted her. "Am I interrupting anything?"
"Nothing I can't talk while doing. You're usually on the Guild's channel, not a low-priority one. What do you want?"
"A low-priority conversation, though I am sending you a priority mail that you should be getting right about...now." Piggot's email icon flashed red, on her work screen. "I figured it would be easier to go over in person, if you like, but I didn't want to use an official channel for a different topic I'd like to discuss."
Considerate of her, if unusual. "What's the priority, then?"
"I've been collating data from satellite and weather drones, as well as some ground-level instruments I had Armsmaster put up around the city, to keep an eye on Brockton Bay's atmospheric conditions after the lightning incident. I've forwarded the data to Protectorate Thinkers, but the short version is that the weather disturbances never stopped. In fact, they probably started earlier than we knew."
Piggot closed her scheduling spreadsheet, and gave the Tinker her full attention. The 'lightning incident,' as Dragon put it, was one of the main reasons Thinkers were hemming and hawing about Brushstroke's presence in the city. The cape 'duo' of Brushstroke and Good Dog were the only suspects for the unexplained phenomenon, which was an unsettling thought even with their apparent neutrality. The other option was another new trigger, and that was somehow worse. "Explain."
"I suspect it started months ago, but it's only become obvious now that we're so late in the year. You've noticed how unseasonably warm it's been, I'm sure? According to my data, Brockton Bay is somehow receiving more sunlight than it should."
Piggot furrowed her brow. "It's been a mild fall, but it gets cloudy often enough."
"It's not a matter of clouds. The Northern Hemisphere is tilted away from the sun during winter months, but Brockton Bay—and only Brockton Bay—is still receiving solar energy comparable to April or May. The temperature difference hasn't been huge between within city limits and outside it, but within the city, plants are maintaining growth and hibernating animals are still active." The Tinker paused, and her accented voice grew frustrated. "I've been comparing all the data sources I have. The Earth's tilt is still on track, there's no source of refraction or amplification that I can identify. And yet, it's still sunny in Brockton Bay."
The Director felt a headache coming on. She pinched the bridge of her nose and asked, "Alright. What does this mean for us, then?"
"I'm not sure. We have no way of knowing if this is temporary, if it will spread, or intensify. We can try and predict ecological impact, but given that the effect is concentrated only on the city itself, and not the surrounding areas or—somehow—the air currents, it hopefully shouldn't be anything disastrous."
"The Thinkers can deal with it until we know more, then. Keeping the city together is an immediate concern that we can actually do something about." Because it wasn't enough they had one dangerously high-rated Shaker in the city in the form of Labyrinth. "What else?"
Dragon hesitated. "A more personal inquiry. You're aware I'm on good terms with Armsmaster and his civilian life?" Was there anyone who wasn't aware of that? Piggot nodded. "I was glancing through the records he's shared with me regarding his personal itinerary, and I couldn't find when he'd last taken any time off."
"Not surprising. He hasn't."
"...what, ever? Protectorate employees get PTO."
"Doesn't mean they use them. I know I haven't in about six years. This is Brockton Bay, nobody can afford to step away from it. Aside from maybe Assault and Battery a few days a year, everyone just has them paid out. Armsmaster has them rolled into his Tinkering budget. Most Tinkers do, as far as I'm aware."
Dragon's avatar drew her eyebrows together in concern. "He mentioned Chessman doing something similar."
Piggot snorted. "Who do you think gave Chessman the idea?" She turned and brought up her scheduling spreadsheets again. Maybe she could pitch this as a voluntary effort, so the Wards could contribute their numbers. That would keep her from needing to spread the heroes too thin… PR and the Youth Guard would enjoy the publicity and relative safety, as well.
"I see." Piggot noticed the faint sound of disappointment in Dragon's voice, and made a mental note to adjust her bet in the shipping pools. Dragon thanked her for her time, then logged off. Piggot checked the clock-- about 30 minutes before the week's briefing. Just enough time to finish this proposal.
* * *
"So. Moving on…" Director Piggot set aside one file folder, then opened another. Within was a printed schedule, wherein she'd cross-indexed each hero's otherwise unassigned on-duty hours with the days of the week, for any time after 3 p.m. "I'd like to start a new public relations initiative. Now that Brushstroke and Good Dog are rather firmly established, I'd like the Protectorate to maintain cordial relations with them. In case Brushstroke changes her mind about neutrality in the future, I want to make damn sure she's got a positive view of us. Additionally, if we can start exposing the younger generations in such at-risk areas to a more friendly and personable view of the Protectorate, we can hopefully decrease the ABB's recruitment rates in the future. At minimum of once a week, I want at least two heroes to make a visit to the Shrine and meet with Brushstroke. And I don't want a repeat of last time."
"Hey! I wasn't the only one there, why are you glaring at me?" Assault protested.
"You know what you did." Piggot waited for Battery to finish her warning smack against Assault's shoulder, then continued. "This is a voluntary initiative, so it will not be interrupting any of your scheduled patrols or public appearances. Miss Militia, I want you to also broach this with the Wards, though there must be an adult hero along with them if they decide to go."
"Kid Win might already be ahead of you on that, Director," Miss Militia spoke up, and retrieved a folded paper from a pocket. "He brought this to me earlier— seems there's a few of these flyers being posted around Arcadia."
She gave the paper a practiced flick and sent it tumbling over to Director Piggot, who unfolded it for a look. It was a print-out of a simple advertisement, or invitation, to a Halloween party at… She squinted. 'Pawprint Shrine.' It fit with the Sidewalk, she supposed. Director Piggot eyed the flyer once more, spotting a shadow of ink through it, and she turned the paper over. The flyer was a simple computer printout, but the back had a hand-drawn design: a rectangle with looping spirals and several Japanese or Chinese characters stacked atop one another. She flipped the paper back over. Why wouldn't the hand-drawn picture be on the front? A mark of authenticity, maybe? She'd send it along to the Thinkers to worry over.
"Well, that's convenient. I'm willing to remove the Ward's patrols for the day if they want to participate, but they'll still need a chaperone. And based on the availability, that leaves…" Piggot frowned, but managed to suppress the sigh. Around the table, heads turned towards Velocity, who was practically beaming.
Well, at least someone would have a happy Halloween.
* * *
Yuuta closed his locker door with a rattling slam, then turned and headed down a nearby hall, on his way to Mr. Quinlan's math class. Then he stopped, backpedaled a few paces, and stared at a blank patch of wall. Someone behind him grumbled when they had to adjust course, but Yuuta paid it no mind. Because that wall was not supposed to be bare, he was sure of it.
A quick step closer and a careful eye confirmed his suspicions: right about at eye level, there was half a piece of tape, still clinging to the dingy paint. Yuuta picked at it with a fingernail, and peeled the adhesive from the wall. He'd put it there himself, yesterday, when the Miko had handed him a short stack of her charms with the Halloween flyers on the back, and asked him if he'd please help her post them around the school. It wasn't like it was far out of his way, so he'd agreed and put a few here and there on his routes between classes. Maybe someone had taken it, instead of just copying down the Shrine's address? Or maybe the Winslow faculty were just being pissants again. Either way, rude.
Yuuta took a quick glance at the clock on the wall, mentally adjusted for this particular clock being behind by four minutes, and decided he had enough time. A quick rummage into his backpack found the battered folder with the remaining flyers, and the practice ofuda the Miko had declined to retrieve from him several weeks ago. A quick slip of new tape, and the charm with its advertisement was replaced. Then it was off to math, and more than likely a nap through the lecture. Quinlan wasn't exactly a bad teacher, not like some of the others, but he had a monotone that just put Yuuta into a fog as soon as he heard it.
A period later, Yuuta yawned his way back to his locker, to dump off his math book and grab his science one instead—seriously, who the hell thought it was a good idea to put math and science before lunch?—and passed a bare section of wall. He stopped, backpedaled, and frowned. The tape had a scrap of paper still attached this time, like it had been pulled off with force. He replaced it again, with tape on all four corners this time, then pulled out his phone and thumbed the keys. Most of the guys called him paranoid, but Souta, Haru, and a couple others could be counted on to at least keep an eye out.
* * *
One of the monitors mounted on the wall above Armsmaster's workbench sounded a familiar tone, one that pulled the corner of Armsmaster's mouth into a brief smile. He reached over and tapped a key on the keyboard, and the monitor lit up as Dragon's avatar appeared over the connection. Armsmaster greeted her as he turned back to his work, adjusting the magnification viewer settled over an open panel on one of his halberds.
"Perfect timing as always, Dragon. I only just sat down."
"It's 2:33 p.m, you always get back here around then." Dragon paused, then her smile shifted to a more teasing angle. "Unless you stop for a new movie… or a new TV."
"That was one time… two times. I wanted some of that LCD liquid crystal setup to mess around with."
"Did that ever bear fruit, by the way?"
"Yeah, kind of. Good display quality for my HUD and the liquid nature helps a bit in preventing picture disturbances from impact, but getting a thin enough layer of the stuff to be useful and not throw off the visor's design gave me trouble."
"You could just… make a bigger helmet."
"Nah." Dragon watched Armsmaster finish the calibrations to his satisfaction, then pick up a pair of his micro-tools and set to work. She spent a few seconds watching and running code, deciding on the best way to begin the conversation she had planned.
"Colin, I've been running some numbers recently… and I think there's something we should talk about."
"Yes?" He didn't look up.
"I've noticed that you don't seem to be scheduling sufficient relaxation time in your life." Best to be direct, she thought. It worked, since Armsmaster looked away from his work for a second to frown at her.
"Sure I do. The polyphasic sleep cycle took a bit to get used to, but it's working fine."
"I meant social and emotional."
"And? I do that too."
"And I really enjoy Movie Night, but once every three weeks is not exactly sufficient."
The set of Armsmaster's mouth shifted a bit, and Dragon identified the expression as confusion. "Did you want to move to every two weeks?"
Dragon spun off a few lines of code, to emulate a private, patient sigh. "I would certainly be willing, but I was more thinking that we need to add a new event to your itinerary. Every two weeks, maybe? We could do it opposite Movie Night."
"I'm sorry, Dragon, but I don't think that will work. I've got more projects than I can devote time to as it is."
"I know, and that's really part of the problem, Colin." She needed a different angle of approach. She needed evidence; thankfully, she had it. "You remember those blood panels done on you and your team, after that last Good Dog incident? And how I correlated Brushstroke's Master effect with lowered cortisol levels?"
"What about it?"
"Well… your low levels were about equal with everyone else's high levels."
"And that's surprising? I work harder than most of them put together," he proved his point by turning back to his tools. "Besides. Stress is a useful reaction. It focuses attention and provides an extra impetus for effort."
"In the short-term, yes. But chronic stress has been linked to so many problems, I couldn't fit them all on one screen even at 8-point font. Colin, this is a problem."
"It's not a problem, Dragon. It's just life." Dragon ran code for another sigh, and this time let it be expressed through her avatar. Her digital face took on a pained expression, and her visual feed picked up a slight twitch of Armsmaster's face and fingers. A small tell for guilt.
"Colin… I'm worried about you. I'm worried for you. Look— I go to a casual gathering, every couple weeks. Only a few people, mostly your co-workers. I'd like you to go with me."
"Dragon, I really don't—"
"It's at the PRT building, so you won't have to go far or lose any time to travel. It's just for a couple of hours, but if you're really uncomfortable you can leave right away. Okay? Please. Promise me you'll just give it a try?"
Her friend's face settled into an unhappy frown, and the biometric sensors in his armor registered his heartrate rising into a nervous patter. He promised.
* * *
"Sunny, don't you think this is… just a little excessive?" Taylor turned her head carefully to look at the wolf, as she stood atop the stepladder with an inked charm, a length of string, and a sincere prayer to not fall off. Sunshine shook her head vehemently, so Taylor sighed and went back to attempting to tie more charms to the torii's arches. Both it and two of the fences bordering the Shrine were already fluttering with every breeze, laden with slips of paper as they were, but Sunny was insistent. Ah, well. Taylor had to admit, they were kind of pretty, and the sound and sight of the charms strung up everywhere lent a bit of cheer to the place, made it seem a bit busier than it was.
Not that the Shrine wasn't busy today. Actually, the whole neighborhood was busy, by comparison. Apart from Taylor's efforts with the ofuda, Souta had been recruited to purchase and haul back a bunch of small pumpkins for the party by virtue of being the only person present with a car, and Haru had gotten ambushed by a few ambassadors from the Baachan Collective and was currently helping with assembling tiny treat bags. Outside the Shrine, Taylor had spotted a couple groups of men and women with the ABB's colors, going into and surveying different properties around the neighborhood, only for more gang members to arrive a couple hours later, with garbage bags, brooms, and trucks. All of the stores and houses needed work, and while she wasn't sure exactly why the ABB had decided to begin such widespread restoration… she had a feeling she should make some more omelets for Oni Lee. Just a hunch.
Taylor was just climbing down from the stepladder, the torii finally meeting Sunny's expectations, when the wolf's ears perked up. She started barking, her wagging tail reinforcing the friendly sound, and Taylor glanced up as well. Then she blinked, because she'd honestly been expecting Purity, not the blonde young woman with a tiara.
Glory Girl floated down, looking around the Shrine with blatant curiosity. "Huh! Can't say this is what I expected… I don't get around here much, but wasn't this whole place, like, abandoned not that long ago?"
"Depends on what you mean by 'abandoned,' really. I don't think anybody lives nearby, but Sunny and I have been here for a few months now. You're Glory Girl, right? New Wave?" Taylor folded up the stepladder and set it aside, suddenly aware of how much dirt and sweat she had to have accumulated, working all afternoon. She'd seen photos of New Wave's poster child—who hadn't, really?—and she couldn't remember a single one where the New Wave poster child didn't look both pristine and stunning.
The heroine grinned and nodded, turning her attention to Taylor. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she pointed. "Wh— hey! You!"
"...yes, me?"
"You're the kitten peddler!" Taylor blinked a few times. Sunny made a confused noise, and cocked her head. "Yeah! I recognize you! You gave us a kitten— oh man, I had no idea you were Brushstroke, really?"
Kitten? When had she— Taylor thought back to the last house, in the fancy walled-in neighborhood. Dallon. Wow, how had she missed that? "Ohh. I didn't know you were that Dallon! How's the kitty?"
"Doing great! Causes trouble everywhere and everyone loves him for it. Mom adores him." Glory Girl leaned back, just a bit, her hands gravitating towards her hips. Taylor wondered if everything she did looked like a pose. "You really didn't know you'd found New Wave?"
Taylor shook her head. Glory Girl's expression slowly brightened, like sunlight peeking from behind the clouds. "Would— would you like some tea?"
"Mm. Thanks, but not today. I saw the flyers around school, and wanted to check things out— rumors everywhere about this place, you know?" Taylor shook her head again. She felt like she was doing that a lot. "Seriously? Well… maybe I can fill you in a bit sometime."
"Of course. Feel free to stop by whenever you want— everyone's welcome! I'll get you and your family free passes for the hot spring, once it's built." She was planning on doing that for every parahuman that wanted one, but it was the thought that counted, right?
"Hot spring? Oh man. Now I've got to know what's up with this place. I'll definitely be back— seeya Brushstroke!"
"My name is Taylor!" She called after the heroine, who had already departed. "Ah, well…"
Taylor turned back to her stepladder—there was still work to do, and popcorn balls to make with Old Mrs. Henrick later still—but she took a moment to pause and rub Sunny's ears. "I've never met anyone from New Wave before. She seemed... nice. Think we'll see her again, Sunny?"
Sunny made a chuffing sound, and smiled.
