[] Participate in Law and Order as a social activity instead of as a main activity.
Realign 14.6
Tuesday, August 7
It takes little effort to find the time and place for the PRT press conference Missy mentioned, and the next day you drop onto a rooftop adjacent to city hall. Your sudden appearance startles the sniper perched on that same roof, but you give her and the wolfhound lying on the ground next to her a friendly wave when she points her giant rifle at you. "Afternoon. How are you two doing?"
"…We're good?" the woman says, apparently not sure what the proper protocol is for something like this. She probably has not had that many interactions with capes, not even now that she is a mage herself. "No offense, but what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to listen to the press conference, and I wasn't going to wait in all of that." You jerk your thumb at the crowd of reporters and other spectators to make sure she understands just what you mean by 'that'. Everyone is milling about waiting for the show to start, and from their impatience, you expect they know little more than you do about what is to come. Standing at attention and possibly providing security are the members of the Protectorate and Wards. You do not know whether to smile or sigh at the way the Wards are obviously and Chevalier is more circumspectly looking around as though waiting for one more member of the group to appear.
They will be waiting a long time.
The doors to the building open, and Director Paulson walks out in an unremarkable blue suit. Behind him, however, is a much more imposing sight. Eight PRT agents come into view, dressed not in their normal bulletproof vests and helmets but in full suits of sleek, reflective black armor. You recognize the new look, too; Dragon was pitching this exact design of power armor to Legend when you arrived at the PRT base to look for mages like the woman who is again crouched down and resting her gun on the edge of the roof. Six agents carry big rifle-looking guns with two barrels rather than one, and the other pair each has a massive tube strapped across their backs. What really catches your eye is that the handles are attached to the front of the tubes while a box that you can only presume contains ammunition is at the back.
«
Any idea what those tube things are?»
Perfect Storm takes a moment before providing an answer. «
Design atypical for mechanical-chemical weapon system. Mana battery contained at back. Low level magnetic signal detectable even at range. Appearance matches Earth Bet shoulder-mounted rocket systems. Hypothesize energy propulsion system, specifically magnetic acceleration weapon.»
"Hello, everyone," Paulson says, cutting you off from asking just what Perfect Storm is talking about. "Thank you for coming to the grand unveiling of the next stage in the evolution of the Parahuman Response Team.
"As most of you know, following the arrival of Scion and the rise of parahumans, Philadelphia once again earned its moniker of the City of Brotherly Love. For years we had one of if not the lowest cape per capita rate of any major city in the United States. We have one of the smallest branches of the PRT as well as one of the smallest branches of the Protectorate," he adds with a wave at the capes. "That was all we needed to keep the gangs in check.
"The chaos caused by the Mara Salvatrucha changed all that. First it was the gangs turning our streets into a war zone, and even when the Mara Salvatrucha were gone other villains poured in trying to take their place. The Protectorate was spread too thin, and the PRT was unequipped to assist them as much as they needed.
"We failed you, and we failed our city."
As far as uplifting press conferences go, this one could use some work. If the wave of mutterings go, the press is just as confused by the tone of Paulson's speech and especially considering the armored agents positioned behind him. Chevalier and Sere, meanwhile, look more irritated at their own role in holding off as many villains as they could being diminished. Even the Wards seem upset, though whether that is because they had felt as useless as Missy did or because they do not appreciate their superiors being badmouthed is anybody's guess.
"We failed you," Paulson repeats, "but we will not fail you again. The PRT's specialty engineers have been in contact with their colleagues working at Dragontech"—that is probably the most oblique reference to the Guardian Beasts of the Gear and Tim you could have ever imagined—"and the fruit of their collaboration stands before you. Too many parahumans have powers that are so dangerous and destructive that normal humans, even the trained and dedicated men and women who serve this city, are incapable of capturing them.
"The Liberator power armor will level the field. This is not Tinkertech that can only be operated by a single person. This is a fully reproducible and fully maintainable marvel of human ingenuity. In a short time, every field agent will be on patrol with armor and weapons that will give even the strongest villain pause. It is no longer just the Protectorate the gangs need to fear. It is
all of us."
Paulson waits to let his bold declaration sweep over the crowd. This is it, you realize. He will not have a better time to reveal the mages within the PRT, not when he is talking about how much stronger the PRT has become. And yet, you cannot help but feel that it does not feel right.
"To the citizens of this city, I give you a promise of peace. Every man and woman in the PRT swore a solemn oath to protect you, even if it costs us our lives. We have not forgotten that oath.
"To any villains, here or elsewhere, who thinks Philadelphia is vulnerable to their predations, I have only a warning. This is
our city, not yours. You want a piece of us? We will make you choke on it."
As soon as it becomes clear his speech is over, the reporters start shouting questions at him. You tune out the chaos and lean back on your heels. "Huh. I honestly expected him to tell the world about magic and you guys."
The wolfhound stands up and becomes a blur that resolves into a woman who would not look out of place on a supermodel catwalk. You cast an envious eye at the way she makes even a pair of jeans and a loose top look like the height of fashion. At least she is not massively endowed on top of it; you do not think your feminine pride could handle that heavy a blow. "Director Paulson is keeping mages, and our team in particular, as a covert force. Eventually we will have our time in the limelight, but right now we are much more effective if no one knows we are here."
"Ivy! That's classified," the sniper says, not taking her eyes or her scope off the area around city hall.
"How exactly can it be classified from her when she taught you how to make
me and knows more about magic than any of us put together?"
The other mage sighs and drops the rifle from her shoulder. A quick look down shows the reason: Paulson has left the podium and walked back into the building, the armored troops following him shortly after. "I'm not talking about that. It's just, no offense, but this is part of a classified PRT operation. We can't tell you anything without the Director's approval."
They need the Director's approval? That is simple enough to get. "Storm, find Director Paulson's number and give him a call, would you?"
A screen pops up in midair, the word
'Processing' flashing in red script a few times before changing to Paulson's name. A phone ringing comes from the display.
"You can use a Device like a phone?" the sniper asks, pulling her helmet off and ruffling her curly hair.
"Sure, just tell it to tap into your phone and copy the contact information. You can think of your Device as a combination magic wand, phone, and supercomputer. It's a lot more useful than you'd think."
"And I suppose it can also trace numbers that you should have no way of knowing," Paulson says in a dry voice.
"I presume I'm speaking with Calamity Witch?"
Oops. You forgot to listen to know when he answered the call. "Yes, sir. That's me. I was up here on a rooftop listening to the press conference. Very nice speech."
"…Uh-huh…"
"And while I was here," you quickly continue as it is clear Paulson is in no mood for small talk, "I ran into one of your mages. She says she needs your permission to tell me what you guys are doing. I noticed you didn't mention them in the speech, and I'm curious."
"I suppose if she doesn't
tell you, you'll just hack the PRT system next to get the information," he says with an audible sigh. Before you can deny that accusation, he is talking again.
"Agent Morgan, you have permission to tell her about the operation. Broad strokes only, no actionable details."
"Understood. Thank you, sir."
The call ends, and the screen vanishes. "Cool. What's up, and is there anything I can do to help?"
"Not right now?" Morgan looks at Ivy, who merely shrugs back. "Our first objective is clearing out any villains who are capable of flight. Pressuring the gangs will be easier when we can guarantee that mages own the skies."
You stare at her. Flight is something you have found useful on multiple occasions, but you have never thought about its strategic importance if one group is the only one that can travel by air. "Oh."
Morgan nods. "After that, we can back up the rest of the PRT and serve as the point of the spear against the five big gangs that have taken root."
"Five? I thought there were only three main gangs in Philly. Two since MS-13 is no more."
Ivy growls lightly. "We wish. MS-13 apparently had a larger influence over the underworld than anyone really understood. With them gone, more capes poured in."
"Or maybe just came out of the woodwork," Morgan corrects. "A bunch of out-of-town villains were driven off by the Protectorate, but others slipped in. Now instead of three gangs, we have five, and they're getting more entrenched by the day.
"Al," she tells the watch on her wrist, "open the gang map."
An image appears, showing the crooked 'Y' of Philadelphia's borders and the various major roads running through them. "Two gangs are fairly stable. Winter Hill has long claimed the northeastern part of the city," she says, highlighting everything past Highway 73. You blink at the realization that Winterrose Academy, your own high school, is therefore just within Winter Hill's borders, and you want to slap yourself for never putting the pieces together. You thought it was so much better than Winslow, but you are still going to a gang-run school!
"To the northwest," Morgan continues, highlighting the left arm of the Y beyond North Broad street and Highway 1, "is Fairyland's turf. These two haven't really changed their borders even after getting rid of the Maras."
This part at least is something you know. One of the reasons the Privateers focused on Fairyland first was because nearly everyone lived in East Falls and Germantown, both of which are on the princesses' land.
Morgan pulls your attention to the crux of the Y between Fairyland and Winter Hill. "The bigger problem is the other three gangs. Unlike a lot of the out-of-towners everyone was trying to shove out, they were careful and quiet. We didn't know they were there until they were already settled in. The Wolfheads have claimed this region. You're from Brockton Bay originally, right? That's what's on your file." You nod. Considering Miss Militia is also from your hometown, it is no surprise she would include that bit of information. "Then you should be familiar with the Wolfheads' M.O. They're another neo-Nazi gang, either sympathizers of the Empire Eighty-Eight from your town or actual members who left when the Simurgh hit.
"The southwest is frankly a mess." The stem of the Y splits roughly in half. "There are two gangs duking it out in here, the Terrorhorses and the Vendettas. The Terrorhorses— yes, I know it's a stupid name," she says with a roll of her eyes at your stifled laughter. "I don't know who picked it or why or what they were smoking beforehand.
Anyway, they would be a bigger threat if they weren't fighting so much with the Vendettas to their south. The Vendettas themselves aren't that high a priority for the PRT. Other than some petty theft and a few B&Es, they spend most of their time butting heads with the Terrorhorses."
"What about the rest of the city?" you ask, pointing to the one part of the map she hasn't mentioned. You have a suspicion considering that you are currently standing almost in the dead center of it, but you would rather hear it from her directly.
Your question earns a smile. "No gangs here. It's too close to the PRT base. Everywhere from North Central down to the Navy Yard is the safest part of the city. There are a few villains here and there, but nothing organized like further out."
And the PRT plans on reclaiming all airspace over the entire city despite only holding a sixth of the ground? You shake your head. That is an impressive goal. "I suppose what you're going to do when you control the air is an
'actionable detail', but if I can offer a suggestion?" She nods at you to go on. "Focus on the Wolfheads. You're right, I've seen what happens when Nazis take over. It isn't pretty. Get rid of them before they can dig in any deeper."
"We'll take that under advisement," Ivy says, her tone of voice and her slight smile signs that you are thinking in the same direction they have already.
"Then I'll leave you to it." You lift off the rooftop and hover a foot up in the air. Inspiration strikes you, and you conjure a white tile in your hand and toss it to Agent Morgan. "I'm not part of the PRT or the Protectorate, but if you guys decide you want another pair of hands, that's my contact info. Just give me a call."
Most of this chapter was originally going to be in Paulson's office, but my muse decided that if I had PRT mages who know what's up, I might as well use them. I said early on that Philly only had 30 capes in total, but now that it looks like you guys are assembling a bigger team, I figured you needed a more target-rich environment. 
Next chapter will be out on Thursday. I work a late shift on Friday and have five days off after that, and if you do what I expect you to do, we're going to have a complicated 4-part vote to deal with. I'd rather not be working and unable to catch bad assumptions being passed off as fact.
