Escapades 5.1
Sunday, April 10
You wrap white gauze around a bloody red wound, one of several you've bandaged this afternoon. It's times like this you wish you knew some kind of healing spell, or even that you maintained a closer connection to the team you were 'officially' part of to know when they were getting themselves into trouble. If there had been more than traps in the drug den they raided, or even just more traps….
You really don't want to think about those possibilities.
"Buck up, kid," Alexander says warmly, breaking you out of your thoughts. He just smiles at your confused expression. "We're okay. We didn't even get that hurt, all things considered. The Fairyland capes are nasty bitches, if you'll excuse my French, but a few of Snow White's minions standing guard in a house? Not nearly as big a threat."
"Speak for yourself," wheezes Ramirez, a bag of ice firmly planted between his legs where a concrete Dwarf had head-butted him.
"That's your own fault," Alexander retorts, voice halfway between the quiet man you're used to and the de facto field leader of the Privateers he's fast becoming. "Maybe those things wouldn't hold so much of a grudge against you if you hadn't gotten distracted staring at her ass last time."
"Or they were just jealous I got the right angle to—"
"La la la la la!" you shout, fingers shoved tight in your ears. A childish action, no question about that, but it stops the Don Juan wannabe mid-sentence and drastically lightens the mood if the other ex-dockworkers' chuckles are anything to judge by. Just as planned. "Fifteen-year-old girl still in the room, thank you very much."
Samantha shoots you an approving glance as she passes to continue her own Florence Nightingale impression. She's taking this a lot better than you are. Has your dad told her details of the Privateers' operations that he's hidden from you? Or maybe it's just that she realizes Alexander has a point. For all that these men were originally dockworkers and, at times, glorified manual laborers when those were the only jobs around, they've had eight weeks to practice working together and fighting capes with nothing but the boosts to awareness and coordination your dad can grant, and it shows. They aren't S.W.A.T., but they just might be able to give the PRT's troops a run for their money.
"If I was about to say anything you haven't heard from the guys at your high school, I'll give up drinking and swearing and become a priest," Ramirez says, breaking into your introspection.
"So you're on par with high schoolers now?" laughs Mitch. "Giving yourself a little too much credit there, don't you think?"
A loud shout cuts through the laughter. "Hey! Hey!" Tim all but runs in and flips on the large television on the far wall. "Everybody shut up and listen!"
"—numbers are still coming in, but current estimates are that anywhere from ten to forty National Guardsmen were seriously injured or killed in the initial attack. You can see behind me what remains of this section of the wall that was built around Brockton Bay following the Simurgh's attack, the concrete and rebar little match for the Teeth and Fallen's coordinated attacks—"
You, along with the rest of your team, can only stare at the scenes of destruction being broadcast all across the country. Your hometown is only the second city in the U.S. that has been targeted by the Simurgh, but you know the tales from other lands. You know of Madison, Wisconsin, and the great guarded wall that was built to keep in all the people who were tainted by the Endbringer's maddening Scream. You know how the country still views the few people who have been let out, cleared by the PRT but still viewed with suspicion and fear by the average man and woman.
And that wall was just broken, like a boundary made of twigs?
«Mistress,» your Device whispers insistently in your mind, «a call from Miss Militia. High probability it is related to recent events in Brockton Bay.»
High probability? More like a dead certainty. "Patch it through."
"Calamity, it's Militia. Where are you?"
"Watching the news." The Privateers turn to look at you, and you prod Perfect Storm to make the other heroine's side of the conversation audible. "What the hell happened?"
"Everything. Everything happened, all at once." You can all too easily imagine her face, the same tension in her eyes that you saw when she found you and Vista following your first fight with the Beasts.
"It isn't even the Teeth or the Fallen who are the problem. It's all the villains who have managed to escape."
All the villains? How many people were trapped behind…? Your thoughts screech to a halt when you remember the scene you witnessed when you were getting screened. Victor was listed as only a moderate threat, but he was forced to stay within the quarantine zone, and Othala was thrown back in when she refused to stand aside. Alexandria herself said that heroes got the benefit of the doubt during screenings like this while villains with the same chances of being Ziz-bombs were treated with suspicion. How many villains wound up trapped behind the city's walls with nothing to do but plot their revenge?
The rest of the Privateers stand in silence, their thoughts likely running along similar tracks to your own. "How bad is it likely to get?"
"It's bad enough already. Everyone from the Philly Protectorate and most of the Boston branch is already here, along with several people from New York, and that doesn't count all the independents and even the occasional villain who has volunteered to help out. We've already received our engagement orders: stop the escapees from reaching anywhere they can disappear by any means necessary, up to and including lethal force. This is an all hands on deck situation, Calamity. I don't want to put any pressure on you, but we need all the help we can get before this turns into a total tragedy."
"I don't—"
A noise comes from Miss Militia's side, someone talking but their words incomprehensible.
"I need to go," the heroine says.
"If you want to help, come to the National Guard's base of operations. We put the address on the Protectorate's website. Just get here quick if you're coming at all."
Several seconds pass without anyone saying a word, the sound stretching into a subjective eternity. "Tim, get the boss," Alexander finally says. "Who's good to go?" About half the Privateers raise their hands, every single one of them wearing bandages of some kind. "That'll have to do, I suppose. What about you, Taylor?"
I guess that's one way to kick this arc off with a bang, isn't it? 'Course, things are a little more complicated than just villains breaking out, but passing on that detail understandably isn't Miss Militia's highest priority right this second.
What are you going to do?
- Join the fight – Miss Militia was very clear that the Protectorate needs help. You didn't agree with how the PRT handled the screening process, but there's a time and place to make an issue of that. This is neither.
- Stay behind – The Beasts are still out there. If Miss Militia and the rest of the Philadelphia Protectorate are in Brockton Bay, that means nobody is sticking around to protect the city's citizens. You'll do more good filling in for them while they're gone.
And Samantha?
- Lend her skills – Samantha is a Guardian Beast, someone literally designed for combat. If the heroes are in such dire straights that they are letting villains go after mistreated villains, they need her there.
- Protect the homestead – Defending others is right there in her title. Convince her to stay here and flex her magical muscle so the Protectorate doesn't come back to find their home yet another disaster zone.
Don't forget about Danny and the Privateers.
- Bulk up the forces – Didn't you just say the Privateers are probably as good as the PRT? They need to go and lend their aid. If nothing else, their teamwork will put to shame any other group volunteering.
- The boss's problem – All the Privateers are injured except for Danny, but his powers don't truly require having his crew around. He can still go by himself and coordinate some of the heroes just like he did during the Simurgh fight.
- On medical leave – With his team down for the count, Danny won't be able to protect himself should everything go to hell. He needs to stay here. Keeping an eye on the city is the most the Privateers should be doing until they've recovered.
Yes, I will allow any combination of the above you want, up to and including sending Danny into the fray by himself or even none of you going at all.
See the bullets? That means that once again, a 24 hour moratorium is in effect. Poll will officially open tomorrow afternoon.
I don't think you meant to imply a dissection of Bonesaw.
