[ ] Strange Bedfellows – Perfect Storm's news about your dad's phone call does not fill you with confidence. You really need to talk with him about just what he thinks he's doing.
First Impact 2.3
Saturday, February 5
"Sam, hurry up!"
«
Give me a minute!»
You shake your head and sigh. It is Saturday, the last of your homework for the week is done, and you're out of excuses to delay the brewing confrontation with your father any longer. He is a grown man. You shouldn't have to hold his hand and keep him from running headlong into traffic, but that is exactly what it feels like he's doing!
A quiet
rata-tata-tata comes from the stairwell, and you hold out your arms to catch the raccoon that flies into your arms and then crawls up to your shoulder. Metaphorically flies, that is, not literally. While your Guardian Beast can fly, that ability is limited in her 'pet' form to incredibly long jumps. You asked Perfect Storm about it, but his response about
'inefficient mana transmission' and
'ratio of Linker Core density to body mass' had quickly left you in the intellectual dust. The short version is that if she wants to fly, she needs to be large enough that bystanders would immediately notice something distinctly off about her. "I'm not a taxi service, you know."
«
You'd make me walk there?» she asks, telepathic voice filled with feigned horror. «
All the way across the city?»
"You're perfectly capable of keeping up, and you know it." That doesn't earn you even a twitch, and you sigh and don your Barrier Jacket. You really do not mind her hanging on to you, though you are sure that she will earn you strange looks from bystanders.
The flight to the Privateers' new base is unremarkable, much like the building itself. A moment to check that no one is in a position to see you, then you drop into a nearby alleyway and type in the code to enter the back door of the squat, white office building. The stairwell just inside leads you up to the second floor, which the Dockworkers Association has claimed completely.
Several of the men give you nods of acknowledgement, including the younger man you briefly flirted with the first time you showed up at the old headquarters, but you are not in the mood to make small-talk. Though your dad's door is closed, you open it and step in.
He frowns at your sudden entrance but does not hang up the phone. "Yes, this evening would be ideal. Six o'clock at Warehouse 12 on Fletcher Street." A twist of his lips appears that could be either a smile or a grimace. "Then we shouldn't have any problems. So," he says to you when he sets down the handset, "what has you in a mood today? Good morning, Sam."
«
Good morning to you, Danny,» your Guardian Beast replies with a faint purr.
Shutting and locking the door gives you an excuse to look away and compose your expression. Samantha is about the same size your mom was, so she was able to wear your mom's clothes around the house while you waited for her own to come in. That image had affected you, but it had affected your dad even more, and she had responded to that by gently teasing him. At least, you hope it was teasing and not flirting; you don't have too much of a problem with the thought of him remarrying and you getting a stepmother, but the idea of him and a raccoon is just…. No.
Without preamble, you admit, "Perfect Storm overheard your phone call, and we need to talk about it."
"What phone call?" he asks in honest confusion.
"But if your little slice of Hell is about to lose some of its skinheads," Perfect Storm plays back,
"I can talk to a few guys, see who's got some heavy lead for purchase."
"Ah," he whispers, "
that phone call."
"That phone call." Plucking your hat off your head and hanging it on the corner of a chair, you run your fingers through your hair. "Honestly, Dad, what were you thinking?"
He leans back in his chair, and when he answers, his voice is firm. "I was thinking that if we want to have any chance at actually cleaning out Brockton Bay, we need something better than baseball bats and crowbars in our hands."
"And you thought machine guns was the answer?" you ask incredulously. "What are you going to do when the gangs fight back just as hard?"
"What is the alternative? Keep from making too many waves, don't push them too hard, let them get away?" He scoffs. "Since you seem to have everything figured out, tell me. How well did giving the Empire and the Merchants the freedom to rove around protect us? Did it stop them tearing down the old office? Did it keep people from being buried alive in there? Did it?!"
"And what happens when a gang war breaks out?" Spokespeople for the PRT on PHO had mentioned the consequences of gang wars again and again every time someone posted a demand for the Protectorate to actually do something about the gangs. The statistics from previous villain wars were shocking and worrying. Hundreds, potentially thousands of casualties. Millions of dollars in destroyed homes. The years it could take for a city to recover. And that most of the time, the gangs were still there at the end of it all, a new equilibrium reached. "How many people do you think are going to die when the gangs get more violent?"
He slams his hand on his desk and shoots to his feet. "People are
already dying! Every time the Protectorate lets another villain get away instead of pursuing him to the ends of the earth, that's someone still on the streets who has already proven that he does not give a
fuck about hurting other people! Do you think Skidmark is going to wake up one day and decide that everything he's done is wrong? Do you think Kaiser will turn the Empire into a soup kitchen? Do you think Lung will consider turning his life around and helping people for a change? If they were going to do that, they would have already! They can't be bargained with. They can't be reasoned with. They don't feel any remorse for the things they've done or the people they've hurt. And they won't
stop until somebody puts them down
permanently."
You manage not to flinch. His words are ringing far too close to the very opinions you expressed to Miss Militia on Monday, if far more extreme than yours.
"The PRT doesn't press them hard enough," he continues, his voice softening, "but that's because letting the gangs go is safer for
them. For everyone else who just wants to be left alone and get on with their lives, it's more dangerous because the threat never ends. I've heard the same excuses from them year after year after year. They try to spin their course of action as the safest one, but that only looks at right this minute. A hundred dead in the span of a week sounds worse than ten dead over the course of a month, but by the time a year goes by, you have more bodies at your feet than you would have if you had moved decisively to wipe the gangs out of existence. Because that's our only two options now that they've dug in so deep: a big wound that will eventually heal or death by a thousand cuts.
"I refuse to bleed out any longer, and so does everyone else here."
Silence descends in the room and hangs there for several seconds, but eventually he sighs and sits back down. "I'm tired, Taylor. I'm tired of living in a city where the villains have all but taken over. I'm tired of listening to the PRT say they're handling the problem even though it all just keeps getting worse. I'm tired of seeing people who have been beaten or raped or killed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet we never see anyone get any justice. Half-measures haven't worked, and I'm tired of pretending that they ever will. So yes, we're going to arm ourselves. We're going to stand up against them once and for all. We're going to see this through."
"So that's it?" you demand. "Just murder them all, collateral damage be damned?"
He blinks at you in apparent confusion. "Murder them all? You think that's what I'm talking about?"
"What am I supposed to think when you're going on about
'they won't stop until somebody puts them down permanently' and
'half-measures haven't worked'?!"
"I'm talking about what we're going to do about Hookwolf and Oni Lee and Kaiser. Purity, too, if she leaves the independent life and runs back to the Empire to help once we focus on them. The kind of villains who can't be taken down with anything less than lethal force." He shakes his head. "The dealers and the low-level thugs? We can handle them with baseball bats like we've been doing. We didn't kill anybody on Monday or yesterday, and if we can avoid that for as long as possible, I'm perfectly happy with zip-tying them and leaving them for the cops. I just know that sooner or later, the gangs will step up their game, and we have to be ready to keep pace with them; if we don't,
we'll be the ones getting killed. They pull out shotguns? We have some, too. The Empire throws in murderers and monsters? We'll respond with assault rifles. Whenever they escalate, we'll be right there with them, because pulling back and letting them go like the heroes have for the last ten years has done nothing but see more innocent people be beaten and murdered who should have been safe."
"And you expect to run into Hookwolf or Oni Lee anytime soon?" you press.
"Well, no. Right now, we're focusing on the Merchants. They're the lowest of the low, and also the safest to put down. Honestly, we don't need any big weapons at the moment," he admits, "but we intend to move against the Empire eventually, and I'd rather have two or three rifles and never fire them than see Hookwolf show up when all the guys have is a bunch of crowbars. If nothing else, there's always the chance that just seeing the guns will be enough incentive on its own for them to sit quietly and not fight back."
Okay, that's not as bad as you first thought. You were starting to worry that he had lost his mind. "Do you even know how to shoot a gun like that?"
"Carl was in the National Guard, and he said he'd be willing to teach a few guys how to fire them safely. I have given this
some thought," he adds in a mutter.
"Maybe you should have saved some of that thinking for how you were going to explain it," is your dry response. "You remember how you said you wanted Alexander and Kurt and Tim and Margaret not to be under your influence so they could tell you if they thought what you were planning was stupid? This is me doing that same job.
"Just keep me in the loop, okay? I feel like I just got my dad back, and I don't want to lose you because you ran headlong into a crusade and got yourself killed."
He grimaces at that last jab. You don't want to hurt him by poking at that wound, but if the alternative is hearing about his death, a little pain now is worth it to get your point across. Deciding to change the subject now that everything has been at least mostly straightened out, you ask, "Who was that on the phone?"
"A potential seller." Well, there goes the hope about moving on to some lighter topic. "He's offering a lot, actually. Laser rifles, financial support, information. He wants to meet tonight to see if we can make a deal." Looking up and meeting your eye, he adds, "I want you there with me tonight. He didn't sound like he was setting us up, but I'd rather not get there and be surprised."
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
It went without saying that you were going to go and keep him safe, and that is why you are now landing lightly on your feet in front of a row of long-empty warehouses. Samantha hops off your shoulder, blurring in midair to become a woman in a black suit. Tugging gently on the cuffs of her charcoal shirt, she turns to give you a look. She liked this outfit the instant she saw it, and she spared herself no dignity while begging you to buy it for her. "So? What do you think?"
"You'd look perfectly respectable if it weren't for the tail," you tell her honestly, pointing down at the long train of stripped fluff hanging down almost to her ankles. You didn't realize before now that she was good with a needle, but you
know those slacks did not come tailored for somebody with a tail. At least the fedora mostly covers her inhuman ears.
"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, sweetie."
A roll of your eyes, and then you walk towards the car that is pulling up a short distance away. Your Guardian Beast fills the space to your right and a step behind as naturally as if that has always been her spot. "You two ready for this?" your dad asks after he steps out of the back seat, already fully dressed in his own costume.
"As ready as we will be."
Setting the tricorne on his head, he enters the doors that someone has already slid open, you and Samantha moving to flank him. Though not truly dark, the interior is certainly dimmer than— You startle when the world turns bright blue, but then it brightens until you can see clearly to the far wall.
So your mask comes with built-in night vision. Huh.
What your newly improved sight shows you is a line of men in black clothing and balaclava standing against the wall; each one of them is carrying a silvery, futuristic rifle, and from the bulkiness of their shirts, you would put money on them wearing body armor of some kind.
The man waiting for you in the middle of the space could not be more different. He is skeletally thin, the black body stocking clinging to his skin and putting every rib on display. You are just thankful that he has chosen to wear a cup. The only bit of color on him comes from the white snake that winds its way up from his left ankle and around his body several times before perching on his forehead. In a deeper voice than you would have expected from a man of his build, he greets you, "The Privateers, I presume?"
You glance at your dad, hoping that he will take point.
"Some of us," he replies. "Enough to hear you out."
"I see." After a moment, the man nods. "Very well. I am Coil."
Coil. Now
that is a name you recognize. What could a villain want from you?
"Captain, Calamity Witch, and Samantha."
Coil turns his head to look at your Guardian Beast. "No secret identity for you, my dear?"
"I can't exactly blend in," she replies blandly, swishing her tail back and forth behind her for his benefit.
"As you wish."
"On the phone, you talked about weapons," your dad says, pulling everyone back to the topic at hand. "Show me."
One of the men at the back walks up at a snap of Coil's fingers and gives the rifle to his boss. "One of Pyrotechnical's simpler designs. A single laser with multiple intensity settings. Light-weight, robust…." Jamming the butt into his shoulder, Coil points it at a stack of concrete blocks a moderate distance away. A bright purple beam lances out and shatters the topmost block, glowing fragments spraying out and falling to the ground ten feet away. He hands the rifle back to the soldier, who returns to his previous place; his position is so precise that you could almost believe that he never actually moved. "Easy to use. If you have ever wielded an assault rifle, you will have no difficulties with it. Or if not, it should not take long to become familiar."
Your dad nods, and somehow he looks almost bored at the entire proceeding. All those years of holding back his anger at the city council have given him an impressive poker face. "I understand that Tinker weapons require extensive maintenance."
"This model is built to make maintenance possible by anyone with a mechanic's background. The actual replacement parts are expensive and likely more complicated to produce, but the process itself is not."
"How much?"
"Eight thousand dollars each, the same as I paid for them originally."
You blink in surprise at how apathetically that number was recited. You know now, after looking at the books, that your group raided some Merchant drug dens and what looked like it might have been a distribution station just last night, so the Privateers have cash, but what Coil is asking for is still a lot of money. "Why?"
Coil turns to regard you at your slip. "Why what?"
After a moment's panic, you shrug. In for a penny, in for a pound, and Samantha can guard your dad if this all goes south. He's the only one of you three who doesn't have some kind of defensive forcefield. "Why are you selling us these rifles at all? I wouldn't think a villain would be willing to cooperate with a hero team."
You expect some move of aggression. You expect him to call the deal off. You
don't expect him to chuckle as though you just told a joke. "The Protectorate does have quite the public relations machine, doesn't it?" You raise an eyebrow at the non sequitur. "All too often,
'villain' is used to refer to methods as well as motivations. Cause a scene, don't fit in, stop playing by their rules, and they consider you a villain. It doesn't matter that you want to see the true villains forced out of the city as much as they do. Why am I willing to help you?" He splays out the fingers of one hand over his chest. "Because we are the same: heroes who want to
do good, not just look good in front a camera. I refused to knuckle under to their demands, and so they smear my name in the public arena and make false allegations to defend their… let us call it their bullying, for lack of a better word."
His diatribe strikes a chord with you. Miss Militia did not seem like she was the kind of person who would condone slander like that, but then again, neither was Mrs. Knott a representative example of Winslow's faculty. And just like the Trio isolated you, it is entirely possible that corruption in the upper levels of the PRT could cast a hero, or at most an antihero, as a villain. PHO did not have much about Coil's crimes; could it really be that what was there was just a lie repeated over and over again until everyone believed it?
"I want one for now," your dad says, pulling you from your introspection. "We need time to work with it and see for ourselves how simple and effective it is. Give me some way to contact you, and we'll get more if we like what we see."
"You're a deliberate man, aren't you, Captain? I admire that." A nod sends the man on the far end of the line moving over to a stack of crates. While he comes back with one, Coil continues, "Even should you decide that these are not for you, I would like to discuss a potential partnership between your group and my own. I do believe we could go far together."
"I'll consider it."
"That is all I ask."
Samantha steps up to take the crate from the soldier and then walks backwards to you, the crate balanced on one shoulder. Your dad pulls a fat wad of bills out of his pocket, a rubber band holding them together, and counts some out. Once he has enough, he secures the smaller roll with another band and lobs it to Coil in an underhanded toss. The antihero gives it only a cursory glance before returning his attention to you. "Someone will call you Monday with a number you may use to contact me."
The three of you quickly leave the building and stand outside the still-running car. "Any problems, boss?" the driver asks.
Your dad shakes his head. "No problems. Just nerve-racking." Turning to you, he asks, "Are you two coming back to base, or heading somewhere else?"
"I still need to practice with my war form," your Guardian Beast tells him. "Human is fine, probably because Calamity is human. My original form works, too. When I get big?" She shakes her head. "I feel like I have four left feet."
"It's getting better, though. You don't fall on your face nearly as much as you did at first." She rolls her eyes and lifts her nose in a show of dismissal. "We should be back in an hour or so. Don't wait up for us."
"Be careful."
You watch him drive away, and then your and your pet take to the skies.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
«
Mistress, you have a message.»
"PHO, right?" you guess, dodging Sam as she barrels towards you in her war form. She just barely misses tagging you with her gigantic paw, and this time she does not stumble upon her landing. At its affirmative chime, you continue, "Read it out for me."
«
Witch,
«
I know some things you want to hear before you hop into bed with Coil. He's not who you think he is. If you want to know the truth about him, let's meet up and chat.
«
Tattletale.»
"Tattletale," you mutter. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
«
Tattletale is a member of the Undersiders. She is presumed to be their commanding officer.»
"The same group that was harassing the ABB." Perfect Storm waits patiently while you consider what that implies. "How would she know that we met with Coil? Was she there and we just didn't notice her?"
«
All individuals present were fully visible.»
"So how does she know? And what should we do about it?"
Can I just say that writing Taylor as the person who's trying to de-escalate a situation felt really weird? It's becoming clear where her tenacity and ability to focus on her goals regardless of collateral damage comes from, though, that's for sure.
Choose two activities to pursue next week
[ ] Light in the Darkness – Purity is one of the strongest Blasters in the country, and more than once you've heard her be referred to as "evil Legend". This is not someone you can afford to let go unchallenged, even if she hasn't been seen in Nazi company for a while.
[ ] Big Game Hunting – Now that you have a Guardian Beast, it's time to take her for a spin. Go out on patrol and let her show off!
[ ] Strange Bedfellows, Part 2 – You have no idea what Tattletale means by
'the truth about Coil', but now you're curious. Send her a reply and arrange a meeting.
[ ] Endangered Species – You asked for powers with which to eliminate the gangs. You even received the powers of someone who apparently had made it her life's work to do the same. It's long past time you got started on fulfilling that promise. Find a gang and wipe it off the map.
-[ ] Write-in
[ ] Eye of the Tiger – Spend your free time in the training simulator. Can be chosen twice.
-[ ] Write-in which spell to practice
I got a little bit shirty with some of you for abusing stunts in the 2.1 vote, but if you wish to add subvotes for things to handle off-screen, such as arming Sam as has been discussed, you may do that. Just don't try to use those stunts to turn one of these choices into something else entirely. I was not amused by that, and I will like it even less if it happens again.
