Orderly (Worm Semi-SI)

[Obscura]

Of course, I knew full well that things undoubtedly were being done, but they wouldn't be enough. The Empire, or at least the parts of it that actually bothered with it, was good at the PR game, as good as they reasonably could be as explicit neo-nazis in the US. And now they had a perfect casus belli. Normal measures wouldn't be sufficient.

I wasn't arrogant enough to believe I could single-handedly fix everything, but I was confident I could contribute. And I had a few cards up my metaphorical sleeve that could, if not be a silver bullet, then at least tip the balance a little.


Adrian Jackson, it must be said, was very accommodating about making an appointment. Actually, considering how things went, I'll just say he was very accommodating in general, at least with me. Part of me wonders just how much of that was liking me personally versus having faith in my abilities versus curiosity versus just experience with how much trouble parahumans and teenagers alike can be if not at least worked around, but it was convenient enough that I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Whatever it was, it only took a few minutes before we were scheduled to meet at seven. It didn't exactly leave a lot of time for showering, dressing, scarfing down cereal, brushing teeth, and all the other morning necessities, but I'd had shorter. I was decent, at least, and at a bare minimum "being seen in public" level for a normal person. The rest was, quite literally, his job, not mine.

Probably one he'd mostly delegate, and one I'd need to pick up at least a bit of the skills for, but still. I knew full well that he was better at it than I was. Even with all my advantages I just plain and simple didn't have the same experience or training he and presumably his underlings had. I was a talented amateur at the PR game, they were seasoned professionals.


My plan was not a good plan. It was a good start, but it needed a lot of fleshing out before calling it a "plan" wasn't being grandly generous. Really, it was more of a loose collection of mostly solid ideas, the vast majority of them still in need of polishing and all of them needing a lot of work to forge them into a coherent whole. And I knew it. That was half the reason why I was going to Adrian Jackson, and the only half I intended to explicitly (if not quite that explicitly) share.

Of course, first I had to convince Adrian Jackson that the core ideas were good, but that didn't take too long. He was already aware of and at least mostly on board with my no secret identity plan, and it was hard to deny that the public was already aware of me and my PRT ties. Armsmaster had literally carried me out of the hospital in full view of the public, and that was after I'd done plenty of other attention-grabbing things at Brockton Bay General.


Honestly, I think he was more making sure I was prepared to commit to the plan and articulate enough to actually pull it off than seriously trying to dissuade me if I really wanted to do this. If I couldn't make a convincing case for why I should be doing this then I had no business attempting the actual plan, and this couldn't be undone. I had to be certain.

But I could, and I was.

He could have stopped me, if he didn't think it would help. I would have let him. But it wouldn't be on the strength of concern for myself unless he brought up something I hadn't already considered and accepted.

He didn't. He did his due diligence, and perhaps just a little more, but in the end we moved from are we going to do this to how are we going to do this.


Refining the plan was not a simple process on my end, but Adrian Jackson had it harder. He was doing that with me, overseeing the actual set up, and undergoing the probably even more arduous process of actually getting permission to publicly reveal a Ward's civilian identity. Even with my consent, and me being the one actually doing it, that was not something he could approve unilaterally. At a minimum, it involved the Director, Armsmaster, Alice Stone, Danny as the closest thing I had to "parental consent", and Taylor getting herself involved even if she probably didn't officially need to give permission, and that was just the people I had to speak with to drag them into my nefarious scheme. I had the impression Jackson talked to at least three times as many people.

It took hours, and then half an hour more to tie it all together, even with the help of Jackson's secretary, the ENE's speechwriter, and several other people whose exact roles I'm not sure of but who struck me as quite competent.


Adrian Jackson made it look like just another day at the office. I'm not sure if that says good things about his composure or bad things about his usual workload, but I can't say I have any complaints about how he handled it. Or his staff for that matter: everything that could be ready without me was ready when I left said office.


My costume for the day was pretty basic, just a nice white dress (and not even that nice, it wasn't even fitted) with trim and a few accessories in approximately the same shades of red as my boots. Scarf, some long shiny gloves, and some sort of waist sash thing that probably wasn't technically a belt but I don't know what else to call it. The shoutout to Panacea was obvious, but besides that it was just modestly fancy and slightly archaic/eccentric civilian clothing. Exactly the sort of outfit I'd wear going out to a fancy dinner, if I'd ever been invited to one.

Which was the point, of course.

I probably made the makeup artist's job difficult. Part of that was just working on a new person with very little warning, but mostly it was the rather unusual end-goal and the complexity of working on a person with multiple skin tones that change on her whim.

He did a bang-up job nonetheless. If I didn't know what I looked like before and the objective I'd set it would have seemed just a little sloppy (although still better than I could have managed myself) but the effect was just what I wanted when the time cameras started rolling.


Lights, camera, action.

(I've always wanted to say that)

 

[Blacksheep]

So excited to see this plan act out!

 

[Splattered Cloak]

Adrian Jackson made it look like just another day at the office. I'm not sure if that says good things about his composure or bad things about his usual workload, but I can't say I have any complaints about how he handled it.

Click to shrink...

You know, for a PRT PR office in Brockton Bay, I wouldn't be surprised by either one. I'd guess that he'd at least been notified that she had been considering going unmasked, that she wanted to primarily be a healer, and that her skin goes bronze, so none of this would be entirely out of left field, but it's still a significant amount of effort. Especially if this press conference doubles as a description of the Coil takedown.

 

[Obscura]

You know, for a PRT PR office in Brockton Bay, I wouldn't be surprised by either one. I'd guess that he'd at least been notified that she had been considering going unmasked, that she wanted to primarily be a healer, and that her skin goes bronze, so none of this would be entirely out of left field, but it's still a significant amount of effort. Especially if this press conference doubles as a description of the Coil takedown.

Click to shrink...

Jacqueline and Jackson have discussed PR matters before, including her general plan and all of the above. (Though her skin turns brass, not bronze. Bronze would probably be a lot easier, but much less flashy.) None of this is exactly news to him, but now he has to put it all into action at extremely short notice. He should have had weeks, plural, before this moment.

 

[Obscura]

There wasn't actually much by way of action, literal or otherwise, when the cameras started rolling. Our little theatre piece did not, technically, begin with me walking on stage and casually dropping a whammy. Instead, it started with Adrian Jackson giving what loosely qualified as a speech.

Said "speech", it must be said, wasn't terribly interesting. It wasn't word for word the same as the one that had been given at Browbeat's debut, but it wasn't far off; it actually followed the standard "Ward Introduction" boilerplate even closer. There hadn't exactly been a lot of time to spare for editing it, after all. Somebody would probably see this, on TV or something, who hadn't heard it before, but they weren't here in person, they wouldn't be in the majority among the TV audience, and even then it just wasn't particularly exciting.

That was on purpose.


It wasn't something PRT PR departments trumpeted about, or even bothered to inform most Wards of, but they were fully capable of writing a less boring Wards pre-intro. It wouldn't even be much of a stretch for them to come up with customised, flashy, and impressive ones for each individual Ward. It just wasn't in said Wards' best interests for them to do so.

In most Wards introductions, the performance of the Ward themself is best described as some flavour of mediocre. There's only so much you can expect from random teenagers with, at a very generous most, a month of PR training, most of it focused on avoiding common mistakes and giving them the confidence to step out in the first place. After an exciting speech, the average Ward would be a tremendous disappointment. As it was, they were positively breathtaking, if only in comparison.

If a Ward did screw up by the numbers, it was at least somewhat better if expectations were a little lower. If they did well, all the focus would be on them, where it belonged. And if the poor performance of the boilerplate emboldened (or annoyed) Wards into stepping up and speaking with confidence then all the better.

In short, it was a very easy act to follow. That was the real point of what Adrian Jackson was saying, and half the reason why he was the one saying it: the man was amazingly good at being boring.


This audience certainly seemed to think so. They were at least paying nominal attention, seeing as both time and security concerns had restricted attendance to pre-vetted and reliably professional members of the press, but it was easy to see that their hearts weren't really in it. But they were paying nominal attention, and the cameras were rolling.

Which was important too.


The other half of why Adrian Jackson was speaking was putting an African American man on regional TV to speak from an obvious position of trust and responsibility with the PRT. They didn't let just anybody deliver the pre-intro, even if they probably could have trained a seven year old, a particularly intelligent parrot, or an intern to do so. That Adrian Jackson was the one entrusted with the role this time would send a clear message to the Empire and the minorities of Brockton Bay alike: the PRT wasn't buying any of the racists' twaddle.

A message well worth sending. Especially now.

(And, it must be said, something of a risk for the man, but one he was willing to take. I suppose he wouldn't have become PR head East North East if he wasn't prepared for the possibility of Nazis taking offence to his existence: it wasn't like there wasn't plenty of other work for people with his skillset, even just within the PRT.)

Then it was my turn.


I walked out onto the stage looking worse than I felt. Sure, my outfit was nice, and I had a very friendly smile, but I still had major chunks of my hair obviously hacked off, my face looked like I hadn't quite managed to cover up some pretty significant ill-treatment, and there was a certain amount of steel to my eyes that didn't quite fit a girl my age.

And, of course, there was absolutely nothing disguising my identity in any way. That probably made the bigger impression, but the rest of it was important too.

I smiled just a little wider at the camera, head (metaphorically) bloodied but (literally and metaphorically) unbowed, and spoke the words that would completely tear down my honestly already pretty flimsy but still socially inviolate pretense of a secret identity:

"Good morning Brockton Bay, my name is Jacqueline Colere."


And that's where our feature presentation really started. With a bombshell. Now I had everybody's complete attention. Sure, it wasn't particularly difficult for the truly powerful, on either side or none at all, to find out a cape's secret identity, mine in particular, but there was still an immense amount of cultural weight to the practice I'd just casually and openly discarded.

It was bound to be something of a shock, to say the least, all the more so after Adrian Jackson had so kindly gone to so much effort to make this look as much like a by the numbers kind of affair as possible right up until the very moment I pulled the rug out from under everybody's feet.


With what little attention I could spare, I noted that the audience were at the edge of their seats. Some of them literally. Some of them were completely out of their seats. Many of them looked like they were barely restraining themselves from shouting questions, and more than a few were "murmuring" in a way that barely didn't break civility. I had no doubt whatsoever that cameras would have been flashing wildly if my face hadn't already been perfectly illuminated, video or no video. With this audience that meant that a lot of people were going to be exposed to me by their favourite news sources. It wasn't even just local outfits, I recognised more than one national concern, though the people they'd sent were undoubtedly whatever c-listers they'd had on hand, now looking like they'd just hit their big break.

Just as planned.

The power of insubstantial dramatics may not be physical, but it is very real. And I fully intended to make the most of it.

 

[Obscura]

My face turned sombre in a pantomime of sudden realisation that had been planned from the very beginning. Still unbroken, still determined, but also fully appreciative of the gravity of the current situation.

"Only mornings haven't exactly been good these past few days, now have they?"

I paused. The question was a rhetorical one, and there probably wasn't anybody in the city who disagreed with me on that point, but politeness and dramatics alike both demanded I give people time to nod in solemn agreement.

Or, theoretically, to answer, but there wasn't anything like that in the script and everybody in the room knew it. And if they were the type to try and mess it up anyway they wouldn't have been invited in the first place.


I quite deliberately held the pause for just a second longer than was comfortable. Long enough to appear contemplative and force a bit of consideration, but not enough to be obviously deliberate.

"Evil is real," I told an entire crowd of reporters who already knew that, (or at least really should have,) "and both the world and the human race are not always as kind as they should be. We all know it. The bombings on Sunday were not the first time I have been confronted with this unfortunate fact, and I knew they would not be the last. Indeed, they have already not been the last."


It was a delicate balancing act, not placing too much emphasis on that part. I needed at least a useful amount of what I'd endured made public, but lingering on it myself would be both very uncomfortable and counterproductive to the image I was trying to create.

I'd endured those things. They weren't going to stop me. I was an inspirational story of rising above awfulness, not just a victim. In the future, I could put a little more nuance into it, show that being strong as a person and showing weakness weren't incompatible, but for the moment dwelling too much on them would run counter to the narrative I was presenting.


At least, if I was the one doing it. If somebody else dug something up that was another story, especially if they were expected to be busybodies about it anyway.

Like, say, the entire room full of reporters I'd just dropped an exceptionally tantalising hint in front of. Somebody would ask what "already not been the last" meant, and they'd be told what Coil had done to me, if not how I'd responded. Somebody would recognise the elements of Newfoundland in my accent, or just look me up, and realise I'd survived the sinking. Jackson would find a way to bring Leggy Joe to their attention, and perhaps the Undersiders and Speakeasy and everything else if he found it necessary. And unless I was gravely mistaken about their competence, everybody in the room already knew about Purity and I. The media would learn everything I wanted them to learn, and with how much attention I'd drawn upon myself with my "my name is Jacqueline Colere" stunt at least some of them would find it newsworthy.

I didn't need to shove what I'd endured in the public's faces and demand sympathy. They'd do it for me. I could focus on moving forward.


"But I'm still standing," I boldly proclaimed when the hubbub died down a bit.

"It behooves us, all of us, to rise above evil. To choose humanity over hate, compassion over cruelty, and acceptance over atrocity. To do what we can, in the face of the horrors of the world, to make things better. I'm not perfect, and no matter how much I want to I can't fix everything, but I'm doing what I can to live up to that. I'm standing up to make things better.

"To fix this broken world, as much of it as I can manage at a time."


It was, of course, impossible to look everybody in the eye at the same time. Even for the TV audience there was more than one camera broadcasting to more than one channel. But I gave it my best shot anyway, aided considerably by Jackson's advice on the subject. Right in time for my aura to flare massively.

"I'm still standing," I repeated. "There will be those who wish to stop me. To break me, out of simple stupid bigotry or to preserve their fragile egos. I have something to say to them.

"I'm a healer. I don't have the powerset or the skills to hunt you down, and I have better things to do with my time than try. I'm not threatening you, and I'm not a threat to you. But I know better than to think that's enough for me to be safe from you. You will be tempted to try something. You wouldn't be the first of your ilk to do so. But I'm still here. I know full well that there's every chance you'll try something unconscionable, and I know what that looks like. It hasn't stopped me standing here today to do better than you."

I think everybody knew who I was talking to. I wasn't being subtle about it. But the Imps wouldn't dare pick up the gage. If they did, the public and the PRT alike would eviscerate them. And I wanted them to know it.

My skin may have been brass, and my eyes clocks, but the steel in my gaze was more visible than ever.

Now I just needed to tie it up with something nice for everybody else.


"For those injured in the recent attacks, or simply in need of medical aid in general, I'm here to lend a hand. This afternoon, I will be touring a series of medical facilities in order to lend what aid I can. I won't be able to reach everybody, but I invite all relevant authorities to talk with the PRT to request and prioritise application of my powers. I can't fix everything, but I'm going to do my best."

I smiled softly, if a little sadly. Reassuringly. Things were bad, but you could trust me. I was nice and kind and sweet and I had only your best interests in mind.

"This is, sadly, not a morning that is good. Not so soon after the horror of this Sunday. But it is a morning to be good on, and I for one fully intend to do so. I am here for you, Brockton Bay. I'm still standing.

"And I'm inviting you all to stand with me."

 

[WallFlower]

This declaration of non-conlict reads like a speech a commander would give before a great battle for some reason.

 

[Blacksheep]

Yes! Tell them what's up!

 

[Obscura]

This declaration of non-conlict reads like a speech a commander would give before a great battle for some reason.

Click to shrink...

There's only so many to "invite" a bunch of people to stand with you on something important, and fewer still to do so while also condemning another group. And Jacqueline wasn't going to let this happen without taking a shot at the Nazis, even if she's been very careful to do so in a way where they can't shoot back.

Yes! Tell them what's up!

Click to shrink...

Mostly a surprisingly competent lights setup for the budget it was built on.

 

[WallFlower]

Huh, The trans girl doing the dogwistling. It didn't even occur to me with how much trans-cat girl propaganda is out there.
I guess I didn't notice it like that due to not being a dogperson In hindsight I'm sure shes talking about no one in particular, she could be talking about loads of people

On a unrelated note this made me Remember a song matching the vibe here. And apperantly the singer of 'I'm still standing' is into men.

Spoiler: Youtube link

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHwVBirqD2s

 

[Obscura]

On a unrelated note this made me Remember a song matching the vibe here. And apperantly the singer of 'I'm still standing' is into men.

Click to shrink...

"I'm still standing" is, in fact, the primary inspiration for the speech, though it's really only getting anything from the chorus. It's a very strong phrase to build something around. I originally tried writing this based around "I am here!", but it just didn't flow very well.

 

[Obscura]

Colin:

Colin didn't usually attend Wards debuts.

He did have practical reasons not to, most of the time. He was a big enough name in heroism that the risk of overshadowing a less confident debutant was worth considering, at least within Brockton Bay, and half the time somebody got the bright idea of using the media circus as a distraction. In the future, those might very well be reason enough for him to seriously consider not attending.

In regards to the past, he knew full well that it was mostly because he hadn't actually cared. Whether or not he attended in the future, that would have to change. He wasn't sure which way the scales would swing just yet, and it would probably have to be decided on a case by case basis, but he promised himself he would take the time and effort to seriously consider it before he missed another one. He owed them that much and more.


This debut was a different story. Between the short notice and the increased PRT pressure in the wake of the bombings nobody was going to try anything, and according to Jackson there was no risk of overshadowing Jacqueline Colere.

Given that she was planning on introducing herself by that name, Colin had been inclined to agree. Now that she'd actually done so, with considerable panache, he was certain of it.

He wasn't exactly happy about the risk she was running, but he respected the reasoning behind it. It wasn't really the idea that she was safer this way, mind. Colin was well aware that none of his colleagues had been able to refute it, despite very much wanting to, but while it was a reason, and a sound one, he was pretty sure it wasn't the reason.

The reason was so that Jacquleine could do, well, exactly what she was doing.

To present the Empire, and those like them, with a challenge they couldn't afford to let lie but could even less afford to take up. Just existing as she did in "their" city was an affront to their twisted ideology, but to throw who she is in their faces so blatantly was an intolerable insult.


"I'm a healer. I don't have the powerset or the skills to hunt you down, and I have better things to do with my time than try. I'm not threatening you, and I'm not a threat to you."

And yet she was making it perfectly clear that that was their problem, not any fault of hers. There was no casus belli in her speech that anyone who wasn't already a Nazi, or at least so close to one that there was little practical difference, would accept. And there wasn't going to be. She made it perfectly clear that she wasn't going to give them a reason, or even an excuse.

If they tried anything, they'd look like monsters.

"But I know better than to think that's enough for me to be safe from you. You will be tempted to crush me. It wouldn't be the first time."

And, after that, even if they didn't, they'd still look like monsters. Cowardly ones. It wouldn't be nearly as bad, but it was still a PR blow Colin didn't think he could have delivered himself.

It wasn't subtle, it was incredibly obvious even to Colin, but it didn't need to be subtle. Being obvious was, in fact, to Jacqueline's advantage here. The more she made it clear that she expected to be attacked the worse the Empire would look, and the easier it was to see that attacking her was a bad idea, the less likely it was that somebody would try it. She had to be polite and mature, and she had to avoid looking overly concerned, but beyond that subtlety was actually counterproductive.

So Jacqueline didn't even try. She wasn't rubbing it in the Empire's collective face as hard as she could have, but she was definitely rubbing it in their collective face while making it clear that they'd be very stupid to try to get back at her in their usual manner.

Colin couldn't be prouder of her. There was really only one flaw in the plan:

Quite a few of the Nazis were incredibly stupid people. Not all of them, Kaiser played the PR game irritatingly well and knew better than to give the PRT an excuse to really crack down on his gang, but it only took a single person to try something stupid.

And Jacqueline wasn't a Brute. She wasn't a combat cape at all. Even as prepared as she could possibly be, Colin would give her fifty-fifty odds at best against the average Empire member, and only if they underestimated her. If caught by surprise, or by more than one, or by one of their capes, she'd stand basically no chance at all.

It would be the end of the Empire if she died. Colin would make sure of it, and he'd have everything needed to get the full cooperation of everybody to make it so. But it wasn't a price he was willing to pay.

So when Jacqueline Colere finished her speech, Colin immediately stepped forward to make it perfectly clear she was under Armsmaster's protection. He was the first to pointedly take up the invitation she had issued.

He was by no means the last.

 

[Blacksheep]

Yes! He's made so many good strides forward here

 

[Obscura]

In hindsight, when I invited everybody to "stand with me" I really should have expected at least a few of them to take it literally. If nothing else, I was fully aware that Clockblocker and Assault were right offstage, and that kind of dumb joke was right up both their respective alleys.

And, admittedly, also mine, but not in the middle of a very serious press conference. Especially not my very serious press conference.

Armsmaster wasn't joking though. This was him sending a message: he had my back.

That, too, was both literal and figurative, though without anything said out loud the pun was a lot subtler. (And, in all likelihood, unintended.) It couldn't have been more than a second after I'd issued my invitation that I heard his footfalls, (something that had to be on purpose since he could move utterly silently when he wanted to,) and not much longer before I had his gauntleted hand gently resting on my shoulder.

I couldn't actually see him, but I knew he was looming protectively. Screaming as loudly as was possible without any actual sound that anybody who wanted to get at me would have to go through him first. That I had his backing in full. And that, if anything did happen to me, the perpetrator was not going to like the consequences.

If the audience hadn't been stunned into silence, or possibly waiting to see if I was actually finished, I don't think I would have heard his actual words:

"I'm proud of you."

It was physically impossible for me to stand any taller than I already was. Stance is important when you're doing PR, especially at a press conference, and the whole point of my speech was about standing tall. There was simply no way I could stretch myself out further unless I went on my toes or something similarly undignified.

But you can bet I wanted to.


And from there, well, from a single flake of snow, the avalanche. Truly, it was a sight to see.

First there was, of course, Armsmaster. One of the longest-lasting and by far the most successful hero in the Bay, a knight resplendent in the armour he'd forged to shield the innocent standing guard over the next generation.

Really, though, the man needed no introduction. Not in this city.


Then Assault stepped in, his sardonic grin promising all sorts of things, enough of them family friendly that the rest would probably get past the censors. Despite our differences, I have to admit he certainly looked the part of the dashing rogue. "Bad boy" in not particularly bad way, and confident enough that if you hadn't seen him completely screw up a simple "these are the new kids" meetup badly enough that his boss and the M/S department had to bail him out you could reasonably believe he could and would take on the world if he had to.

Actually, I can believe it too. For all his flaws, I've never doubted his courage, and just because he'd lose by a landslide and can't particularly be trusted to judge if it's necessary doesn't mean he wouldn't try. There's something admirable about that.

Doesn't mean I had any intention of not getting back at him for, well, everything, but I appreciated the gesture he was making.


Battery was all but literally on Assault's heels, as solidly determined as he was charmingly impish. Honestly, I don't have much to say about her, we've never really interacted, but a white woman with a very respectable reputation backing me up would definitely help with exactly the sort of people I'd least appeal to, and who I most needed to push away from the Empire.

And, honestly, that she was very attractive wouldn't hurt either. Nor would Miss Militia's eye-smile, which a great many people seemed to be affected by whether or not they knew why it worked.


Vista was noticeably smaller than everybody else who'd "stood with me" (if still a centimetre or so taller than my august self), but when a Shaker Nine uses her powers to suddenly be somewhere you notice. It wreaked merry havoc on the video recording for a second or so, but the effect was well worth it.


Aegis, Browbeat, and Triumph stepped up at almost exactly the same moment, Triumph's impressive athleticism considerably less impressive than usual next to the two Brutes. It was probably something of a misstep, and I very much doubt they did it on purpose, but the effect of three muscleheads at once was still striking. And with their (near-)simultaneous entrance the floodgates opened, and in short order I was backed or flanked by the entire public Wards and Protectorate rosters of Brockton Bay.

A butterfly landing atop my head passed unnoticed by most in the chaos, not to be commented on until somebody on the internet finally put a few pieces together, but I appreciated it all the same.


Even Sophia showed up, not quite lurking in the background. Her Breaker state was enough to both make clear and utterly obscure her identity despite her wearing civilian clothing with nothing in common with Shadow Stalker's costume, but it was still going to draw more attention than she was comfortable with. That she stepped up anyway, well, that meant something.

Something more than just a fifteenth cape in a group shot, though I can assure you that fifteen heroes standing together is an impressive sight.


Of course, I didn't actually see any of it. I was stuck looking at the crowd, doing my best "bloodied but unbowed" impression, wondering just how far off script we'd gotten and hoping I didn't look too stupid in front of quite possibly two entire nation-states. It wasn't going to be my fault if this got screwed up by whatever I could vaguely hear happening behind me, but that wasn't much of a comfort. It all looked very impressive to the audience, but I can assure you that in my position it was more than a little nerve-wracking. All the more so for the fact that I absolutely could not afford to let any doubts show.

Then everything went silent, and I could not help but hold my breath. And, in the audience, people started standing up. There was no standing ovation, no applause at all, but people stood up. One by one at first, then more and more until there wasn't a single soul left seated.

Then and only then did I realise what was happening. There would be those who would not be happy with my deeds this day. There would be those who looked at my speech with hate, or fear, or even just incompatible self-interest. It was inevitable. But I'd issued an invitation, and it had been taken up.

People were standing with me.

 

[DracoLazarus]

That was a powerful scene. Even if seen from the inside and verbosely overanalyzed in Jacqueline's usual fashion, it loses a bit of its impact, the last paragraphs make it worth it.
Thanks a lot for the chapter !

 

[Obscura]

Br'er Rabbit:

Kaiser should have been a joke. The very idea of him was, prima facie, ludicrous. The man was seriously claiming a monarchical title in America of all places, and one the colonies had never respected at that. As far as Benjamin Washington could tell the villain wasn't even German: his accent was at least 90% Brockton Bay. His professed ideology was utterly without scientific foundation, its history was as bloody as it was short, and the country had literally and very proudly gone to war with (and crushed) it less than a century ago. Kaiser should have had about as many serious followers as Emperor Norton, and far less respect.

At a minimum, Norton's political platform involved a lot less genocide.


Sadly, Kaiser was no laughing matter. The numerous intertangled bigotries he represented were no less prevalent for their baselessness, and explicit Nazism hadn't cost the Empire anywhere near as much goodwill as it should have.

And as for Kaiser himself, enough power, enough presence, or the right track record could make even the stupidest alias a name to be reckoned with. This was, after all, a nation that rightly trembled at the mention of a man who called himself Jack Slash.

And Benjamin was reluctantly forced to admit Kaiser had all three. From what he'd learned the Shaker had never been the strongest cape in Brockton Bay, but he was always up there, and the Empire had long been the largest and generally strongest of the gangs. And more than six feet and what had to be dozens of pounds of terrifyingly precisely controlled and shaped steel with nothing else visible had a presence that could not be denied.


This job was supposed to be routine. Hang around one of the E88's favourite bars in disguise (admittedly, rather extensive disguise, given the racial differences, but that was old hat by now), listen in a bit, get a feel for how the Nazi on the ground was responding to recent events. The sort of simple, unglamorous reconnaissance Br'er Rabbit had done hundreds of times, very few of which had gone horribly wrong.

Then Jacqueline Colere happened. Even at short notice, with no warning whatsoever about how unconventional she was going to be about it, the news that a new Ward was debuting had more than tripled the customer population of The Iron Eagle, and pushed those customers who were merely Empire supporters or sympathisers (or out-of-town Protectorate members pretending to be such) very much to the sidelines.

Honestly, that was mostly for the better. Sure, there were more Nazis on the scene if things went wrong, and the information he was after just became a little more important, but nobody was paying attention to Benjamin and he had a perfectly good excuse for being right next to the fire door if he needed to make a quick getaway.


Then Kaiser showed up. With both of his Breaker/Brute bodyguards even. A show of strength, of presence, to make sure his lickspittles and bully boys remembered who was in charge during a potentially difficult moment.

Not that the villain said as much, but Benjamin Washington had gone on hundreds of reconnaissance missions. He'd seen it before and, assuming Kaiser didn't catch wise and kill him, he'd see it again.

And Kaiser had other things on his mind. Even beyond the debut. Br'er Rabbit had been in much worse situations. If he got caught, he'd likely die, but that was nothing new.


It was still more than a little uncomfortable, being so close to a genocidal near-warlord with so very much power. All the more so when he was angry. And he was angry. Every Nazi in the room was. For all that she hadn't mentioned them by name, Jacqueline Colere had not been subtle. Even the slowest among them had realized they were being called out by the time she mentioned "simple stupid bigotry", and half of them had been spitting mad as soon as she'd walked out on stage unmasked.

Yes, Kaiser was angry. If his posture hadn't shown it, the way he'd slammed his stein into the table certainly had. He wasn't as dramatic about it as some of his followers, but each and every one of those followers shut up and listened when he spoke.

"It seems we have a very dangerous adversary."

[Fun]

Benjamin Washington hated it when the bad guys played it smart and didn't underestimate the heroes. It always made things harder. Especially since the man was smart enough to both make sure his minions wouldn't do anything stupid and not give a single hint as to what he was going to do.

Kaiser should have been a joke. Maybe he was, in a particularly dark and twisted sort of way.

But Br'er Rabbit wasn't laughing.

 

[Kit]

At a minimum, Norton's political platform involved a lot less genocide.

Click to shrink...

Norton I was a Jew who advocated against anti-Chinese bigotry, chose a Black-owned paper as his imperial mouthpiece, and had a bloodless reign. I'd take him over Kaiser every day of the week and twice on Saturdays. (He also pardoned a cop who arrested him on grounds of 'insanity,' which is more graciousness than Max Anders is capable of summoning on his best day.)

 

[dhasenan]

I really appreciate the replacements for swear words. It's charming!

 

[Obscura]

Norton I was a Jew who advocated against anti-Chinese bigotry, chose a Black-owned paper as his imperial mouthpiece, and had a bloodless reign. I'd take him over Kaiser every day of the week and twice on Saturdays. (He also pardoned a cop who arrested him on grounds of 'insanity,' which is more graciousness than Max Anders is capable of summoning on his best day.)

Click to shrink...

Norton was ahead of his time in a lot of ways, and doesn't seem to have ever been malicious about anything he did with his reign. The latter in particular should really be an awfully low bar for a would-be head of state to clear, but it's one both Kaiser and a depressing amount of real world leaders can't match. Kaiser might have a better grip on politics and modern technology/infrastructure, but I'd still pick Norton over him.

Of course, by the time Br'er Rabbit's saying this Norton's been dead for over a century, which tends to put a real damper on one's political asperations.

I really appreciate the replacements for swear words. It's charming!

Click to shrink...

I like it myself, and I think it provides character. For some reason it seems to be the single most controversial part of the story, at least on Ao3, but I'm sticking with it.

 

[Obscura]

Well, I knew a strong closing note when I saw one. I'd played my part well, even the part I had no warning about, and it was time to leave before my lingering could start to muck it up.

That wasn't the biggest mistake I'd made with Purity, but it was definitely a mistake I'd made with Purity. I should have, well I should have refrained from making that speech at all, but if I had to make it I should have found a good place to stop before it started to peter out. Probably somewhere around "And nothing I've seen from you, nothing anybody has seen from you, gives me any inclination to think that will ever change."

I'd grown wiser since then. Or at least not as emotionally compromised as I'd been yelling at a mass-murdering Blaster 8 in a crowded hospital room.


I could make my exit gracefully. I even managed not to trip on anything, and trust me, there were a lot of things to potentially trip on. Literally all of the Protectorate and all but two of my fellow Wards, for starters, as we left Armsmaster to face the press alone.

(And yes, even if he wasn't moving as much, Armsmaster was a tripping hazard. Probably the worst of the bunch. He was right behind me, after all, and also a veritable titan of muscle and metal compared to my honestly pretty puny self.)


I'd feel bad about that, but it was the plan, and he'd agreed to it. Soon enough Jackson would be joining him, and together they'd answer the reporters' questions, or at least as many of them as could be answered without going too far over the half hour we'd scheduled with their networks.

And for all that those men didn't make a habit of showing their human face to the public, they were both substantially better qualified to manage the press when the press could actually talk back than I was. Armsmaster had been doing it for years, and Jackson had been in charge of this sort of thing for quite a few of those years.

I could trust them to know what they were doing and what they'd gotten themselves into.


Didn't stop me from patting Armaster supportively as I went by. It was supposed to be on the shoulder instead of just below the elbow, and I don't know if he even felt it through all that armour, but I like to think he got the memo.

It'd have to do. At least for the moment. There was only so much support I could show in front of the studio audience without taking chances with his image. I wasn't necessarily against that, long term, but I also wasn't about to do it without even talking to the guy first.

I like to think I'm not quite that inconsiderate.


My phone buzzed about two seconds after I got off stage, informing me that I was, in fact, that inconsiderate. Or at least in the ballpark.

In hindsight, I probably could have given Amy a little more warning than "gonna be on TV on the hour, you'll wanna see it." It's honestly pretty remarkable that she not only had the restraint to wait until I wasn't in front of the cameras to text me, but also to make her inquiry only 25% swear word.

Even if she did capitalise all four letters. I really couldn't blame her.


It hadn't occurred to me at the time that, while I'd laid out some at least decently solid reasoning for putting my not-so-secret identity out there to everybody who'd I'd talked to about it, Amy and I hadn't had that discussion. We hadn't had a lot of discussions, actually, even relative to all the other very important people in my life who I'd known for less than two weeks. We'd had all of one real conversation, for all that it was an extraordinarily deep and meaningful (and fraught and painful) one, and it was mostly about her. Just because I trusted her enough to share my secrets and hoped she trusted me with hers didn't mean we actually knew very much about each other.

She probably didn't even know I wasn't born in Brockton Bay. I honestly couldn't have said for sure if she was, and I wasn't even entirely sure if "Amy" was her real name or just a very prevalent diminutive. And yet she was one of the very few people I'd informed I was trans, and I was probably the only other person who knew about her crush on her sister.

It was weird, and I didn't really know how to handle it. But giving it a solid effort was the least I owed the both of us. And it wasn't like I could claim social cowardice after going in front of an entire crowd of reporters and blatantly discarding any pretence of the traditional superhuman identity split.


I'm sorry. I have my reasons, and they're not exactly secret, but I really should have at least told you about it before I did this.

I hesitated, then sent that first. I couldn't think of a way to put "I forgot I hadn't told you about this totally not-secret super cool thing I was planning" to text without sounding either glib or just plain insincere, and I knew putting out an actual admittance of wrongdoing before going deep into excuses was important.

Sorry, I sent again.

This was incredibly awkward. At least for that incredibly difficult conversation I'd had body language and facial expressions to go on.

I don't think I like texting much.


And yes, I am aware of the irony of that statement. Here I can at least use italics to provide emphasis on whatever words I so please.

Trust me, that makes this a lot easier. As does the fact that I'm not dealing with your immensely personal issues.


I'll tell you, I promise. It just feels like the kind of conversation best had face to face.

Sorry.

It occurred to me that I'd now texted "sorry" three times. I couldn't bring myself to care. I sighed in relief when I received the reply:

Ok i'm coming over

 

[Obscura]

Ok i'm coming over

It was, as I mentioned, a relief when that text came in.

If it had come from anybody else, there would have been at least a bit of a fuss over its proposed course of action, considering that I had a busy afternoon of healing scheduled quite soon. A civilian couldn't have horned in at all in all likelihood, and even a fellow superhero probably would have been at least politely asked to actually make arrangements first. If not by the PRT, then by the medical institutions involved.

But Amy, well, Amy was Panacea. There probably wasn't so much as a clinic in town whose chief wouldn't at least seriously consider chewing their own arm off if it meant a chance to get access to her services on a regular or even semi-regular basis. There was no need to worry about her ability to go just about anywhere she pleased (that was, you know, safe to have people in) in any medical establishment in town. Just about how I was going to explain myself when she did.

I texted back to thank her and let her know I appreciated the effort she was putting in (because I did, even if that was mostly because I really didn't want to try explaining myself over the phone) and moved on to bigger and less awkward things.

You know, relatively.


The briefing room wasn't exactly crowded, but there were still too many people in it. Or at least too many capes. Between them, Assault, Triumph, Gallant, Clockblocker, Vespiary (I hadn't even known Taylor had her costume here, but there had been plenty of time for somebody to go and get it) and the still pseudonymless Sophia were simply too much.

Normally heroes in this town operate in pairs unless they're conducting a raid, doing PR work as a group, escorting a prisoner convoy, or responding to an active incident that requires concentration of force. In safer places, solo patrols aren't uncommon, and even here Armsmaster and Glory Girl are both powerful enough to get away with them. Threes aren't too uncommon, usually with experienced heroes teaching newer ones. More than that, though?

Something is up. And everybody knows it.


Of course, those aren't hard and fast limits. Not completely. Independent teams play by their own rules, (or at least used to, in Brockton Bay's case) and PRT teams do adapt to circumstances. Having extra forces shadow a seemingly normally-sized patrol to surprise evildoers is even a time-honoured tradition by this point. So close to the bombings, it might actually look good to be a little more visibly cautious than usual.

And as a healer with a stated disinterest in combat there was a pretty good argument to be made that I didn't count in terms of combat numbers.

But unless it's kept hush-hush it is the sort of thing that needs an explanation, or people will come up with their own. Especially when the official-official teams are doing it. And showing up with six other capes escorting me still would not end well.


At best, it'd make the whole thing look like a publicity stunt. And while I couldn't deny that on some level that was exactly what it was, I didn't want it to be just a publicity stunt. I wanted to heal people. I wanted to make things better. And, more pertinently, I wanted people, my patients in particular, to know it.

Both to comfort and reassure people (remembering that morale is an important element in patient recovery) and, more cynically, because blatant shallow attention-seeking behaviour, or even the appearance of it, wouldn't get me the kind of attention I wanted. I didn't want to look cheap or fake, and I didn't want the PRT to look like it was exploiting me for easy PR.

I'll admit to not being entirely immune to the lure of attention seeking, but I'm smart enough to know that not all attention is good attention, and not all good attention is created equal. The appearance of sincerity is both immeasurably precious and far too easily lost. Even when it's the truth.

This was kinda a publicity stunt. But it couldn't look like a publicity stunt.

Especially since I had enemies who would be all too eager to make myself and the PRT alike look bad. Like, say, the whole entire massive neo-nazi organisation with a long history of savvy PR moves I'd just gone out of my way to poke in the face. And that was with the best case scenario.


Worst case, well, when large concentrations of parahuman firepower go out in costume trouble has a way of finding them whether they're looking for it or not. Not the sort of thing you want going down in a medical centre.

Even a victory would be disastrous. Even a bloodless victory would be disastrous, and not just in terms of property damage. It wouldn't take as long as it probably should for me to be invited to treat patients again after something like that, given just how rare and valuable Parahuman healers are, but I doubt anybody who considered doing so would forget it anytime soon if it did.

And considering that I did just make a particular enemy out of a whole entire massive neo-nazi organisation with thirteen capes and a long history of pulling new ones out of nowhere, neither bloodlessness nor victory were guaranteed.


No, six fighting heroes accompanying me would be far too many. Even one would probably be worth at least a raised eyebrow under normal circumstances, and would probably need some sort of excuse. Between my newness, recent events in general, and recent events involving me in particular excuses were plentiful, but that only justified so much.

I could probably get away with three parahuman escorts, if I really wanted to push it. Two would be a much safer number.

I honestly would have at least seriously considered just a trooper to drive me around if I thought I could convince anybody to go along with it. And if we hadn't just had a big dramatic moment with all of us capes standing together as one we should probably capitalise on at least a bit. But still, six was way too many.

So some of these heroes would have to go. Or, rather, not go.

And I was fairly sure I was going to have to be the one to tell them that.

 

[Obscura]

Okay, who did I not want escorting me?

To my shame, the first person to come to mind was Sophia. Not that I had anything against Sophia, but she was in no way ready for the job. She had (little-to-)no training, few relevant skills, and about as much intimidation factor as a paper bag.

More importantly, she didn't have her own cape name, costume, or even basic theming. So either she pretended to be Shadow Stalker, which wouldn't end well, or she did it as herself which, for entirely different reasons, wouldn't end well. And I wouldn't have been entirely sanguine about taking her to see some of the most grievously injured people in a city with far too many grievous injuries so soon after what happened even if she had been otherwise ready.

That her power was just kinda poorly suited to the task in general was honestly the least of my concerns.

But I also knew she had issues with comparing herself to Shadow Stalker's admittedly generally higher level of training and capability, and I didn't want to aggravate them. So she couldn't be the first person I asked to not come, nor could I say, well, any of the above.

So I'd have to come at it from another angle. Luckily, I did have a few ideas.


I also didn't have anything against Gallant. In some ways he was practically perfect for the job. He was remarkably personable for a cape, and while his tech wasn't particularly impressive by parahuman standards he did have some tricks that were admirably well suited to the task. Seeing emotions could do a lot to identify (and hopefully deescalate) potential problems or threats before they became actual problems or threats, and while his emotion blasts weren't something I was entirely comfortable with they would be an excellent way to sort out a situation with minimal risk of collateral damage.

Except, you know, none of that worked inside my aura. At all. That left Gallant with a deeply mediocre suit of power armour that he wasn't particularly good at using (at least by the admittedly very high standards of Tinkers who used the stuff) and some "force beams" that without their emotional component couldn't really compete with basically any actual weapon. Not nothing, but not enough to justify taking him away from his Tinkering even if there'd been unlimited party slots.

Especially as he probably wasn't accustomed to operating as a superhero without his emotion-based gimmicks. He'd had them, or at least predecessors of them, since his debut. I don't know how off his game losing them would put him, but I wasn't willing to bet that it wouldn't be a problem.


Then there was Assault.

I just didn't want to put up with the man's antics.

Look, not everything needs a convoluted web of carefully balanced reasoning. I had enough stressors already, I didn't need more. I took a moment to think of some excuses, but it really was that simple.


Triumph and Clockblocker weren't problems for me, and there were personal reasons to bring each of them. So that was good. And Taylor, well, I had a plan for Taylor, and another plan in the event that that one failed.

Now I just had to pull it off.


"Okay, I am not bringing an entire team's worth of combat capes to a hospital of all places"

It wasn't the most spectacular entrance, as entrances go, but it got the job done. The sheer level of done with this I made sure to convey as I massaged my forehead made my position abundantly clear to anybody who bothered to pay attention and take a moment to think about my feelings.

"Ah, come onnn Jack-in-the-box!"

So, you know, not Assault. And did I mention that I was already running low on emotional energy and really didn't want to have to deal with him?


I'll admit, I did kinda want to ask about the "Jack-in-the-box" thing, but I knew it was better not to engage unless I wanted to let him get me bogged down. It was a skill I'd been on both sides of too many times to not recognise it when I saw it.

"No."

"Ahh, come on," he repeated himself. "After a big show like that, you need to keep up the momentum. A little razzle-dazzle, a few big displays, keep the hearts pumping and the spotlight shining. Put those sequins in those eyes, you know?"


…

Was he making Muppets references? Did the Muppets even exist here? Was that even where the song was from? It wasn't even a good reference, the context just didn't fit. I hadn't been trying to distract people from anything, just assure them that they didn't have to get through things alone.

I was more than a little confused, and genuinely unsure whether that was the point or not. If I was the one dealing with me I'd at least consider something like that, but it didn't really seem like his style.

I also missed at least four times as much of his rambling as I'd actually processed. He really belaboured his one point far more than it deserved. Examples and plans of attack and all. Not that I'm entirely against making sure a point sticks by explaining it more than one way, but I was literally the one who'd come up with the whole "big show" he was insisting I continue. I knew what I was doing, and he really didn't. There's more to PR than just making the biggest possible splash.

Even if I'll admit that some of his ideas for doing that were actually pretty good, if that was all you cared about.


I, for one, wanted more. I wanted to let people know they were cared about, and be cared about in turn. I wanted people to be able to stand up and be counted, and for them to actually do so. I wanted bigots to reconsider their positions and their targets to feel safe. I wanted to fix this broken world, and that takes an at least slightly subtler touch.

And, also, I wanted to both get back at Assault and get him out of my life for at least a few hours. So, when he exhorted me to "sex it up!" I blinked innocently and raised my hand. And, when he, the drama king that he is, called upon me, I answered.

"Mr Assault?"

"Yes Jack-in-the-box?"

"What's sex?"

Spoiler: Author's Note

Jacqueline has never seen Chicago, but she has seen a decent amount of the Muppets. Assault could reasonably be drawing from either.

 

[konnichi1wa]

"Mr Assault?"

"Yes Jack-in-the-box?"

"What's sex?"

Click to shrink...

Hah, going right for the throat, she is.

 

[Ferrite]

"Mr Assault?"

"Yes Jack-in-the-box?"

"What's sex?"

Click to shrink...

While I'm a fan of keeping my opponents off balance, she forgot one basic rule. One should never ask a question that they don't want answered.