Samedi
Bourbon Street 1.4
Interlude - Piggot
The image of a fifteen year old S-class threat was displayed on the monitors in the PRT secure conference room. Piggot hated her.
Piggot hated a lot of things, but this felt different. Everything in the veteran agent cried out against the abomination pretending to be human.
Piggot knew that her hatred wasn't normal.
And that just made it stronger.
She surveyed the gathered heroes.
"Taylor Hebert, age fifteen. She triggered yesterday. We are tentatively rating her Shaker 8, Mover 4, Thinker 2, and Master 2. Armsmaster?"
"Thank you, Director. Ms. Hebert has displayed a powerful area control ability which allows her to manifest objects and control reality within at least a fifty meter radius. As she was not in the wards long enough to undergo power testing, we do not know the extent of her control. We do know that she easily overpowered both the automated defenses in the Director's office and myself, at high alert."
The image on the monitor began to move. Taylor sat in a chair in Piggot's office and smirked as the whole embarrassing charade played itself out.
The debacle unfurled, the girl laughing menacingly as the room darkened. Suddenly the image jumped, and the office had returned to normal. Armsmaster paused the playback.
"What happened there?" Aegis' look was intent. Good. At least one of them understood exactly how serious this situation was.
"Our current hypothesis is that the cameras ceased to exist for the remaining duration of her power use." He gestured at another monitor. "Here is the feed from my on-board camera system during the missing period."
They watched as the child on the screen casually humiliated the head of the Protectorate ENE.
"Good, we're all on board. Now, here's how I see things going." The girl's voice had taken on a deep bass overtone that put a sinking feeling in Piggot's stomach.
"Emily, you have twenty four hours to get rid of that psycho bitch. If she is still alive and in Brockton Bay at that time, I will become a villain. I don't really want to do that. I'm not interested in hurting anyone. Well, very many anyones, anyway. But heroes aren't really allowed to try to destroy your shitty little government-sponsored gang, are they? I may not be all that great at fighting yet, but I'm pretty confident I can cause you some problems." The girl smiled, an open, honest, friendly smile that lit up her face. Which was basically a skull at this point.
"Consider this a test of your integrity and competence. If you do well, I'll reconsider my position on villainy."
The shocked expressions on the wards' faces gave her a moment of satisfaction before Clockblocker burst out laughing.
"Hold on. Hold on. No, wait, really. Sorry. Okay, so you're telling me that yesterday morning she was a regular civilian, just living her life, and last night she beat up Armsmaster and threatened to turn into a super-villain and use the power of key-lime pies or whatever to destroy the Protectorate? I think I'm in love."
"Dennis, please be quiet unless you have something useful to add. This is a debriefing. You will comport yourself with professionalism." Miss Militia's tone was mild, but she looked like she had swallowed something sharp.
"Um, Director?" Vista had her arm raised. Piggot nodded at her.
"I understand the shaker and mover ratings. We saw what happened in the common room. But why thinker and master?"
"Good question. We believe that she has a relatively weak thinker power that manifests itself as synesthetic awareness of other people's emotional states. Something like Gallant's vision, but restricted to smell, taste, and texture. I cannot provide any additional information on the master rating. Our thinkers are sending back inconsistent results. But forewarned is forearmed, so until we know for sure that she isn't, we're assuming she is."
Piggot sighed heavily.
"While the situation remains unstable, you will be restricted to base at least until her deadline has passed."
"Director? What is being done with Shadow Stalker?" Miss Militia met Piggot's eyes, no hesitation, no nervousness.
"Our investigation is ongoing. But it appears that Ms. Hebert's allegations are not without merit. Shadow Stalker will not be returning to the wards. At least not here. Further decisions regarding her future have not yet been made."
Piggot stood up.
"This parahuman is much more dangerous than she appears. This is not a laughing matter, Dennis. Her abilities are largely unknown, although they are obviously very great. More importantly, she is not stable. Either she suffered psychiatric damage from the protracted bullying campaign apparently perpetrated against her by one of our own, or her powers are interfering with her normal personality. Or both. Regardless, if she takes it into her head to be our enemy, she is likely able to do serious, long-term damage to each and every one of us." Piggot paused to let that sink in. "Imagine Myrddin with nightmare powers and a grudge. Then let me know if you still feel like laughing."
Dennis looked like a mouse who had suddenly realized that what he thought was cheese was actually a tabby cat.
"One final thing. She has made no mention of a cape name. We chose one that will reinforce how dangerous she is, helps discredit her if she turns against us, and gives her a reputation to live up to if she becomes a hero. Our thinkers assure us she will not be offended by it." Piggot gestured once more to the frozen image on the screen.
"Ladies and gentleman, meet Bogeyman."
- - -
Interlude – Danny
Danny was cursed.
He sat at the kitchen table, drinking a beer and trying to clear his head.
Ever since Annette, Danny had been gripped by an unremitting sense of despair. Everything was getting worse, all the time. Nothing he did mattered, nothing he tried helped.
His job was getting worse. There was never enough work. People were going hungry, joining gangs. Becoming part of the problem.
Taylor had become withdrawn and reclusive. Every thing they had together as father and daughter, every little in-joke, every nickname, every teasing comment had been buried with her mother.
He felt like he had already died. He had been a zombie for the last two years.
And he knew, knew that it would never get any better. For any of them.
Ever.
- - -
He woke up on the kitchen floor. The beer was still sitting on the table, warm to the touch.
He stood up and shakily made his way to bed. Maybe things would at least not have gotten any worse in the morning.
- - -
Author's Note
KRACK-THOOM
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