966Earning Her Stripes
Part Forty-Six: Ground Zero
[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
PRT ENE Building, Conference Room A
Monochrome
"Okay, this is my best read of the situation." Lisa flicked a laser pointer over the image of the collapsed office building. "That right there is Accord's home base, or it used to be anyway. Right now, it's urban renewal. And that RV sneaking away there? That's the Travellers, or what's left of them. When they arrived in Boston, they went to Accord, probably to get permission to do crime on his turf. Something went badly wrong, and one or more of them died. The others attacked in retaliation. I'm not sure if the building came down because of them, or because Accord triggered a self-destruct, but he's alive, I'm sure of it. And between two and four of the Travellers survived; I'm calling it two, but it could be three."
"This is all very interesting." Director Piggot said it in a way that told all and sundry that she really wasn't interested at all. "But that's Boston's problem, not ours. Why are we so concerned about a clash between villains in another city entirely? We have our own issues to deal with."
"Because they're coming here." I could tell Lisa had held that information back precisely so she could drop the bombshell. Thinkers weren't bold and flashy like Blasters, or able to break stuff like Brutes, so they had to have their fun where they could. "Accord doesn't know the Travellers survived. They know he did. He's coming here because of the current power vacuum, and intends to rebuild his organisation in Brockton Bay. They're coming here because he's coming here, and they intend to catch up with him and kill him."
And there it was, laid out in black and white.
"So, two different factions," Emma mused. "One looking to put down criminal roots, the other one intending to start something. That could get people hurt or killed, depending on how indiscriminate they are."
"I've read up on Accord," Madison supplied. "They say he's got a plan for everything. No matter how you come at him, he's got a fallback."
I took a deep breath. "I can understand the idea of wanting revenge. But the last time they clashed, they brought a building down. God alone knows how many people were killed in the fighting and the collapse. No matter how justified they feel they are, we're gonna have to stop them before they get set up to go for him. Any chance we've got the license plate of that RV?"
Lisa shook her head. "Sure, we've got it. But if there's fewer of them, they'll have changed vehicles before coming to Brockton Bay. An RV sticks out where a sedan or a minivan wouldn't, and they'll know there's a chance they've been spotted if there's news cameras around."
Director Piggot grimaced, a not-uncommon expression for her, if I was reading the lines on her face correctly. "Is there any good news in this at all?"
Madison shrugged. "We know they're coming. And Accord doesn't just recruit anyone. He takes 'picky' and refines it beyond belief. So, he won't be just transplanting a huge organisation overnight."
"Which isn't a huge plus," Emma noted. "But the Travellers won't be after anyone but Accord. So, they won't start anything until they've got him in their crosshairs. Technically, we should have a breathing space between when they all arrive in Brockton Bay and when the fireworks kick off."
"And by that time, hopefully, we can narrow down where they're basing themselves and what prep they're making." I nibbled on my thumbnail, thinking. "If Accord demands cleanliness and order, he's not going to set up in the Trainyards. He'll be acquiring property in the Downtown area, for sure. The Travellers will be a lot more transient."
"But they'll be zeroing in on the same area, to try to locate Accord before he can bunker down." Lisa hit a button to bring up a map of the city on the screen, and circled the Downtown area with it. "And neither one is going to want to draw attention from us, at least until they come head to head with each other. And then it'll be no holds barred, and no thought for innocents."
Armsmaster had been silent up until now, probably because he had nothing to add to the discussion. He cleared his throat, and we all looked at him. "If he's got to set up, then he has to acquire property. I can keep an eye out for that."
Lisa waggled her hand from side to side. "Good idea, but there's a non-zero chance that he's already got property in Brockton Bay, and all he has to do is move into it. It won't save him a lot of time, though. Setting it up to his personal satisfaction will take longer."
"We'll certainly keep a watch for that sort of thing, though," Director Piggot interjected. I wasn't totally surprised: she was likely to grab for any straw that could assist her in making sure the Accord/Travellers clash didn't flare up again in her city. "And as soon as we locate either one, we'll come down on them hard." I'm not having that shit happen in my city, she didn't have to say.
"Maybe not." Emma's voice was thoughtful. "If we locate one, why not let them run a little until we know where the other one is? That way, we can hit them both at once."
Director Piggot's lips thinned noticeably. "If our timing is off even a little, that could lead to disaster. And if it gets out that we let matters get that bad when we could have nipped it in the bud, there could be all kinds of blowback on everyone involved. I'd rather not let things get that far."
I privately noted that none of what she was saying included any hint of covering her ass after the fact; Piggot wasn't that kind of bureaucrat. In fact, she wasn't any kind of bureaucrat, even though she'd ended up in the ENE Director's role after Ellisburg was scorched to the bedrock. While she'd learned subtlety in the meantime, her main focus was (as it had always been) ensuring that villains didn't fuck around in her city. Those that did, found out.
When Emma's malignant little coterie had originally formed the Real Thing, Piggot was in the late stages of a years-long campaign to squeeze villains out of Brockton Bay by making it less and less hospitable by degrees. Had she done it all at once, they would have fought back, but she'd been carefully boiling the frog, and it was working. Once I came on board, we'd accidentally jumped the gun (not helped by Kaiser deciding to strike back at us) and now we were in the precarious position of having a city empty of villain gangs, yet not quite as unfriendly toward the concept as we would've liked.
A power vacuum in the criminal underworld, as it were.
Butcher had tried to fill it, but had screwed up massively by drawing attention to herself while still in the early stages. Butcher/March's single-minded pursuit of the Undersiders had been her ultimate downfall, and we'd dealt with her (for the moment) but it appeared we were not due for a respite any time soon. I had to wonder (as the others undoubtedly were) exactly how many other disaffected or dispossessed villains would find their way to Brockton Bay before this was over.
The phrase far too many drifted through my mind.
"Alright then." Emma nodded to acknowledge Director Piggot's words. "We'll get what descriptions and imagery that we can of the Travellers and maintain vigilance, especially around the Downtown area, for anyone who resembles any of them. The chances are that they won't be out and about in costume—"
"—unless they need to get extra money, which means stealing it." interjected Madison pragmatically.
"Unless that, yeah," Emma agreed without missing a beat. "If they do that, and we can lay hands on them, it'll be gravy for us. But let's not assume they're going to be stupid. Likewise, if we can spot any short self-important assholes getting around, we'll tag them for surveillance as well." She turned to Director Piggot. "Am I missing anything?"
The Director, who had been distracted by a ping on her phone, looked up. "For this? No, you seem to have it in hand. Coordinate with my office through Armsmaster. However, I've just gotten a new alert. It may be nothing, or it may be quite serious."
Lisa raised an eyebrow. "We all know which one it's likely to be. What's the situation? I know it's not an Endbringer attack, or we'd be hearing sirens."
Director Piggot sighed heavily. "I just got a report, originating from Edict and Licit in Stafford, that Damsel of Distress has slipped their surveillance. The last time she did this, she jumped into the middle of the Boston Games. By all accounts, she stirred things up and did some damage. Also, she went head-to-head with Accord, and came off second best. There's a good chance she's coming here, and a better one that she's still nursing a grudge."
I wasn't sure who Damsel of Distress was, or even where to find Stafford on the map, but the name was not one to inspire any kind of confidence that this was going to turn out well. "What sort of powerset are we looking at?" I wasn't about to repeat the mistake I'd made with March. Once was far more than enough.
"They included a précis." She started reading from her phone screen. "Blaster, minor Mover. Fires annihilating blasts from her hands, with a range of ten to twenty feet. Immune to her own power, but sometimes it apparently just goes off by itself. According to all reports, these blasts destroy absolutely anything they hit. No exceptions." Raising her eyes, she gave me a meaningful glance.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll be careful." I looked over at Emma and Madison. "That goes for you two as well."
"Hey, good steel told March's power to go get fucked, so it'll probably work against this Damsel's power too." Madison sounded nettled that someone was dissing her creation, even if only by inference.
"I wouldn't be so sure." Armsmaster weighed into the conversation again. "I've watched footage of her in action. Her blast has a solid recoil, which suggests there's more to it than simply annihilating matter. A sword is just a sword, but a high-powered laser can cut through ordinary steel."
"Yeah," I agreed. "The last thing you want to do is step up like I did with March and find out that she can cut through your armour. Pretty sure it'd take a little bit more than Panacea's assistance to put you back together if Damsel of Distress cut you in half with her power."
"Never happen." Madison jutted out her jaw stubbornly, but there was a hint of doubt in her eyes. She'd seen what March had done to me when I underestimated her, and I'd broken that good steel knife once upon a time. Despite her attempts to assure herself, we both knew that what had happened to me could happen to her as well.
"She's right." Emma weighed in on my side. "We don't know how it'll interact, so be careful." She considered the matter for a moment. "Actually, make me up another throwing-disc. Just in case."
Madison nodded once, sharply. "Can do."
"Christ." Director Piggot shook her head and rubbed at the crease between her eyebrows. It hadn't noticeably gone away by the time she stopped. "Here I thought getting rid of the gangs would be a good thing."
I shrugged. "Well, at least it wasn't our fault this time."
She gave me a dirty look.
Alexandria
Rebecca watched the volunteer running laps on the indoor track, with four men bellowing insults and contradictory instructions at him through bullhorns. There was a small desk set up alongside the track; when he came to it, he sat down and started scribbling on the papers laid out there. The men formed up around him, each shouting something different from about three feet away. Still, he kept writing, though he hunched his shoulders occasionally.
When he finished the page, he jumped up and kept running, and the men hectoring him kept pace. She watched him run another lap, then turned to Charles. His cautiously hopeful expression drained away as he took in the look on her face.
"I thought that looked very promising, uh, Alexandria," he ventured. He knew her as the Chief Director, and it was a tribute to her change in body language that he hadn't recognised her now.
"What exactly is he doing there?" she asked, mildly curious.
"Math problems, logic problems, and general knowledge questions." He looked quite pleased with himself. "He has to get them all correct within a certain timeframe."
"Hm." She pursed her lips. "And what powers does he have, exactly?"
"Shaker/Thinker," The smug expression only intensified. "We scoured half the PRT departments in the US before we found him. He can discombobulate people over a wide area, totally ruining their ability to concentrate and focus on anything they're trying to do. As a secondary power, he's capable of insanely powerful focus within his own mind. It's nearly impossible to shake his concentration, and he's taken on the specialised training we gave him in remarkably short time. He's the perfect person for the job."
He sounded proud and assured, but there was something in his manner that seemed just a shade off-kilter, as though he was still trying to convince himself that what he was saying was true. Rebecca latched onto that. "And the downside?"
"Downside?" Now his tone was defensive, and the sidelong glance he shot her was downright worried. "Who said anything about a downside?"
"The downside that you're trying very hard not to think about right now." She would've raised an eyebrow, but her helmet/mask combo would've ruined the effect. "You know I've got a Thinker rating. You're worried about something. What is it?"
It didn't take much more of her leaning into his indecision for him to crack. "He's, uh, he's a bit slow."
To her, everyone was 'a bit slow'. But from his point of view … "How bad is it? And if he's an idiot, how basic are those tests you're giving him?"
"No, no. He's not stupid." Charles glanced around, as though seeking respite from the ongoing interrogation. "He's just … gullible. Easy to talk into stuff."
And there's the other damn shoe. "Which the other fifteen Butchers will pick up on in about ten seconds flat. They won't need to drive him mad when they can talk him into being the Butcher." She wanted to facepalm, but Alexandria didn't facepalm.
"No, no, no." She wasn't sure who he was trying to convince; her, or himself. "He'll have specific orders to ignore whatever they tell him to do. He's very good at taking orders."
"And he'll have fifteen Butchers all working on him day and night until just one of them gets through to him, and then he'll be Butcher Sixteen, with the ability to mentally rattle anyone who's close enough to actually fight him. Well done." She allowed all the anger she was feeling to bleed through as sarcasm, and he flinched convulsively.
"He's being primed to resist whatever they say to him." Charles was evidently working very hard to believe that. The alternative was to admit that she (as the Chief Director) had been right all along.
"That won't hold, and I can prove it." Her eyes found his, challenging.
She had him in a corner. They both knew it. There was only one way out, and that was to take up the gauntlet she'd thrown down. "How?"
"I'm willing to bet that I can force him to break any one specific order you give him, without touching him." It was a sucker bet, really. She had thousands of hours of study of psychological techniques under her belt. "Say … he's only allowed to use pencils to do those tests. Supply him with pencils, of course. But put pens on the table as well. If I can pressure him into using a pen, after you've given him strict orders only to use pencils, will you call this idiotic idea off?"
His eyes searched her face, looking for the trap. Her poker face was up to the situation, and she knew damn well he'd get nothing out of her. Besides, the trap had already been set. "… fine. And if you can't, will you back off? And get the Chief Director to back off as well?"
She gave him a fractional nod. "If I can't break him, then Chief Director Costa-Brown will endorse the idea, at my recommendation."
"Okay, good." He seemed to relax slightly. "So, what do you need?"
She smiled coldly.
Accord
The drive north from Boston had been somewhat of a trial, but he'd endured it because there was no other choice in the matter. Othello's driving was smooth and efficient as per normal, and Citrine was keeping up to date with the day-to-day operation of his businesses, calling items to his attention as necessary. In the meantime, he was engaged in research into Brockton Bay, and where the most effective location would be to set up his new base of operations.
The region known as Downtown had apparently been under the sway of the long-standing white-supremacist gang Empire Eighty-Eight, until they had been taken down and captured by the newcomer team calling itself the Real Thing. Consisting of two teenage girls or young women (opinions varied where it came to Monochrome) and one Tinker of uncertain height, weight and gender, the newcomer hero team had stumbled a little at its outset. But once they had shed the ex-vigilante Shadow Stalker and taken on Monochrome, they had gone from strength to strength.
Accord had no intention of clashing with them directly, as they seemed capable of mustering a significant level of Brute power. His plans concerning them would necessarily involve bypassing them altogether, keeping their attention fixed elsewhere so that his people could perform their tasks in peace. Likewise, he would have to keep New Wave diverted so that the three flight-capable Blaster-Brutes and the Alexandria package had no opportunity to disrupt his activities.
He didn't quite smile as the car cruised into Brockton Bay proper, but he did allow himself to feel a certain sense of satisfaction. New beginnings meant new opportunities, after all.
He had plans to make.
Genesis
Jess was already missing the RV. Intellectually, she understood that they'd only stolen motorhomes because Noelle's power was far too inconvenient in close quarters; an incautious slip meant they had a clone they had to kill and a body to hide. With just the three of them, they could settle for a minivan, giving them room for their various luggage, as well as her wheelchair, and ample seating left over. The downside was that minivans entirely lacked all the comforts of home as supplied by an RV, and so they'd have to spend money staying in motels and the like.
But she kept her complaints to herself, because Cody didn't want to hear them, and Oliver … well, Oliver just listened and agreed to whoever spoke to him last. His priorities were as malleable as his looks; he was already starting to change appearance subtly now that the other members of the Travellers were no longer around.
She gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut, holding back the stinging sensations of tears trying to fall. I just had to go and remind myself of what we've lost. It had barely been a day, and the pain was still vivid. She doubted it would ever really go away; even now, a year later, she remembered Chris' death in the ruins of the building that the Simurgh had so casually knocked over.
Cody had been catapulted into the leadership position, mainly because Jess had still been numb from all the losses and Oliver … well, she loved Oliver as a teammate, but he had the leadership capability of a melted marshmallow. It had been no secret among the Travellers that Cody coveted Krouse's position, but nobody had quite decided that he would make a better leader, so there'd been no support for his whispering campaign to oust Krouse and install himself at the head of the table.
But now it was a fait accompli, and she lacked the energy to push back on it. As they rolled into Brockton Bay, she could only hope he wouldn't screw it up too badly before they were done.
Damsel of Distress
Ashley was fairly sure that Edict and Licit kept an eye on the bus depot—or at least, they'd caught her there on the last two times she'd tried to sneak out of town—so she'd gone a different route this time. While she'd never had a driver's license, she had a vague idea of how to hotwire a car, and she kind of knew how to drive—most of a decade spent on the run from the law tended to teach some useful skills—and so she'd stolen an old beater she'd found on a back street. Finders keepers, and all that jazz.
It had taken her a good ten minutes of touching wires to wires, hoping against hope that her power wouldn't just arbitrarily decide to take out the entire steering column and front half of the car with it, before the engine miraculously sputtered to life. Stuffing her meagre belongings into the back seat, she'd applied pedal to metal and headed off for her new life in Brockton Bay. No other villains meant she had free rein to build her own criminal empire, away from assholes like Accord.
He can have Boston. I've got Brockton Bay.
Fuck 'em all. It's a brand new day for Damsel of Distress.
End of Part Forty-Six