Supervisor 2.2a – Interlude: Armsmaster

Armsmaster strode towards Director Piggot's office, the butt of his halberd hitting the floor with every stride, his face still creased with irritation at his recent interaction with an irritatingly inefficient tinker. Grunt had been a thorn in Armsmaster's side for years. One slip of the tongue at a convention, and that man held a grudge and refused to see reason. What did he have to do to get Grunt affiliated with the Protectorate? Get down and beg? Not likely. He opened the office door crisply, and marched in, standing firmly in front of the Director's desk.

Director Piggot stared at him silently, her face held in an expressionless mask, fingers interlaced and resting on the desk in front of her. Miss Militia stood quietly in the corner, eyebrows creased in irritation. For a long moment, Piggot stared at Armsmaster. Finally, after Colin got bored and started reviewing plans for his next modification of his halberd, she spoke. "Armsmaster." she stated stonily. "What the hell were you doing out there?"

Armsmaster blinked. "I was investigating a previously unknown parahuman organization and assessing the threat they presented to Brockton Bay. Any organization with technology that advanced encroaching on gang territory could be a destabilizing influence."

"Wrong." Piggot slammed a hand flat on the table. "You were needlessly antagonizing a registered parahuman organization, on that, for once, is actually not focused on fighting other parahuman organizations. They filed all the necessary paperwork with City Hall, and would have filed it with us, except they were intercepted by a filter you created." She shook her head. "A filter you created because you were overreacting to some harmless boasting."

Armsmaster raised a finger, but the director cut him off. "No, a picture of a rival tinker and a link to a video showing that he can juggle eggs in power armor is not spam." Miss Militia snorted. "Now explain what could have possibly possessed you to make such an egregious error."

Colin paused for a moment, compiling and editing a mental report. "I was unaware of the roster or intentions of the Parahuman group known as The Union. Prior to tonight, the only reason we were aware of their existence was via their purchase of the warehouse that we discussed. I requested that the PRT alert me if any calls were received regarding The Union. I was expecting a vigilante cape at best, so I was very surprised when we heard from someone claiming to be part of a power armored squad." Armsmaster sighed. "I went out, expecting the worst, and when I saw the six identical suits of armor surrounding non-capes on the ground, I thought I had found it."

"Then you encountered Grunt, and he confirmed that he was a member of The Union, and you managed to provoke him into being confrontational." Director Piggot concluded, rubbing her temples. She tapped a few panels on her glass-topped desk, and a set of images and documents appeared on the built in screen. "Grunt. Tinker 5, Brute 1 for slightly enhanced durability. Appeared about seven years ago, after a relatively well-documented trigger event related to the failed military testing of power armor designed by Carapace. Specializes in commercially applicable power armor that are beyond ridiculously durable. The only reason he doesn't have a higher rating is that he insists that he will only design and build suits for non-combat purposes, with the notable exception of Endbringer attacks. In PRT and Protectorate interviews in the past, he has repeatedly stated that he 'had enough in the Marines,' presumably referring to combat and violence." Piggot stared hard at Armsmaster. "Anything we are missing?"

The hero shifted uncomfortably. "His alloying and armor-plating techniques are...adequate."

Piggot snorted. "High praise. Obviously you're being obtuse. Anything to add on why a tinker who would be such a valuable asset, even in a support role, steadfastly refuses to work with you?"

"No."

The Director studied Armsmaster for a long moment. "Fine." she barked. "I'm doubling your patrols, and you're taking a more active role in mentoring the Wards, on and off patrol. You're so concerned about the city, take more time out in it." Armsmaster grunted in weary agreement. That would significantly cut down the time he had available to make repairs and adjustments to his systems. He saw the value in it though, especially after Grunt's earlier tirade.

"Effective immediately, on any patrol leading near the Ship Graveyard, you will have Miss Militia accompanying you, for diplomatic purposes." Armsmaster nodded. Logical, that would actually decrease his overall stress.

Piggot smirked, and Colin felt a chill of unease. "Finally, you have teleconferenced Public Relations classes with Glenn Chambers twice a week for the foreseeable future." Armsmaster winced.

"If you want to be a leader, the Hero of this generation, then you have to learn not to stick your armored boot in your mouth every time you open it." Piggot glared at the tinker. "Maybe this way you'll learn to play nice with others."

A screen built into the wall hummed to life, showing Dragon's concerned face. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but this is something that you need to see." The screen flickered, and resolved into a TV news broadcast showing an attractive blonde in a blue dress, standing on the front steps of the Brockton Bay Courthouse.

"This is Cindy Rinehart, Channel 5 news, with a breaking news report from the Brockton Bay Courthouse. The jury has reached a verdict in the widely publicized trial against Victoria Dallon, also known as 'Glory Girl', for the death of the villain known only as 'Ballistic' during his assault on [that bank] nearly three weeks ago. The trial has been widely publicized, especially due to the public nature of the incident, and the amateur footage captured by multiple bystanders. The following sample may have material disturbing to some audiences."

The screen cut to a shaky video, echoing with panting, terrified breath, showing a costumed man touching a large desk and sending it rocketing into a slender girl with brown hair, standing with her arms spread in front of a group of people trembling on the floor. The desk slammed into her lower legs and crushed her against a stone column before it exploded into splinters. The girl slid limply down the pillar, leaving a trail of blood. A chorus of screams and cries echoed through the bank, but they were cut through by a bellow of rage and fear and a spray of falling glass as the distinctive figure of Glory Girl slammed through the skylight, landing on one knee and leaving an impact crater. A blur of movement later, and she stood upright with her forearm punched all the way through the villain's chest, her white costume stained crimson with blood. The video ended.

Cindy smiled. "Only moments ago, the jury ruled that Ms. Dallon was guilty of manslaughter with a parahuman ability, and sentenced her to fifteen years in prison, subject to parole. The foreman stated, quote: 'It is a tragedy, what happened to Amy Dallon, but that is no excuse for an act of revenge. Parahumans must be held to the same standards that we are, regardless of the circumstances.'" Cindy's smile softened. "Given Ms. Dallon's cooperation with authorities, as well as her ability to remove herself from any prison short of the Birdcage, she will be transferred to a minimum security prison for the duration of her sentence."

The image changed again, to Victoria Dallon wearing a prison orange jumpsuit and mundane handcuffs. Tears streaked down her cheeks. "I-I just want to say that I'm sorry. I let everyone down. I'll serve my term, and maybe I'll be a better person when I get out." The clip ended, and Cindy bobbed her head cheerfully.

"This just goes to show that justice will be served in the end, whether you're a hero or villain. This is Cindy Rinehart, Channel 5 news." The news screen vanished.

Piggot steepled her fingers. "That was unexpected. What went wrong, Dragon?"

Dragon seemed to sigh. "As best I can tell, everything was going well, until the prosecution discovered Glory Girl's secondary power."

Miss Militia spoke up. "Secondary power? Beyond the flight, strength, and forcefield durability?"

A nod. "Yes. Glory Girl generates an aura around her that encourages people that she is friendly towards to like her, and invokes a fear or panic response in those she doesn't like. It's subtle, but definitely present, and she can't really control it. Somehow, the prosecution heard about it, and enacted Master/Stranger prosecution protocols. Victoria could only defend herself via video conference, and anyone she had a personal relationship with was barred from testimony due to involuntary bias. The judge barred Carol from representing her, and a court defendant was appointed who had never even met Victoria, and only interacted with her by webcam."

Director Piggot closed her eyes wearily and rubbed her temples. "So she was railroaded."

Dragon gave the impression of shifting uncomfortably. "Actually, after doing that, the trial was handled almost completely fairly. The prosecution was even sympathetic, but firm, and argued against the Birdcage based on her record and cooperation. My personal opinion is that the law was upheld, although personally I would have preferred a shorter sentence. Fifteen years is a long time for a teenage girl who can break out at literally any time, even if she is willingly in custody."

Director Piggot nodded slowly. "Understandable. But, with the possibility of parole for good behavior, it may be bearable. And she will be subject to the usual Endbringer prison protocols, and the rewards that apply there as well." A final sharp nod. "Fine. Not the best solution, but better than many." She glanced at Armsmaster and Miss Militia. "Your joint patrol starts in two hours. I have rerouted you near the Ship Graveyard. Analyze the area and work done as much as possible, see what we're dealing with. You are not to engage any members of The Union in any way. If they attempt to open dialogue, Miss Militia will do the talking. Is that understood?"

Armsmaster nodded. "Our official stance on The Union?"

Piggot sighed. "We're going to treat them like any other Rogue or Vigilante organization, at least until they show signs of criminal activity. If what they're doing is what they say it is, then The Union will be a good thing for Brockton Bay." A final nod from Armsmaster, and he marched out, closely followed by Miss Militia. Piggot buried her face in her hands.

Why couldn't someone else be the head of the Protectorate here? Anyone else would be better. But they were stuck with a bumbling, rude, over-focused tinker as the local head. Assault, as a former villain was out. Battery refused flatly when offered, and was compromised anyway, since she was married to Assault. Velocity was far too flighty, and wouldn't have been able to handle the responsibility. Dauntless was too young, only just out of the Wards. Finally, Miss Militia, her personal choice, was simply not combat effective enough to be a presentable head of the superhero organization. On nearly all other counts, she was a better choice, but the ability to generate weapons just wouldn't cut it against many of the villains and threats in the city.

Director Piggot sighed, and got back to work. At least Armsmaster had designed software that streamlined a lot of the paperwork. At least he was good at that. And, admittedly, he was a highly skilled and effective tinker, and, with people who knew him well, he was at least tolerable.

Down the hall, Miss Militia glanced at Armsmaster. "There's something more about Grunt that sets you off." She stated. It wasn't a question.

Armsmaster grunted. "His work is inefficient. Too much wasted space and resources, too many over-redundancies. Every time I look at it, I can see how it can be improved without losing effectiveness for what he needs it to do." He shook his head. "He should be able to do better. At least I can blame Squeeler's terrible work on the drugs."

Miss Militia frowned. "When I looked at his file, I saw some of the things his suits have survived. He seems to over-engineer on purpose. It's probably his specialization."

Armsmaster glanced at her. "You think I don't know that? I know he overdoes everything, It just grates on my nerves when I look at it. It's worse for Tinker gear, but it's a constant thing. Everything I see, I know I can improve, make it better, more efficient, more compact. It's a constant vision of inadequate, substandard, poor design. And it's everywhere." They reached the corridor leading to Armsmaster's lab. "Patrol in two hours. Need to maintain my halberd and armor." He marched off down the hallway without another word.

Miss Militia stood watching for a moment, before heading to her room, deep in thought. She had never really realized how much strain Armsmaster's powers placed on him, but it did account for some of his behavior. She shook her head, smiling softly, as the knife in it's sheath flashed and transformed into a halberd resting in a harness across her back. She would support him, of course. That's what she did best.

Sitting in the best bed, in the best room, in the best hospital in Brockton Bay, Amy Dallon buried her head in her hands and sobbed as the report on her sister's incarceration ended. She was alone. Alone. Trapped in a hospital bed, her entire lower body in casts so that the accelerated healing granted by Transfusion's blood and Medicae's regeneration serums wouldn't leave her unable to walk. Her family consoling her sister, and ignoring Amy. The worst part was, some small part of Amy was glad she was alone, glad no one could see her tears. Glad that she was away from Victoria and the terrible, dirty things she felt toward her, and able to heal from the influence of her aura. The deepest and darkest part of her was glad that Victoria was gone, because that meant Carol could finally notice her. Another part refused to hope. And weaving through it all was the pervasive, almost sickeningly sweet relief that she didn't have to heal anyone, trapped here in this room, all by herself.

A dark flash of brightness, moving shapes in space.

Amy Dallon, Panacea, sat up in her bed, tears drying on her cheeks, marveling as she felt, in wondrous, molecular detail, every inch of her own body, knowing it like she knew anyone else she touched. She held her hand up to her face, and watched her own skin ripple and change, as she manipulated the color of her own skin. A grin grew on her face, and her mind dove down her legs, tracing the minute shadows left by medical nanite colonies and feeling her bones knit together at an accelerated rate at her command, before she stopped herself, and switched off her pain receptors in her legs before purging the painkillers from her body, storing them for later in a tiny pouch next to her saliva glands.

She leaned back in her bed, arms folded behind her head. A vacation is a vacation, after all. Why bother healing herself, when all she'd have to go to was more work.

A thought, and her face rippled and changed. Perhaps it was time to retire? Amy sighed, and her face reverted to normal. Perhaps just not yet.

AN: YES. YES I DID.

Transfusion is cribbed off of Alchemical Solutions, I think, and heals the wounds of others by giving them his blood. Medicae is a minor OC that is like a white hat Bonesaw, IE medical tinker, but with more of a focus on pharmaceuticals and healing tech than plagues and biomechanical constructs.