Well, here is the chapter as promised. Took me a while longer than I wanted because things kinda took off. I did cut what I was projecting as another 1-2k words, because it would have consequences and didn't make sense for the nature of Taylor. I also took some liberties with Ame and the Naruto world's history, but hopefully it fits into the scheme of things.
I've kinda drawn myself, when I'm writing Taylor, to listening to Bury the Light by Casey Edwards ft Victor Borba. It is the character track for Vergil in Devil May Cry 5: SE, but when I listen to it, outside of a few lyrics, I almost feel like this is perfect for Taynon and what she is.
Anyways, digression over, the next chapter will be an Interlude that is going to be from the perspective of Piggot, especially in light of everything that happens in this chapter. I don't have a timetable on that, because I want to sit down and study Piggot a bit more so I can honestly get her right. But I also want to ensure that everything is measured, because Taylor really rocks the boat this chapter.
After that, I only plan for anywhere between two and four more chapters to the 'Awakening' arc. The chapter after or two after the interlude will actually move away from any action, and more into Taylor's 'normal' things, like school, work, and scheming. But things are going to come to a head soon, after all, there's only so much she can push before there is blowback.
Enjoy the chapter.
Awakening 1.08
When one cut to the very heart of the matter, ignoring all the inanities, excuses, and romanticism, criminals were not a complicated riddle. They were merely another aspect of accumulating power that was a dominant feature of humanity.
Further distilled, outside of the emotional and illogical aspects, criminality was heavily tied into economics. Yes, there were moral implications, but both Konan and, by extension, myself, found that morality was merely a social construct victim to the whims of the masses, where what might have been legal previously could be illegal now. It was subjective, yes, but by and far, it still largely came down to economics.
Drug dealers, of almost all criminals, were probably the most hamstrung by the principles of economics. They were beholden to the universal law of supply and demand. The Archer's Bridge Merchants, or simply, Merchants, were no exception to this rule. In fact, they were probably the most pure of the economic aspect of criminality in Brockton Bay.
That didn't prevent Konan's view upon drugs from infecting me, which was utter loathing at best. Before Hanzo, Amegakure had been the industrial heart of the elemental nations, producing and exporting steel and other strategic and commercial materials from their massive foundries. This economic power and its location as a central point connecting Hi, Kaze, and Tsuchi no Kuni combined to make it strategically important to the three powers despite the isolationist stance taken. When Hanzo took over, however, that same location made it ideal for another set trade that The Salamander took to in an attempt at repairing the damage wrought by its larger neighbors and their fighting: narcotics.
By the time of Akatsuki's rise, narcotics had become the second largest export of Amegakure. So profitable that the greenhouses that served for a significant portion of Ame's food production were co-opted for additional narcotics production.
Life in Ame was difficult as it were, between the toxic airborne pollution belched from the furnaces that made up the heart of its industry, water that required boiling and filtering just to be potable (and even then it was a crapshoot), explosion in drug usage, and paranoid police state, but there had always been just enough food, at least within the village. After all, one could not be productive if they didn't have the caloric intake to do said work.
But the decision to repurpose the greenhouses for drug production was the straw that broke the camel's back. What had previously been enough had become scarce, and in its absence, deprivation and starvation took hold even within the village.
It was in this atmosphere, along with the commencement of the Third Shinobi War, that Akatsuki was able to gain momentum, rallying the disenfranchised around removing Hanzo from power, reasserting Ame's isolation, repairing the environmental damage, and finally, abolishing the drug trade.
What they hadn't known until it was far too late that Hanzo had a silent benefactor who had been supporting him from the shadows in the form of Danzo Shimura. The Konoha elder had a vested interest in the drug trade of Amegakure, specifically in the distribution of it into Hi ni Kuni, by going straight to the source of the largest production of it, he was able to control and get a cut of the profit from the trade in Fire Country, providing funds for his ROOT organization and other endeavors. In return, Hanzo would have additional insurance and protection from the Konoha side, even if it was unofficial and off-the-books.
A bit twisted for a man who believed himself a patriot of his village, but in hindsight it made perfect sense. By controlling the drug trade into Hi no Kuni, he could limit the overall damage an out of control drug trade would have upon the country. All the while, he would be able to broker an alliance with Hanzo that would provide him intelligence he would not previously have had before.
Akatsuki would have ended it, and when Hanzo approached him for assistance, Danzo had sent his forces to assist The Salamander, intent on protecting his investment. It had been Danzo that had suggested that Hanzo lure them with the idea of a peace agreement in the face of the Third Shinobi War, preying on Akatsuki's wish for a peaceful transition of power.
It had been their naivete that cost them Yahiko and everything thereafter went horribly wrong.
Sometimes, in her more private moments, Konan had wished they had truly known just how far everything went. That they hadn't been so blindingly naive in believing that change could be brought with only a minimum of violence, so caught up in their sensei's teaching that they ignored the reality staring them right in the face.
Nonetheless, after Hanzo had been killed by Nagato, Konan had made it a personal mission of hers to completely destroy the drug trade within Amegakure after the discovery of the records kept by Hanzo detailing everything, including his deal with Danzo, violently. It had been by her hand that all of Hanzo's family met death, brutally so. It had been her that had spent almost a year tracking down every single person who had made money off the trade, offering them only the release of death for their crimes. And through it all, Nagato had taken the credit for her actions, knowing that she was not proud of herself, having been so consumed in her grief and rage.
So yes, Konan had a very intimate understanding and hatred for the drug trade, and I was taking advantage of every kernel of that knowledge to turn the Merchants into nothing more than a fleeting memory.
Certainly, there was no doubt that of the three major gangs in Brockton Bay, the Merchants were the weakest. They lacked the coordination and the martial strength to make them nothing more than an irritant compared to the likes of the Azn Bad Boys or Empire 88. Their focus solely upon the drug trade and protecting the territory they did have.
Realistically, it would be rather simple for either gang to roll up the Merchants, taking them maybe a day or three to do so. The only issue was that such a deployment would cause a reaction from the other gang. So as a result, the Merchants were able to quietly expand their territory into the docks, though it still wasn't officially known. Even with the captures of Merchants in the Docks, the PRT and local law enforcement viewed their presence as merely forays instead of an actual expansion.
But honestly, this oversight was a boon. If the Protectorate, PRT, or BBPD had been fully aware of the Merchant's accelerated expansion into the docks, they would have likely taken a more proactive approach in curtailing this development. However, because they had not, it would provide just enough kindling for what I intended next.
In a protracted, or hell, even a straight-up fight with the Empire 88 or Azn Bad Boys, I would lose. I currently didn't have the chakra for the type of heavy-hitting I would need to take on the likes of Lung or Kaiser, along with a few others. Furthermore, all of my engagements up until now had taken advantage of excellent intelligence gathering and the element of surprise.
Going forward, this would likely not be the case, as each action would provide more and more information to my enemies to prepare for. Even with the handful of tricks I kept up my sleeve, it likely would not be enough, and it would only take one mistake for that to be it.
Of course, if I aimed to kill from the outset, that would make things easier, but it wouldn't work out in the long run, even if I wanted to. Accruing a bodycount had a tendency of sobering people's enthusiasm for a hero, and if I wished to institute the changes I wanted, I had to continue being a hero in the eyes of the public. Even if I intellectually knew I would have to kill sooner or later. The threat some criminals presented simply prevented me from ignoring the likely necessity of such an eventuality.
It was with an irritated sigh I landed on the roof of a building. There was no point distracting myself with the onus of my position, it wasn't relevant to the here and now. The Merchants were not worthy of the expenditure of thought, they were barely worth what they were about to get.
The attacks on the Merchants had all been about information gathering. While I could spend weeks trying to ascertain where their various dens and strongholds were, it was much easier to kick over the hornet's nest and watch for reactions.
That had largely been successful, and it provided me with a lot more information than I previously had. But probably the greatest piece of information I was able to glean was where Squealer's workshop was.
When I had begun my plans to eliminate the Merchants, I had quickly recognized the largest threat of the gang was Squealer, not Skidmark. While Skidmark was certainly a threat, he did not furnish force projection that the Squealer did. The vehicle tinker's ability to provide transportation along with fire support if she so chose made her the lynchpin to the Merchant's ability to both attack and defend. If she were to be eliminated, the Merchants would be severely hampered, quite possibly to the point where they would become a non-factor.
So it had been with that in mind that I had expended significant effort in identifying just where Squealer kept her workshop. It was the best place to neutralize her, while her vehicles were idle.
It had only been yesterday that I had discovered the workshop. That, I had to grudgingly admit, had been a stroke of luck. If it hadn't been for a rather chatty Merchant, it would have likely taken me another week to find it. But perhaps even more to my luck, tonight was supposed to be a gathering of all three parahumans, along with a substantive part of the larger dealers and producers to discuss me.
Irony, thy name is Taylor.
But still, the opportunity could not be ignored. I doubt I would get a better chance to decapitate the leadership in one fell swoop.
Hence, why I was here, across the street from an abandoned machinist shop that made tools for marine engines. I turned my head towards my clone as it melted out of the shadows. After a moment, it held up a hand and a paper butterfly flew out and melted in me as I closed my eyes to focus my review of its surveillance.
Over time, I had discovered that there were two methods for me to gather information from my clones. The first was to be expected, by simply absorbing the paper of the clone, I could experience everything it did in the span of seconds, the information provided as clear as if I were in its place. The second method, however, was one that I discovered on accident, and strangely, was not one that Konan had ever fielded: the ability to communicate over distances with my clone, with it able to share information or even its vision, at the cost of chakra, dependent upon the distance and information shared.
What was interesting, as an aside, was the fact that nowhere in Konan's memories could I find any knowledge or indication that this second ability existed. Which made absolutely no sense, considering that for such an honestly broken ability, it would have been something Konan abused as an S-Rank kunoichi. The only explanation that I could come up with to satisfy this discrepancy was simply another facet of how Konan's abilities had manifested differently in me. No point in bemoaning an advantage when I needed everything I could get.
I clicked my tongue in annoyance, having finished up my review of the information.
Of course things wouldn't go as perfectly as I imagined they would. Of the people I wanted at this meeting, Skidmark would not be here yet. Squealer and Mush were there, but the last member of the trifecta had yet to show.
Now, I was left with a conundrum. I could choose to wait, but the problem with people under the influence of drugs was that they were difficult to predict, especially if they were actively on something. And from what my clone had observed, yeah, there were already a few usages this evening. If I waited, I ran the chance that the meeting would break up, and I would lose my one chance for a major strike against the Merchants.
However, if I did wait, and Skidmark did arrive—No, I thought with a shake of the head. Take what I can when I have the opportunity. Skidmark was unstable enough that if I did succeed here, he was liable to get himself killed doing something stupid.
With my choice made, I proceeded to create eight paper clones, taking a few moments to let both them and myself regain our bearings. While a normal paper clone wouldn't require such a method, increasing their durability so they weren't destroyed if they received damage required a lot more concentration and chakra. Konan preferred to avoid using this facet of the paper clone technique simply because of the universal rule of quantity being its only quality. Well, that and she preferred using her paper clones as kamikazes, because even with the enhancements, they could not take a beating.
Satisfied that they were sufficiently prepped, I passed the orders that dispersed them to their ready position. With myself and eight clones, taking out all that were inside should be relatively painless, as long as things didn't get too out of hand. Still, there was a chance, as the machinist shop had no ceiling shops, and my only ways in were through one of the four doors, and whatever openings I may make.
But my first concern, however, were the three vehicles currently situated in the workshop in various states of readiness. They were all in functional shape, the matter was their armaments were not fully ready. Still, the weapons they did have ranged from various mounted small arms, to back mounted light infantry mortar. Hell, my clone had been surprised when she recognized what appeared to be a Bushmaster autocannon from a Bradley strapped on the largest of the three. Where she got the ammunition for it, I had no idea. Suffice to say, however, was that these vehicles had to be disabled before I made a move, because if they weren't, then it was gonna get ugly real quick.
It was with this in mind, I jumped over to the roof of the machinist shot, coming down into a kneel on the loose asphalt. Closing my eyes again to focus, reaching out to connect with my chakra, even as I changed the state of my body to paper. Slowly, with a soft fluttering, sheets of paper sloughed off of my hands, the loose paper folding itself smaller and smaller, even as other sheets joined with one another.
It only took a few minutes, but once I finished, I allowed myself to slump forward slightly, catching my breath from the exertion. Even with my chakra reserves as they were, the technique was taxing, being the first time I had used it to such an extent.
But it was successful, as before me were dozens of small cockroach-shaped paper constructs, awaiting to be unleashed like the insectile horde they were.
This was my solution to Squealer's vehicles within. Ironically, it was one of the first seals I had created. When I had looked at explosive tags, a staple of Konan's arsenal, I had noticed that the explosives were quite honestly—crude. Put more succinctly, the standard explosive tag was simply that, an imprecise explosive. There was nothing special to it, it relied for the target to either be within the explosion, or close enough to where the pressure wave would do enough to incapacitate them. Which, when you think about it, made a lot of sense, there really was nothing in the Shinobi world to entice actual research into making improvements to explosives outside of bigger explosions.
Here, however, there was plenty of reason for me to work on fine-tuning and improving explosives seals into something that was both compact, and precise: armor plating, vehicles, the list went on It would not do well for me simply to take a page out of Deidara's book and simply solve everything with massed explosions. That had a good chance of blowing up in my face if I did.
That was why, in order to minimize collateral damage, within each 'cockroach' contained was a seal matrix for a small shaped-charge warhead designed to take out armor and vehicles. It could also take out doors, but that wasn't their purpose here.
The idea for it was that each cockroach would slip into the vehicles and place themselves in critical places to where when they detonated, the explosive's energy would be channeled to render the vehicles inoperative. With the vehicles taken out, they would be unable to stage any sort of counter-attack to take me out and Squealer was only as useful as her vehicles.
I just had to make sure I avoided the engines of the vehicles. From my research of Squealer's vehicles, a lot of the Tinker bullshit that stemmed from her vehicles were involved with the power system. It would be rather awkward if taking out the engine would level the entire building, after all.
Finally catching my breath, I commanded the cockroaches storm the building, keeping out of sight of those within and putting themselves in place for when I detonated them. I did keep a handful of them with me, arranging them in a small circle in front of me.
Now it was simply a matter of waiting now for everything to finally be in place. Even after the weeks of doing this, I still found the prospect of waiting to be the most tedious of things when I was in the field. I wasn't impatient, per se, but it was the nerves that the long I waited, the larger chance that things would change enough to where they would become complicated.
Finally, everything was in place, and I released the breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding. Taking a few more moments, I glanced through the link with my clones and a few of the 'cockroaches' to double-check everything before I was satisfied.
With a one-handed snake sign, I detonated every seal. The asphalt scattering as the explosives seals vaporized a hole for me. I then jumped through the hole into chaos.
The explosions had doubled as a signal for my clones, who had burst in through the other entrances and used the confusion to start rolling up the various members of the Merchants.
I came down on the hood of one of the gutted vehicles, already searching for my target. It only took a moment, but then again, as trashily dressed as she was, she stuck out like a sore thumb even amongst her ilk, I quickly moved towards her as she was busy screaming obscenities. She was only turning around in response to a shouted warning before I grabbed her arm, whipping her around and bending her hand back as I took out her legs. She wasn't able to finish calling me a "fucking bitch" before I had slapped a paralysis seal on her.
I had only a split-second warning, but it was just barely enough, as I changed myself to my paper state as a wooden pallet tore me in half. Even though I was paper now, I could see who my attacker was and if I was intact I would have clicked my tongue in irritation.
It appeared that I had underestimated how quickly Mush was able to assemble his collecting of junk and other detritus. Already the seven-foot tall trash golem was overwhelming two of my clones even as he was working to absorb some of the gutted machinery into his body.
As I reformed myself, I was already making plans. Forming another clone, I had it take over wrapping Squealer as I moved towards him. All the while the rest of my clones were working through the rest of the Merchants.
Mush, once he gained his junk armor, was going to be a bit more difficult to take down. The issue wasn't necessarily taking him down, as much as doing it nonlethally with my known assortment of tricks. That had been why I had dedicated two clones to dealing with him.
Still, I had options. Few as they were.
With a quick mental command, I ordered the two clones to break apart, providing me with both the distraction and the material necessary for what I intended to do.
Leaping up, I spread out wings from my back before channeling chakra through them and then using them to accelerate downward, leading with my foot. As I approached, I used the paper to create a 'plate' where his head was.
Mush had only started to turn to me when my foot impacted the plate which collided with his head, causing him to stagger. The fetid smell catching my nose as I pushed off the plate, commanding the floating paper to wrap around him.
I could feel his power trying to connect with the paper, vying to overwhelm my control through some sort of touch via him. Unfortunately for him, for every piece of paper he was able to hijack, there were twenty more to take their place. Soon, he was like an oversized mummy, the only thing visible being his eyes as I slowly approached him. His large bloodshot eyes locked onto me, and I could feel him trying even harder to subjourn my paper.
"Mush, stand down," I ordered, tightening the wrap of paper to where, even with the junk, would make it difficult to breathe, as I formed a javelin over my shoulder, the warning made clear, "or else."
For a moment, meeting his gaze, I worried that he was going to resist. If he did, then it would make it more difficult to restrain him.
Trying to knock someone unconscious was not like on tv or in the movies, even doing it 'correctly' had a chance of causing significant bodily harm if even one thing was out of place. It was why seals were my go-to means for knocking someone unconscious. But the issue with the seal was it had to be placed at the back of the neck in order to maximize effectiveness in transmission of the orders contained within the seal, and it had to be upon bare skin.
With the various junk and debris enveloping Mush, I would not have been able to do so.
"Slowly," I commanded, making sure to keep the threat hovering in sight, "you will release all of the junk you have merged with. I will allow you to start at your head, then slowly work your way down. Blink twice if you understand and comply."
Again, there was a pause, and I slowly tightened the paper again. It seemed to be enough, as he blinked twice.
"Good."
It only took a few minutes, and I was glad that Konan knew a way to channel chakra to block out scent, because once Mush was completely divested of his junk, even the reinforcement was barely enough to prevent me from gagging. Slapping him with a seal, I wrapped him up like the rest. Placing him beside Squealer, I checked with the various scouts I had placed around the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the last one of the set. To my disappointment, it looked like I was going to have to settle on only two-thirds of the complete set.
That wasn't to say this wasn't a major success. Certainly not. For all intents and purposes, the Merchants status as an effective criminal gang of any sort was effectively over. Without Squealer, Mush, and several members of the upper echelon of the gang, Skidmark was on borrowed time. Either I would eventually hunt him down, or he would be dealt with by the Protectorate or other gangs in my place.
Suffice to say, I was fine with that. My objectives were already met, all that was necessarily left to be done would be handled shortly.
I paused as a paper owl descended upon me, dropping a phone into my hand, before absorbing itself back into me. A bit more complicated than necessary? Certainly. But I didn't trust keeping the phone on my body if I was constantly changing my physical state, and keeping it within a storage seal was a no-go; for some reason, the electronics involved didn't play well with the hammerspace created by the seal.
Not even paying mind to it, I quickly tapped in a number that was by now second-nature, placing it to my ear as I hit the 'call' button, listening to it dial before connecting, "PRT Tip Hotline."
"This is Tenshi, I am at the old machinist shop on the corner of Bigelow and Dales in the Docks. I have currently detained Squealer, Mush, and seventeen unpowered criminals in various states of narcotic intoxication with non-life-threatening injuries."
With my part said and done, I hung up. There was no point in waiting for acknowledgment. By now, it was rather academic having to answer any further questions. They knew how I operated. Besides, I had no doubt that they would be here in force anyways.
Now what to do, I mused. It would take at least twenty minutes for them to reach me, if they were in a hurry. Despite almost every time previously, I did intend to remain. It would only be fair for the Protectorate to receive my best.
You know what, I was going to have a bit of fun with this.
AND
When word had come down that Tenshi had struck again, Shawn had been on patrol covering the Market district of Brockton Bay. As the closest Protectorate member to where Tenshi was, the task had been given to him that he would meet with the rogue hero and ensure that custody was transferred.
Normally, this would be a rather simple procedure, already done several times between the Protectorate and Tenshi, and Shawn could honestly admire the professionalism that transpired in each interaction, even if the last one had tweaked Armsmaster.
However, Tenshi's PHO introduction had complicated things. While the introduction was rather innocuous in the beginning, even to the point of being boringly standard fare, it hadn't remained so for long. He had actually been browsing the forum after dinner with his son, Addison, something he did to just get a pulse of the city before he put his son to bed and then turned in himself, reading as Tenshi remained ambiguous about why she would not join the Protectorate, when it happened.
[B](Showing Page 5 of 5)[/B]
[B]► Murder of Crows[/B]
Replied on March 17, 2011:
Why are you being so evasive on answering if you'll join the Protectorate? If you are a hero, wouldn't the smart thing be that you join the largest heroic organization in Brockton Bay? Or is there something else going on? Has the Protectorate done something to offend you?
► Shikigami no Mai (Verified Cape)
Replied on March 17, 2011:
The answer to that is complicated. While I have the utmost respect and hold no personal animosity towards a large portion of the individuals who make up the Protectorate and PRT, I do, however, take umbrage with how the Protectorate operates as an organization.
But that is a professional opinion. I will not begrudge the Protectorate because they are beholden to outside considerations that have an effect upon how they utilize their assets. Despite their limitations, they are the largest law enforcement organization designed for heroic capes, and they are willing to work with me, despite my operational reticence on joining them.
Where I do draw the line however, is the deep-seated indifference that seems to be the modus operandi of the Brockton Bay branch of the Protectorate.
This is a serious accusation, you would say, but it is no less true.
Brockton Bay has one of the highest cape to civilian population per capita in the United States, It is home to two major and at least one minor gang. Historically, it has also been the home to several other criminal parahuman organizations in the past.
And yet, since the establishment of the Protectorate branch here in Brockton Bay, there has been little notable success against parahuman criminals. Maquis was captured by New Wave. The Teeth killed themselves out of the Bay by making a deal with the figurative devil. Yet the Empire-88 and Azn Bad Boys still remain and continue to grow and flourish.
No, what the Protectorate presence has done in Brockton Bay is simply attempt to maintain the status quo. What times they have engaged the likes of the Empire-88 or the ABB has been in order to break up the fights and mitigate the damage. What people they do end up detaining generally end up back on the streets within a week, and the less said about the capes, the better.
Honestly, I would not be stunned that in a week or so I will find myself facing down Hookwolf again, rearing for Round Two, despite promises that he is bound for the Birdcage. That is how much faith I have in the current state of the Protectorate presence here.
And it's not just the crime. It's not just the classist nature of what they invest and deploy their protection. It's not even the political and public relations games they play while my home is slowly strangled to death by out of control gangs vying for the city that frustrates me at their indifference.
It's even in how they monitor their own heroes.
Now, I won't go into detail, because that would be a violation of the Unwritten Rules. However, I will state that if Protectorate East-North-East truly cared about the people of Brockton Bay, they would take a good, hard look into the conduct of their heroes, Protectorate and Wards alike.
I have a feeling that they will find that their so-called heroes are not as clean as they would hope they would be.
Tl;dr: I don't personally trust the local Protectorate. While I can professionally work with them, I refuse to work for them as long as they continue to be what they are now.
[B]End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5[/B]
At first, he had merely stared at it, his mind not exactly wanting to grasp what was said. But as the shock passed, he had to reread it again. Then a third time.
The first thing he felt, once it finally sunk it, was the need to deny it. There was no way that any of the members of the Protectorate ENE, let alone the Wards, was dirty. It had to be a lie.
But then, he stopped, a sobering thought, actually two thoughts, stilling his outright denial. The first being that he was aware that he was far too trusting as an individual, willing to accept his comrades' word at face value. The second was that he really didn't know his fellow Protectorate and Wards. Yes, he did work with them, but outside of work, there really wasn't anything that they shared together. And even if there had been any opportunity, he'd have rather spent time with his son.
So it was possible that he was unaware of things. That wasn't to say that he was going to believe what Tenshi was saying. But it was possible.
It was those thoughts that plagued him when his phone began ringing, the Caller ID telling him who exactly was calling and drawing a sigh from him. It seemed his plans to spend the night with his son were going to be canceled.
Which led him to where he was now, rendezvousing with a convoy of PRT vehicles and escorting them to the Docks. They would be the group that picked up the Merchants that the rogue hero had captured.
Including Squealer and Mush, he thought with a mental shake of his head. The woman was certainly not resting on her laurels. While the capture may not be as big as Hookwolf, it proved once again that she wasn't a fluke.
Still, what the paper manipulator had been doing in the last two weeks was worrying. He wasn't going to say that he was an expert on the gangs of Brockton Bay, but he knew enough to know that picking a fight with not just one of the gangs, but all three, as a solo cape was not exactly the best path to ensure living to a ripe old age. Even worse, it seemed with almost each day she was escalating, executing grander and more complex raids upon all of the gangs.
He also knew that sooner or later, something was going to give, and the gangs were going to retaliate. That meant that innocent people were going to get caught in the crossfire. Especially if Tenshi's claim about capturing Squealer and Mush were true.
He had to wonder if that was her intention. It was a dark thought, but from every angle that he looked at it, it appeared that Tenshi either wanted open warfare between herself and the gangs, or the gangs to go to war with one another. She wouldn't keep doing what she was otherwise. With the Merchants significantly weakened, the Empire 88 and the Azn Bad Boys would be keen to roll up the group, the minor inconvenience they had previously been, and that would lead them to open conflict.
No better time like the present to ask, he recognized, spotting the machine shop approaching. With a burst of speed, he arrived before the convoy, intending to clear the place before they arrived. While he had no reason to distrust the rogue hero, protocol must be followed.
However, it was to his realization as he slowly moved into the building and onto the work floor, that he would not need to do any of that.
Because right before him, in the middle of the work floor, sitting in a raised, throne-like chair, with her right leg folded over her left, and surrounded by the paper-encased bodies that floated in the air beside her as if they were mounted on an invisible wall.
He had to admit there was a stark difference between the photos and being in the presence of the woman. With her exotic, and daresay it, attractive looks, along with this quiet, calm intensity that seemed to cling to the atmosphere around her, she seemed much larger than her diminutive frame would suggest. Though, he had to wonder why suddenly, after every interaction previously, she would do something so cavalier as sit herself upon a throne. Had her successes and ego gotten the best of her?
"Dauntless," the woman greeted with a nod.
"Tenshi," he found himself responding, even as he scanned around the place, noticing the pile of weapons off to the side, and the trio of damaged tinker trucks behind her.
She then got up, the throne losing its color before peeling itself apart into individual paper-shaped butterflies that fluttered for a few brief moments before reattaching and absorbing themselves into her.
"I wish to inform you that I am recording this conversation."
Underneath his helmet, he blinked, not accustomed to that sort of statement. While state law established that two-party consent was required, there were exemptions to the law specifically in regards to the conduct of police action. In this case, Tenshi was not legally required to inform him.
"Of course. May I ask why you are informing me?"
"It'd only be polite," came the response, as she stopped a respectful distance from him, "I have captured seventeen unpowered members of the Merchants, along with Squealer and Mush. They are currently unconscious, three of the unpowered individuals will require medical treatment for broken bones. The less I say about the likely need for detox the better."
She then began floating them down in between them, arranging them in a line and removing the paper from their faces so he could visually identify them, "I hereby transfer custody of them to the Protectorate and Parahuman Response Team."
It was a bit more formal than he expected, but then again, they were being recorded. So with an all-clear signal, and one of the larger garage doors being opened, the armored members of the PRT moved in to take custody of the Merchants. Through it all, Dauntless was asking questions on how she had done it, but she, once again like in previous reports, remained frustratingly vague on how she achieved her success.
"Dauntless, this is Director Piggot, sitrep" came the voice of the Director of Protectorate ENE in his ear. The tilt of his head and the holding up his finger to both cut off Tenshi and inform her that he was receiving communication. That done, he stepped away and began briefing her.
Finishing after a few minutes, he was met with silence, before she finally spoke, her voice tight and hinting at her frustration, "Dauntless, in light of the accusations being leveled by Tenshi, I am ordering you to demand the identity of the cape she is claiming is committing crimes."
Processing what was being asked, his mouth ran faster than his brain, "Ma'am, I want you to confirm, you want me to demand that Tenshi completely violate the Unwritten Rules by identifying the civilian persona of one of our own?"
"I am. I will not allow the Unwritten Rules to shield a criminal in my ranks, if Tenshi's accusations are true. If they are not, then we will bury her. I also want you to attempt to get additional information if possible. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," came his response. It was a difficult line to walk, but in this case he found himself in agreement. He hadn't been able to read PHO after Tenshi's bombshell, but he would bet HQ was getting bombarded with people angry at the idea of corruption. Finding out who was crooked would go a long way in cooling some of the hotter heads.
Though it likely wouldn't do a lot of the people who agreed with Tenshi on the viewpoint of organizational indifference, as much as the idea personally hurt him.
With his marching orders conveyed, he spun around and walked back to Tenshi. Opening his mouth, he as—
"Shadow Stalker."
He froze, "How…"
She didn't answer right away, instead she held up an arm, bending it so it was level with her chest and the elbow jutted out and for a second he was confused until the the soft sound of flapping wings drew his attention as an owl descended from the rafters and onto her arm before turning into paper and melting into her.
Her lips curled up into a smirk, letting the implications sink in.
Well, that confirms a theory, he thought dryly. After Armsmaster, the idea had been floated that Tenshi could see and experience through her clones. It would explain why Tenshi never bothered to be there in person meeting with the Protectorate, but also seemed to coordinate her clones with military efficiency.
But now with the evidence that she could craft animals from her paper and use them much in the same way of her clones, that theory became even more alarming. Because if she could remotely access her paper constructs from a distance, then she could quite possibly put the entire city under surveillance.
And no one would be the wiser.
The smirk then faded from Tenshi's face into solemnity.
"I have a family that attends Winslow. Like any good kid in a place that was hostile to them they kept their head down, watched and listened. They told me of gang meetings, of plans. But they also told me of a teenager constantly bullied, belittled, and even physically assaulted by a trio of girls and their hanger-ons. They told me of an administration that looked the other way because it was easier to let one girl become a pariah instead of doing something about it."
"I am ashamed to admit that I did nothing until it was almost too late. I had been checking on the family when I witnessed these same bullies shove that poor girl into her own locker full of biological refuse that I only wish I could repress the memory of. I got that girl out of that locker and reached out to my contacts to see if there was something that could be done for. She may not be the gangs that I vowed to clean up, but how could I look at myself in the mirror if I ignored her circumstances. The last I heard, she's transferred to Arcadia and seems to be doing better. Even has a job working in a bookstore to help pay for the costs."
It was then she sighed, and began walking towards the doors as the PRT officers were finishing gathering up the Merchants. Dauntless found himself walking after her, maintaining his silence in horror at implications being laid out to him.
"I honestly thought that would be the end of it. Imagine my surprise when I was maintaining surveillance upon your PRT Headquarters in order to ensure that Hookwolf will make it to the Birdcage when you finally move him that I spot one of those very same bullies from before walking into the building like she owned the place. The first time I dismissed it, but when it happened on the second and third day, I realized that it wasn't a fluke. It was then that I caught sight of Shadow Stalker and realized that the girl and the so-called hero are one and the same."
As she finished her story, he wanted to cry foul at the fact that Tenshi was maintaining surveillance of the PRT (and more than likely the Protectorate), but there was nothing illegal about doing so. It was definitely treading dangerously to violating the Unwritten Rules, even if the intention was not to unmask capes. In this case, however, if the word was true, the unmasking was unintentional. However, the fact of the matter was he was too numb at the idea that the information that was being provided fit everything he did know about Shadow Stalker. The placement at Winslow, the character faults that were on full display every time she interacted with her fellow Wards, and the violence of her time as a rogue hero.
Still, there had to be one last hurdle to cross, as he turned to look at her.
"Can you provide me a name?"
For a moment, Tenshi remained silent, staring out into the dim lighting of the street. For a moment, he wondered (hoped), that this was all some fanciful tale, and that Tenshi had damned herself in her attempt at damaging the Protectorate.
But then she held up her right arm, her sleeve papering away to expose her wrist. Instead of unblemished skin, therein lay a strange script that he did not recognize surrounding a series of swirls and circles. It then slowly faded away until all that remained was raw, unmarked skin.
"I am no longer recording this conversation, Dauntless, because I don't want to give Shadow Stalker the benefit of any defense that could save her from her sins," Tenshi said, turning her head and pinning him with her burnt-orange eyes, "But I also don't want to provide you with an excuse to retaliate against me by recording her name in any format in which you do not control."
"I doubt the Protec-"
"I am violating the Unwritten Rules by telling you her name," Tenshi cut him off tonelessly, and that was probably worse than any emotional inflection, "Cape and civilian identities are meant to be kept separate in order to maintain at least some semblance of order in this chaotic world. In a perfect world, I would have approached the Protectorate and gladly handed you all of this information without putting it out on a public forum and I would have likely been thanked for my efforts and Shadow Stalker would be put in a cage where she belongs—"
"But you don't trust us."
"Why would I have any reason to? You were the ones that took her in, that tried to turn a violent vigilante into a Ward, but then didn't take the appropriate measures in ensuring that she didn't lapse or commit any crimes, instead you claimed she was rehabilitated and did nothing else," she snapped the last part, righteous indignation lacing her words, before taking a deep breath, obviously calming herself.
"If there is one universal constant of human interaction it's that public relations can make or break anyone or anything. The Protectorate's existence is entirely predicated on the mission statement that they are here to protect you from powered criminals. That they are uniquely qualified to combat criminal parahumans. Brockton Bay's Protectorate is even more dependent upon this belief than many of the other branches. Now, imagine a rogue hero, who, while effective, has shown a propensity for situationally disproportional violence and fixation on monetary gain according to some of their very own public statements, approaches the Protectorate with information revealing that the Ward that they were holding up as a poster-child for rehabilitation was committing crimes in her civilian persona. What do you think would happen?"
"We would investigate and, if guilty of those accusations, we would punish them to the fullest extent of the law."
She then held up a finger, waggling it, "But you forget, Shadow Stalker is a success story for Brockton Bay. Imagine what would happen if that success story was proven false. Can you imagine how much damage would be done to the image of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay? It was a major setback when Onager went off the reservation in Seattle. Here, in Brockton Bay, it would be catastrophic. You are in the middle of a war, even if you are loath to admit it. Too many people would ask too many hard questions that even if you answered they wouldn't likely believe you. Public faith would be hampered and the gangs would take advantage of it. After all, say what you will, but the gangs do keep their word, even if it is twisted."
"No," she sighed, "I've seen it far too many times to know what the Protectorate would do. Just like any other large bureaucratic organization when faced with a whistleblower. They would do their utmost to silence the whistleblower. And once they have silenced the whistleblower, either through discrediting or physical means, they would wait awhile and then have Shadow Stalker 'retire' stating nebulous reason for pursuing other life interests or something, or they would simply shell game her around until she met an 'unfortunate' accident, all the while the civilian persona would either be dead, or in jail where she belongs, and she can't argue otherwise because they will have 'wiped' every trace of evidence that she could ever claim she was who she claimed she was. It's so much easier than having to weather the storm of admitting that you as an organization fucked up."
It was a distressingly paranoid worldview, one that Dauntless wanted to argue against. He believed in the Protectorate and their mission. However, listening to her as she talked with such conviction he was almost certain that she was speaking from experience.
"You had it happen to you, didn't it?"
The small wan smile was all the confirmation needed.
"Different circumstances, similar results. You can never really expect for the very people who claim to care and protect you have interests that make you their enemy. It was a—," her expression becoming faraway, "life-altering experience."
Likely trigger event, he couldn't help but note, even as she collected herself. While he was not exactly keen on using information like this against her, he knew that he would have to report this to his superiors. Information like this could be helpful at least in possibly getting in her head, if not maybe identifying her.
"I don't trust the Protectorate to not look out for what's in its best interest. It may have actually surprised me and done the right thing, investigating and finding that my accusations are true. But in this business, it's better to be safe than sorry. Strike first, strike hard, no mercy was the mantra my sensei beat into my head when she trained me, and that was why I made the decision to post this on PHO, to prevent you from silencing me without repercussions. Now you have only one logical option available to you, investigate Sophia Hess, admit your mistake, and be better. Or don't, I'm prepared for that as well."
And with the revelation of the name, removing the last roadblock protecting against the accusations, and the admission that she was prepared for the chance that they wouldn't investigate, he knew that they would have to. Only an idiot would ignore the veiled threat hidden in those words. And there was a sinking sensation that what they were going to find would damn Shadow Stalker. One didn't take such a risk on the public forum unless they knew they had an airtight case, despite what his superiors may say.
It was sickening, the idea that Shadow Stalker had used and abused their trust. But maybe it was their fault that they didn't make the effort to ensure that she didn't fall back to her old ways. While he wasn't directly involved in the administration of the Wards, he did know that they took a rather hands-off approach to the entire situation, maybe that should also be fixed.
But this also hinted at something else, something about Tenshi. Honestly, he wished that he hadn't cottoned on as they talked, because it was those observations that made him anxious, even if he didn't show it. It was in the way she carried herself, the way she talked, the intensity that seemed to be in everything she did, and it was only cemented in that last statement. Something he had experienced enough of in his encounters over the years with the Empire 88.
Tenshi was a zealot. She believed so uncompromisingly in her sense of justice that she was willing to go against the Protectorate that she was working with. But perhaps more than that was that she was unequivocally more dangerous than the average zealot, because she cloaked herself within logic and experience, the type of things that would find the general populace of Brockton Bay eating out of her hand.
It was this recognition that drove him to wanting to ask the next question, because the Sophia Hess question was now over, one that he honestly wished he didn't have a feeling he already knew the answer to.
"I see," he finally said, turning away from her to look as the last of the Merchants were loaded away, and honestly, he did see it from her perspective. As twisted and as paranoid as it was, being a rogue hero had one of the highest mortality rates amongst capes. If one did not get absorbed into the Protectorate, then they had to rely upon themselves in order to survive and maintain their independence.
He had to get an answer to a question, even if it put him into an unenviable position to where he may have to make a difficult on-the-spot call because it would be expected of him. This was the first time they had been able to get anything in-depth on Tenshi, outside of her post on PHO. The more he was able to record of their conversation, the more they could possibly use against her in the future. Especially if she was aiming for what he thought she was.
"You know with what you've done to the Merchants, the other gangs are going to take advantage of this and move in on them."
However, he did not receive an immediate response, obviously his fellow cape was considering the question. He found himself slightly relaxing at the idea that maybe Tenshi's actions were not deliberate, that her intent wasn't to instigate a war between the gangs.
He then turned to look at her, only to find that she was no longer there.