nterlude: Piggot
Emily Piggot was not what many would call a nice woman. On the contrary, many considered her to be harsh, unfair. She has lost count how often she was called a bitch for her decisions.
She didn't care. Brockton Bay was a shithole that was – depending on decisions taken or not – weeks or even days away from total anarchy. Gangs ran human trafficking rings pretty much in the open, and around the clock there was found some new unlucky victim, assaulted by Nazis thugs simply because they were considered offensive or inferior by their demented ideology. As if that wasn't enough to deal with, not a day went by without some damned idiot demanding a heavy-handed crackdown from the PRT against the gangs. To tear out the tumors that were killing this city.
Emily Piggot was not a nice woman. She also happened to not be stupid. She knew the balance of power in the Bay, and she knew that any victory the PRT could possibly achieve in such an attempt would be heavily pyrrhic, if not outright ruinous. That it would leave them helpless against the next gang, the next group of villains that would rise. And there always was another gang.
Worse, it could simply leave them open to the next maniac that was granted power and decided to make himself God, butchering half the city to cement his divinity and oppressing the surviving half.
She had made many difficult decisions since coming to Brockton Bay. Decisions that had made her furious at the time, but that she had taken nonetheless. Every action was a careful balancing act to shift the scales ever so slightly in the favour of the PRT in preparation of the day this whole charade finally and inevitably broke down.
Her teeth ground together as she once again went over the latest possible threats the Bay faced. A young girl, turned into an abomination by her powers, was covered from head to toe in eyes as well as sprouting six large wings from her back - not that "Nephilim" herself had at any point looked disturbed by what had happened to her.
A Striker 5. Mover 5. An unrated Breaker power that put her outside of time. Wings that were compared to Alexandria in their durability. A Master 3 ability that let her compel anyone as she pleased. An as-of-yet untested ability that allowed her to make anything she wanted, an ability – as both Armsmaster and Dragon had ensured her – she was not lying about. A Thinker 12 power that gave her proto-omniscience over the present.
Those preliminary powers alone had seen an early call to WEDGDG – Watchdog – for a threat evaluation and additional verification, and it went all downhill from there. It would have been disturbing with only Hunch calling her an incomprehensible threat to humanity before trying to smash his head in against the nearest wall while screaming "make it stop!". But then other respected Watchdog figures – figures that had helped the PRT since the days of the Player – were reported to have coiled themselves into balls while weeping, tearing their own hair out, trying to claw their eyes and crying about how "we are naught but lambs to the cosmic slaughter".
And even that hadn't been the most disturbing part. In between all the crying, weeping and attempts at self mutilation… They smiled. They were smiling through all of it.
"So beautiful…"
Emily Piggot had seen many terrible things, truly, truly nightmarish scenes of Hell on Earth. She personally didn't think that anything could have scared her anymore after Ellisburg. Yet the sight of those horrible, horrible smiles had sent shudders down her spine, and had made her feel as if she was nothing more than a scared little girl.
No one in the know was surprised when an impromptu meeting of the regional directors of the PRT was called.
All around her she saw unsettled faces. She was not surprised about that. All of them had seen monsters, dealt with the villains and threats of their cities and regions. They all had to deal with their own nightmares, some more and some less so.
They all knew what threats Watchdog predicted and helped them prevent. They all knew what happened the times when they failed.
The Slaughterhouse Nine.
The Machine Army.
The Goblin King.
Emily almost flinched when a pencil broke, having been clutched so tightly that the material broke. Her shock redoubled when she realised that the chief director's recap of the situation had come to the end and the person who was responsible for the sudden noise in the otherwise dead silence… was herself.
"Well, looks like you´ve got yourself quite the problem at hand here." Tagg started, his face a mix of a frown and what he probably thought was excellently concealed schadenfreude.
She and the director of the Madison containment zone never got along particularly well. A mix of clashing personalities and this bizarre idea Tagg seemed to have that he knew better how to run her city than she did.
Was he given the chance, the man would trash in days the careful balance of powers she had worked up, without regard for the consequences!
"Whatever do they put into the water in Brockton? You had your own dragon, a gang of super-powered nazis and now a miniature Simurgh?" The man chuckled, making the kind of face that was just screaming for a fist. "I take it that you will handle the problem your usual way?"
"Now, now, we can hardly blame trigger events happening in Brockton Bay on Emily," said Armstrong, Director of PRT Boston. He'd know, he has the great misfortune of having to deal with the Teeth on the regular.
"Keeping new triggers contained would be a lot easier if I had more manpower" replied Piggot acidly. "Until then, if any of you would like to lend your capes to deal with the rage-dragon or the wannabe emperor, you're more than welcome to do so." She looked around the conference call, making a point of meeting all of their eyes. The only ones able to meet her gaze had it just as bad as her, if not worse.
"The point remains, Brockton Bay has simply switched one A-Class Cape for another, even more dangerous and less predictable one at that," replied Tagg. "That balance of power you're trying to achieve is stillborn. The new cape obviously doesn't care in the least about not killing, the other gangs will try to kill or recruit her and once that happens they may well decide that they have the strength to move directly against you."
"The young lady is dangerous, certainly. But she has shown at least good intentions" countered the ever-compassionate Armstrong. "We cannot condemn every powerful cape that shows up merely for would-bes. She has focused her efforts on criminals, has she not? I don't see why she needs to be our enemy."
"Did you really forget Watchdog's reaction to her?" Seneca reminded him. The voice of the native american PRT Director from Alaska was calm and soft. Unlike many others, reading about the incidents with Watchdog had not cracked the man's composure. No wonder, considering the horror stories coming from his state. "I know of a number of things that cause effects like this. None of them are good." The man went pale a bit, which was an accomplishment. He was about the most well collected of all of them.
Director McCoy scoffed. "Even after all this time, there is very little certain about parahuman powers. It could look like a duck, quack like a duck, and actually be a miniature habanero pepper candy dispenser." The mid-western PRT Director never ceased to amaze Emily with his commentary, not that his southern drawl was any help. "I don't much mind whatever the hells you get up to north-east, but I'll be damned if your feathered girl won't rile the Fallen up even more than a Ziz attack."
All around Directors made agreeing noises. It didn't need much debate to come to the conclusion that someone who was a lot like their 'goddess' both in appearance and powers would elicit action from the fanatics.
"The fact remains however, gentlemen," interrupted Chief Director Costa Brown. "That this girl presents a significant risk of upending the balance of power across multiple cities in the region if not handled properly, with potential consequences going all the way to the national level. What is your recommendation, at this time?" she said neutrally.
Even with her intervention, Emily could see where this was going. The battle-lines were being drawn. It seemed the Chief Director had chosen to keep her opinion to herself, for now.
Tagg was the first one to make his opinion heard, naturally. "The girl is a landmine, waiting to be stepped on. On her first appearance she hospitalized multiple veteran protectorate capes, and she hasn't slowed down much since. This is apparently with her being 'calm', I wouldn't want to find out what happens if her unfortunate future boyfriend dumps her. We should draw up plans to deal with her at the earliest opportunity, like with the Canary case, preferably before someone is forced to emasculate himself."
"That is precisely why she needs support. Our support preferably, and not villains'," Director Armstrong pointedly added. "We should welcome her into the Wards so she is stable, among her peers, and given an opportunity to grow into the hero she clearly wants to be."
"We already gave her that offer. She refused the Wards." She was careful to not show her relief about that. A violent out of control cape that had, however unknowingly, mutilated one of her wards and attacked and hurt multiple of her agents and superheroes would be a terrible addition to their teams.
Seneca chimed in: "Perhaps a change of location would be more agreeable to her? We have lovely weather this time of the year, up here."
Piggot snorted. Seneca seemed remarkably blasé about the potential damage Nephilim could inflict, so long as it gained him another cape to fight those constant guerilla battles he had to deal with, whenever one of his containment zones broke.
"But he has a point! Let's not forget about her sheer potential! Have you people even read her power testing files?!" Director Price seemed about to shake right out of his chair from sheer excitement. "Thinker 12, ladies and gentlemen! Just think of what we could do with such power at our disposal! No more groping around in the dark, no more fog of war! The Elite, the Fallen, the Yangban, all solved with just the right questions." Director Price of New Orleans was the youngest and most optimistic among PRT Directors, and it showed.
"Director Price, I thought the incident with that mercenary taught you a lesson about being too optimistic?" replied Tagg. "What was his name… ah yes, Kincaid" Price deflated at that reminder, and some of the assembled chuckled at the memory.
"We have seen how Nephilim reacts to asking the wrong questions. If, and this is a big if, we ever recruit her, we would have to be very careful in what questions we ask. The photos of what she did to that man…" Director Johann shuddered.
"The young lady needs a thicker skin if she actually wants to make it as a hero." Some Director piped up. Piggot didn't bother to remember which one.
"And if we recruited her, the Alaskan 64th department already has a number of assets that befits its dependents, while, as everybody around this table knows, the 26th department has regrettably been passed over again and again in recent times when it comes to bringing in more help. We are happy for your ah... 'dutiful service', of course, as long as it is to serve our country, but I'm sure you will agree that Alaska is not where the girl would be the most useful to all of us." Director Carr tried to wedge himself into the conversation. The prick.
Seneca frowned in response to the barely veiled disrespect to the doubtlessly numerous fighting men and women he'd lost. "Passed over? Is it what you call Glitter and Phantasm's transfer to Baltimore?"
Suddenly the sound of a fist impacting wood interrupted the squabbling directors.
"Let us get back to the topic at hand." The Chief Director's voice was as pleased as a cat that just had a car drive over its tail.
"But Chief Director, surely you must agree that the 26th–"
"ENOUGH!" The sudden explosion of voice and emotion coming from the woman shocked everyone in the call silent, though most quickly recovered as each person present was at the minimum an experienced leader of men. There had only been two times before when they had seen her lose her cool like that before, neither time pleasant. The first after Behemoth's first appearance when he set fire to Marun, and the second after Hero's death.
"As of now, any talk about who gets the Thinker 12 into their department is pointless, since she has not joined nor made any statements beyond a vague promise to cooperate with the PRT. Furthermore, no one here is to act in a hostile or even provoking manner towards Nephilim. Under. no. circumstances. Are we clear?"
Glances were silently exchanged through the screens that showed the finest of the PRT's leadership.
"Chief Director, if I may-" Carr tried again
"Are. We. Clear?" Her voice accepted nothing else.
Murmurs of agreement trickled in piecemeal from the various members of the call. Piggot was a consummate professional, so she suppressed her grin at seeing Carr's frown. Served him right.
Slowly everyone found themselves nodding, even if Piggot herself wasn't exactly happy about the fact that she couldn't do anything about the murderer in her city. Sadly, it wasn't like Nephilim was the only one there.
Following that were some basic intel about the movement of the Nine, coming from McCoy, who was hunting them like always, something about the Simurgh's delayed attack having to be expected any day now, and the usual horrors they had to contend with.
With a tired sigh she ended the call after almost an hour of further discussion. Hopefully that had been the last she'd hear of Nephilim for a while at least.
"Director Piggot!" The door to her office flew open and Stephanie, one of her aids, came in. "There was another incident with Nephilim at the hospital!"