Chapter 7
The third week of February saw Team Nemesis once more called into the field.
"What's going on?" I asked as Hollis led us into a small room with three rows of tiered seating facing a pair of large screens. Beck, who was seated in the third row, gave me her usual sneer. I ignored her. I knew she didn't want to be on the team with me, but I thought her continued passive aggression was childish. There was a short woman, with medium length black hair and olive skin, wearing PRT fatigues sporting a caduceus badge on her shoulder seated in the second row. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't recall where we would have met. Most of the PRT agents and staff fell into that category for me. One of the two screens flared to life with the masked face of Hightower. He nodded to us.
"New commander wanted to introduce himself and give us a sensitive mission," Hollis replied as she led me to a seat in the front row. "But he's currently on an extended assignment out of town. So, VTC instead of face-to-face."
"Always assume the mics are live, Hollis," said a thin man in PRT class B uniform as he appeared on the second screen. "Nonetheless, that is essentially correct. I'm Commander Thomas Calvert. Team Nemesis has been assigned to me. Just because I'm stuck in classes at NDU doesn't mean I'm not doing my real job too. I just have to do it by video. I know who you are, so no need to waste time on introductions."
I was still learning the secret three-initial language the PRT favored. I knew VTC was video teleconference but wondered what NDU was.
"Nemesis, do you know who Gray Boy was?" Calvert asked, bringing my attention back to the briefing.
"An original member of the Slaughterhouse Nine," I replied. One of the class project groups had presented Jack Slash as their 'most influential' cape. That had led to a long discussion of the villains in general, and the S9 in particular, and their impact on society. "Created permanent time-loop bubbles that are still around after his death. 'Monuments to true evil' someone called them."
"Yes," the thin man nodded. "The people trapped inside repeat the last several seconds before the bubble was created in a continuous loop. It's uncertain whether they're aware of the repeated events. If so, most are suffering eternal torture."
"You're suggesting Taylor's negation field might affect the bubbles?" Hollis posited.
"No, I'm suggesting we test to see if Nemesis can deactivate one of these loops." Calvert pressed a button and a video of an older man shooting a dog with a shotgun appeared on the screen. The snow on the ground suggested the video might be live. The man was standing in front of a barn. The barn was faded red, but the man and the dog were encased in a sphere that seemed to leach all color from them. They were black and white in a color world. The bubble looped the death of the dog and the few seconds before and after.
"This is just outside of Bar Harbor, Maine. It's thought to be one of the villain's first bubbles. It was one of the few that doesn't feature people suffering horrible deaths and disfigurements," Calvert laid out the rationale for the mission. "That's why we want to test if Nemesis' field negates that bubble. If the bubble falls, only the dog will die. The old man may suffer a mental breakdown, but shouldn't need the same sort of intense and immediate medical attention the people in the Bay City Bubble or the Washington Massacre Time Loop would."
"You're trying to keep the effort low key, in case it doesn't work," Hollis confirmed.
"Right," the commander agreed from the video screen. "You should be able to avoid drawing in the local authorities until after you find out whether it will work or not. Just in case it does, you'll have Doc Collins with you to see to the victim's immediate needs. We'll also have an ambulance to the local hospital and an air ambulance to Portland standing by."
I looked back at the medic and she nodded.
"Head out within the hour," Calvert ordered. "There's a storm predicted for the area around Bar Harbor so be prepared to stay the night if necessary. Book some rooms on your way just in case. Otherwise come back tonight. I don't want our asset hanging around whether the attempt is a success or not. A science team is already on site, they will deal with any aftermath. Any questions?"
No one had any. I thought for a moment. It seemed straightforward. I'd send Dad a text warning him I might be gone overnight.
"Good," Calvert's face was back on screen. He nodded. "Then get going."
"Beck, I want a confoam load out in case the man comes out violent," Hollis started ordering. "Hightower, we'll need sensor drone coverage recording everything and recon drones making sure we aren't surprised while working. Collins, anything you need?"
"I've got an expanded crash kit ready to load," she replied. She had a slight accent.
"Good. Gear up and meet at the truck in forty minutes."
"Don't forget your toothbrush and jammies," Beck said as I passed her. She carefully did not shoulder check me. She'd discovered that move didn't work out well for her.
I rolled my eyes and went to my armor locker.
We reached Bar Harbor just after five. The weather was getting worse and Hollis wanted to make the attempt before we lost the light completely. She and Beck stationed themselves at positions equidistance around the bubble from me, but thirty feet back. Collins was ready by the truck. The drones were in place to record the effort.
It was anticlimactic when I stepped forward and nothing happened. I walked to the edge of the bubble but made no effort to touch it. Neither Hollis nor I were willing to risk me somehow getting sucked in.
"Shit," Beck laughed. "That was a long drive for nothing."
"Negative data is still important data," Hightower said over the radio.
"Pack it up people," Hollis said. "The storm's getting worse." She was right. The snow was falling faster, and the wind was whipping it almost horizontal.
We trudged back to the van where Hightower was visible on screen.
"Maine Highway Department just shut down Highway One and I-95. I'll inform the hotel to expect you in fifteen minutes." The blind tinker said.
"Tell them thirty," Hollis countered. "This is going to slow us way down."
Hollis navigated the unwieldy tactical vehicle through the storm. The hotel was a well-lit oasis in the blizzard. Once she had us checked in, she said, "Everybody get changed to civvies and meet in the lounge at seven. Dinner's on the PRT. Drinks are on me."
Two hours later the four of us were seated around a table in the nautically-themed lounge. The food had been good – chowder to warm us up and grilled and fried seafood to nibble on while we drank. Hollis made sure I was restricted to tea, soda, or lemonade, but the other three quickly graduated from beer to whisky and gin.
"I don't care what the classifications say," Hollis argued. "I just can't take Tinkers and Thinkers seriously as capes."
"But they have the gemma," Collins countered. "That makes them parahumans."
"No, I see what she's saying," Beck replied. "There's a difference between parahumans and capes. I mean, yeah they got that thing in their head, but com'on! Are you telling me you take Uber and Leet as seriously as Kaiser or Lung?"
"Exactly," Hollis pointed to Beck. "Thinkers may be smart, but anyone can be smart. Hawking doesn't have a gemma, but he's smarter than all of Watchdog put together."
"What about Armsmaster?" I asked.
"Sure, but he's a cape because he wears the armor, not because he built it. If he made the same armor for me, I'd be the fucking leader of the Protectorate." Beck boasted then pounded down her whisky.
"Tinkers build stuff," Collins said. "Things no one else can build, but other people can use their gear. Like your gear, someone built it for you, right?" I nodded. "I think what these two are arguing is that all Tinkers are parahumans but to be a cape you need to do more."
"Put your ass on the line," Beck nodded. "Either side of the line, but put it out there. And for that you don't need powers. But you do need something. I put it out there to serve and protect but I ain't no cape."
"You ever hear of Midnight?" Hollis asked.
I shook my head.
"He's a regular guy that puts on a mask and costume and fights the gangs in Five Bells," the team lead continued. "He uses tasers, stun gun knuckledusters, smoke bombs, and old-fashioned boxing to keep his neighborhood clean. I'd call him a cape, even though he doesn't have powers. Compare him to Hightower. Nice guy. Good at what he does, but he never puts himself on the line. Not a cape."
"Not a cape." Beck parroted.
"I think I get what you're saying," I said. "I…"
"Not a cape," Beck snarked.
"What?" I said, turning to her. We had been more or less ignoring each other all evening. But I knew she was referring to me rather than just repeating what she'd said before.
"You're not a cape," she reiterated. "You don't put shit on the line."
"What do you mean?" I demanded.
"They send you out on missions that're no danger to you, so you aren't risking anything," she snapped back. "And we're stuck holding your hand and wiping your ass. It's a waste of fucking time."
"Back off, Beck," Hollis said, trying to keep her own voice down. The restaurant/bar was mostly empty, only a bartender and waitress for staff and a few other tables for customers.
"No, damn it," the sniper disagreed. "You know I'm right. Either they should send her out after real targets like Hookwolf or Oni Lee or she should go back to school, and I can go back to my team." She turned to me and pointed, almost poking me in the chest. "I was on the best damn strike team in the north east. We were taking down real threats and saving lives. Making a real difference, something the Protectorate and the kiddie club can't often say. Then I got pulled off my team and assigned to this dog and pony show."
"Is that my fault?" I asked.
"If you weren't here, I'd still be with my team," Beck insisted.
"I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be beaten half to death, to be triggered," I pointed out.
"And there it is," Beck snarled. "Fucking parahumans have one bad day and their suddenly at the top of the heap and people like us, who have been training and working for years are at the back of the fucking bus." She ran her hands over her short red hair, her dark skin almost shining in the light of the candle in the middle of the table.
"You're not the only one with bad days," she continued, sounding almost contemplative. "My family have been cops for generations. My father was a cop. So was my brother. Hell, even my boyfriend is BBPD. You know what a bad day is. It's coming home from class two weeks before graduation to hear your father and brother were both killed protecting the public from a fucking cape fight between Allfather, Marquis, and the Protectorate. That was a bad fucking day. But I didn't wake up with powers to take those scum down. I had to train, bleed, and work my ass off to get to the point where I could do that. You people don't get that. You win the lottery and get put in charge of the world. It ain't right."
"I was on the phone," I said, my voice tight. How dare she? Does she think she's the only one that's lost a parent?
"What?" Collins asked.
"I was on the phone," I repeated more clearly. "Talking with my mother. I was talking with her when a drunk driver in a big truck smashed into her car. I was talking to my mother and heard her die." I slammed my fist down, snapping a corner of the table off. I pointed to Beck. "You're right that we aren't the only ones that have bad days. But you aren't the only one that loses family to senseless accidents. The Boardwalk was bad but losing my mother when I was twelve was far worse."
"I'm sorry about your mother," Hollis said. "I lost my dad to cancer. I'm not telling you that because I'm trading dead parent stories but because it has something to do with the gap between normal people and capes. Panacea has become a minor industry by herself since she started healing. People from all over the world come to Brockton Bay because she is one of, if not the, top healers in the world. They come when no one else can cure them or just to say they were treated by her."
"She doesn't take money," Collins added.
"Maybe not, but the hospitals and the city do. That's why they prioritize out of towners over locals when presenting cases to her." Hollis was counting on her fingers. "Endbringer emergencies, Protectorate and PRT wounded, medical tourists, then last and least – locals. My dad was a local. He died before he could make it to the top of her list."
"And that's her fault?" I asked again.
"No," Hollis shook her head. "But it does build resentment. Lots of things build resentment between humans and parahumans."
"I know," I said with a sigh. "I was human just three months ago. I still am, in my opinion. Human and parahuman are not exclusive."
"You say that," Beck growled, "but we can't bounce bullets or jump over buildings."
I shook my head and gave a sad, hollow chuckle.
"What?" Collins asked.
"You don't think I'm human anymore, but the capes sure as hell don't want me." I grabbed my hair and pulled. It was good to feel something other than the frustration I always had thinking about how the Wards and Protectorate treated me.
"What do you mean?" Beck demanded.
"The reason you got stuck with me, is because the other parahumans can't stand to be around me," I said quietly. "I don't know what's worse – the bullying and harassment I got at my old school or being ostracized almost completely by my supposed peers." I shook my head sadly.
Looking at Beck I said, "I have been putting up with your crap because I hoped you'd get over yourself and start acting like the adult you're supposed to be."
I turned to Hollis who almost looked surprised. "Or that you would act like a real leader and put a stop to it. But neither of you did."
I stood, towering over the table, then leaned over them with both fists planted on the wooden surface. "So, if you want to keep blaming me for everything out of my control, or for just being what I am, go ahead. Or you can take it up with the people that put you on the team and convince them that you're more useful elsewhere. Or you can quit. I don't care. Just get off my case."
I stood and walked back to my room. Maybe the dockworkers would have me. I doubted it, not after the Trainwreck attack. I wondered if anyone out there would ever want me.
# # # # #
The next morning there was a pounding on my door. "Get up! Time to head back."
"I'm up." I said, opening the door.
"Get packed," Hollis ordered. "Meet in the lobby in five."
It was quiet in the transport. No one was willing to meet my eyes. I sat in the back and 'worked' on my tablet. I should have been doing homework, but I was more interested in chatting with Chris, Michelle, and Moira. We talked some about schoolwork, but mostly just chatted about how the weather had shut down the city. Brockton Bay, because of its weird location creating a kind of micro-climate, missed most of the big winter storms. But this one had managed to shut down the city. The others were lamenting the fact that it was Saturday so there wasn't a snow day off from school. We kept it to text because I didn't care to share what little private life I had with my grumpy coworkers.
We drove for three hours before an alarm sounded. Hightower connected and started the briefing. "Two powered suspects have taken hostages in the large Pratt & Whitney plant in North Berwick. They identify as Freyr and Freyja, believed to be part of the Herren Clan." Mugshots of two blonds, a boy and a girl, somewhere around fifteen to seventeen years old appeared. "Local police report that they arrived in the plant this morning at 0930 and proceeded to wreck part of the production line – airplane engine parts – and took all the workers of color, including the new plant manager, hostage. At 1024 they contacted the local sheriff and demanded that Pratt & Whitney agree to pay them a million dollars and fire all non-white managers and supervisors at all of their New England facilities."
"Fucking nazis," Beck cursed.
"Commander Calvert has ordered the team to proceed to North Berwick to capture the two villains. A prisoner transport will be dispatched from Brockton Bay to rendezvous with you at the plant no later than 1300."
"With the weather we are about forty minutes out," Hollis said as she fed data into the transport computer. "ETA 1150. Get us maps and schematics of the plant."
"Working on it," acknowledged the support tinker.
"Info on the targets too," Beck ordered. She was pulling out her tablet. She had been reading a paperback with a half-naked Viking on the cover.
With a quick "Duty calls," I logged out of the chat and activated the PHO forums, looking for anything on these two. I knew the others would find the official info. I wanted to see if there was anything more informal.
I found several racist screeds by the Herren Twins. They were local to southern New Hampshire/Maine and they seemed to use their real names as their cape IDs. The only hint I found on their powers was that they were size related.
The official info was not much more forthcoming. Freyr, the brother, had two arrests to Freyja's one – all for racist protests and disturbing the peace. They did not have powers when arrested.
"Team, be advised that there is no sign these targets are brutes and lethal force is not authorized," Hollis said. "Pack up the war rounds and break out the confoam and tasers. We need to take them alive."
"I've hacked the plant's security cameras while bringing recon assets into position," Hightower informed us. He shared a six-screen matrix with different camera views cycling though every ten seconds. They showed damaged conveyor belts and scattered equipment. The twins were visible. The brother, Freyr, was tall and gangly with short sandy blonde hair and acne scars. His sister, Freyja, was almost the same height but stocky with long golden hair. They wore identical grey uniforms reminiscent of Nazis in WWII, but with lots of pockets. Each had a pistol strapped at their waist, as well as several leather pouches.
The plant had been evacuated except for the hostages who were being held in the cafeteria. There looked to be around a dozen, about two thirds men. Each was held under giant drinking glasses with giant metal hex nuts weighting them down.
"They're going to run out of air in those," I said.
"So, we have a time limit," Hollis agreed. "Let's think of how to do this."
Thirty-seven minutes later, I was in position. The cafeteria was in a semi-separate building, attached to the main plant with a wide corridor. It had its own loading dock and power supply. Hightower had stealth drones showing every part of the interior through the numerous windows. A data overlay on my HUD showed me exactly where the two villains were – near the center of the large dining hall, close to the trapped hostages.
"Now!" Hollis barked over the radio. I dropped from my glider wings just as an explosion rocked the east wall of the dining hall. I landed in front of the west wall. On my display I saw the two targets both distracted by the violent attack. I punched my way through the window and ran forward yelling "PRT! Down on the ground. Hands on your head. This is the PRT."
Freyja, the sister, threw something at me like a knife. It started expanding until I saw it was an airplane propeller, almost five feet long, coming straight towards me. I snatched up a dining table and batted the blade aside. It sank several feet into the wall behind me. The first giant blade was followed by a second and third in short order. Holding the table in front of me like a shield, I rushed forward. I needed to get her into my range.
I managed to angle the table to defect the second propeller, but the cheap wood was splintered by the impact, leaving me no protection from the third. I tried to catch it, but the impact caught me mid-stride and knocked me back several feet.
"You should be on our side," Freyr, the brother, called out as he dipped into a pocket then tossed a handful of hex nuts at me. They grew as they flew until they were the size of fifty-gallon drums. But as soon as the giant nuts were within my field, they shrank back to their normal size.
Hollis and Beck were trying to close in with foam sprayers from the opposite side, only to find their way continually blocked by large pieces of equipment, refrigerators, even a van popping up in front of them. Freyja must have seeded the area with shrunken items and was cancelling the effect when the two team members got too close.
"Swap out," Freyr yelled when he saw how ineffective his power was on me.
As I closed in on the twins, similar items started popping up in a wave in front of me. My field must cancel the power on the shrunken items laid out as traps. The items blocked my line of sight on Freyja. Lucky I could see her in my HUD as she tossed a rapidly expanding truck my way. I punted a piece of heavy machinery to collide with the moving vehicle in midair. The clamor of the collision was almost deafening.
"Stop!" Freyja cried out. "Or we'll crush the hostages."
Freyr gestured dramatically and a glass holding an Asian woman in a ragged suit started to shrink, cracking under the weight of the giant hex nut. She screamed.
Seeing how my field cut the connection Freyja had with her shrunken items, I thought the same would likely happen to Freyr's expanded traps. If all the glasses and hardware reverted at the same time, the people might get cut but they wouldn't get crushed.
I dived towards the brother, sliding across the well-polished floor like a runner stealing third base. As soon as my outstretched hand was within 7.14 meters of the boy, the glass traps all vanished. The hex nuts reverted to their miniscule size and the glasses shattered as they tried to shrink around the hostages. The people cried out in surprise and pain.
"This way, come on!" Hollis and Beck started moving the panicked workers out of the room, laying down a wall of foam between them and the villains. I scrambled to my feet as Freyr pulled his pistol and shot me. I ignored the plink of the bouncing bullet and fired a kinetic pulse from my gauntlet to distract Freyja from targeting the retreating hostages. She slammed into the side of a refrigerator.
I grabbed Freyr by the shoulder and raced towards his sister. "Just give up already," I said as he emptied his pistol on my helmet.
Three bounds and I was in range of Freyja. Suddenly her pockets ripped open as all her shrunken goodies snapped back to their real sizes. She was instantly buried under the mountain of machinery and miscellaneous items.
"No!" her brother cried, pulling against my grip has he tried to reach her. I grabbed a foam dispenser off my belt and slapped it on his chest. The foam started to expand over him as I quickly dropped him, not wanting to get encased with him. Once he was secure, I looked at the pile with my sensors. Freyja's heat signature was easily detected. I hoped that meant she was still alive.
"Find an opening and roll this under." Hightower's reedy voice came from a flying drone that hovered near my shoulder. It lowered a small sphere into my hand.
I nodded and examined the pile. Cars, machines from the factory floor, furniture, and other debris heaped towards the high ceiling. A small opening was outlined on my HUD. "There," Hightower said.
"Got it," I replied. I carefully rolled the ball into the opening, pushing it further with a pool cue.
"Is Freyr secure?" Hollis asked over the radio. I looked to be sure. He was completely covered in foam.
"He's contained. S&R efforts for Freyja underway." I figured she knew that but realized I had not reported anything during or after the fight. Tactical communications was something Hollis was trying to beat into my head.
Floating drones started mapping the mound with lasers. An exploded view formed on my HUD. The girl was at the bottom of a multi-ton load, but several solid pieces had fallen in such a way as to form a pocket protecting her from most of the weight.
"She's still alive," Hightower said. "You're going to have to be very careful digging her out. I'll highlight a piece of debris and I need you to move it and nothing else. I'll scan after each move. Understand?"
"Got it," I said.
"Feed me anything you've got on her," requested Doc Collins from the truck. "I'll standby. The hostages are all in good condition, minor injuries aside. Local responders on site."
"Keep them back until we send word. Any ETA on the PRT backup?" Hollis' voice was calm, which helped me avoid panicking about the girl being crushed under the mountain I had caused.
"Nemesis, are you ready for the first piece?" Hightower's voice in my helmet brought me back to my task. A pool table precariously perched on the top of the pile was highlighted. I moved a machine over, so I had something to stand on to reach the table without putting pressure on the pile.
It took almost two hours to clear the debris enough to pull the Herren girl out safely. By that time there were several PRT agents, as well as local sheriff and fire personnel in the room. There was also some disagreement on the disposition of the injured girl.
"And I say again your hospital is not secured to hold parahuman prisoners." Hollis repeated.
"Like she's gonna be hard to hold," rebutted York County Sheriff Dwight Biermann. "She's gonna be in traction for months."
"So, you're an expert on parahuman healing capabilities?" Beck demanded.
The Sheriff looked at the PRT trooper with ill-concealed contempt. "I've got eyes in my head and a hell of a lot more experience with battle wounds than you, missy."
"It doesn't matter," Hollis said flatly. "She's a criminal cape. That's PRT jurisdiction. She's our prisoner. She's coming with us." The local lawman looked around. I thought he might be counting his guns versus ours. Then he stopped, giving me a hard look.
Finally, he sighed and nodded at Hollis. "Take her." He walked out of the wrecked dining hall. I noticed the storm had picked up again. The roads were going to be treacherous.
"Nemesis, this is Agent Jones," Hollis introduced me to a short, bull-necked black man in PRT combat gear. We nodded to each other. "He's the prisoner transport team lead. You're going to ride in the back of his rig. Collins will be with you to keep tabs on the injured girl. We'll be following. The weather is going to ground the drones and interfere with the sensors, so keep your own eyes peeled. Got it?"
"Understood." I replied.
The storm did impact traffic significantly. What should have been an hour's drive turned into almost three as low visibility and heavy snow caused all traffic to slow to a crawl. We passed several accidents where cars had slid off the road or into each other. The transport worked its way around each instance, not stopping even when stranded drivers tried to flag us down. The snow turned to rain on the south side of Waggoner's Gap indicating we were in the Brockton Basin. Traffic was moving faster, though the roads were still wet.
We were pulling off the highway west of Downtown when an eighteen-wheeler slammed into Hollis' truck from the side, pushing it into a pillar holding up the overpass. A smaller truck fell out of the sky in front of the prisoner transport, causing the driver to slam on the brakes. The prisoners in the back were secured solidly, but Collins and I were thrown towards the front of the compartment. Collins cracked her head on the metal interior wall. I quickly checked her. She was breathing, but not responding.
I looked at the screen showing the front of the vehicle. Several armed figures were closing in. One man's hands were covered in dancing flames. Great, a rescue attempt, I thought.
I stepped to the back door, looked out the armored window to see more approaching figures. I grabbed two foam grenades and tossed them into the interior as I stepped out. That would restrain and protect the people inside. I slammed the door closed and hopped to the top of the MRAP. There was a steel road plate hanging in the air twenty yards away with two female figures standing on it.
Looks like the Empire had arrived.