"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."
Weyland paced the common room floor above the sunken plaza with its table and TV.
He needed to get to Brockton Bay. To warn- no, to stop- no!
He needed to figure out what he needed to do first.
"Shit!"
"Language!" crowed Annie, boots up on the central table again, eyes bright with amusement.
"Quiet, this is serious." Weyland growled back
The Oregon Elite's base had once been some doomsday prepper's fortress. It was well built, with several garages and swimming pool in the basement, but the table Annie's big boots were on was some kind of shiny resin over a single slab of redwood.
It scuffed.
Annie had just sat forward, taking her boots off the table, fingering one of the knives on the bandoleer that crossed her chest, "What's happening?" she asked excitedly.
"I-" Weyland stopped again, forcing himself to breathe more slowly. "We, Bear and I, need transport to Boston. Go down into town and get me… $5,000 in cash? That should do. And some supplies. A truck, how long would it take to drive?"
"Like, five days?" Annie asked him more than told him, then she was on her phone, "Says forty eight hours but no way you're driving that long in one stretch." she said waving the screen at him.
"No, we need to be there sooner." Weyland replied, "We need a plane. Something Bear can get in too."
"That narrows it down a bit."
It did, most trucks had trouble with Bear's weight and bulk, let alone aircraft.
"Eight hours by plane." Annie whistled through her teeth, tapping away on her phone, "It's pricey."
"That's what the discretionary fund is for." Weyland replied easily. "Just get it sorted, Annie."
It would be expensive, Weyland realised, making his own internal list of what he'd need. Bear had to come of course, and he hardly needed armour with his friend and teammate around.
"What's this actually all for?" Annie posed the obvious question while she tapped away at her phone. She kept her nails short, so Weyland supposed it wasn't so much tapping, but she was going through a goth phase and her nail varnish glinted dully in the sunset.
"It's… complicated. Colin-" he paused, "Er, Armsmaster, forget I said that, won't give me much information, I left a while ago and he's still got his halberd up his ass. I've got to get over there."
Some of the Protectorate capes would give him more than professional courtesy, he'd been a member for almost eight years after all, and he still had a good reputation, others resented him leaving though. Colin Wallis, Armsmaster, was more complicated. They'd gotten along well when they'd been on a team and they still collaborated on several pieces, but Armsmaster was hungry for glory and reluctant to do anything that might surrender some iota of praise he could get on his record.
"Cool, I'm coming too."
"What?" Weyland said, spinning, "You-"
"The Charter requires her to come too, Weyland." Bear said, a deep growl issuing from his throat as the computer spoke his words. He wasn't annoyed, but he did vocalise sometimes.
The other member of the Oregon Elite had lumbered out from his room after Weyland when the later had fled muttering to himself. One of the reasons they'd chosen the prepper's fortress as a base was that the corridors were big enough for Bear to walk properly rather than crawl about, but the overly large common room seemed more like a regular room with his bulk in it.
"What is going on. You must compose yourself." Bear said, any inflection of questioning or subtlety lost in his voicebox.
Weyland wanted to ignore that, but Bear was right after all. Both about that and the Charter.
The Elite, despite most people thinking it, weren't actually a single continuous organisation. There were gang-like elements sure, those were the ones most involved in criminal activity, smuggling mostly, but groups like Weyland's were more like corporate teams. A lot of the companies in Oregon paid what was effectively a membership fee, and Weyland would consult on security, assure supplies, and sometimes get involved directly if they had any parahuman difficulties. They had a pretty good relationship with the Protectorate even, all of it was legitimate after all, and in the meantime the Elite benefited from good press.
Having defected from the Protectorate in the first place, Weyland had designed his own cell with similar facilities, and Annie was basically a Ward. It came with certain requirements, including the Charter which meant Weyland couldn't leave her alone unsupervised. It was sort of a cape apprenticeship thing…
"Thank you, Bear." Weyland eventually said, thinking of what he should say. "The pictures you sent me imply that a… group… I know about have arrived in Brockton Bay. I don't know why they're there, but I'm best placed to prevent disaster, and I need to get over there and find out what's going on. Bear has to come because of his particular issues…"
Bear growled but said nothing. He didn't really like talking about it, but there were certain factors which meant Weyland was one of the only ones who he trusted enough to be around.
"And yes I suppose you have to come to…" Weyland finished, looking at Annie.
"Are we talking like the Nine?" Annie asked, her knife was out now, a soldier's weapon Weyland had made for her. It had been three years but the scars from Jack Slash's blade on her face hadn't faded much.
Weyland's face darkened too.
"The Nine were rabid dogs. These are wolves."