"New Orleans will be quarantined?" Armsmaster asked.

Emily nodded. "They're bringing Tagg in to handle the perimeter. The population wants the city to be rebuilt but…"

But it's a total loss. Worse, rebuilding it would simply ensure it was a total loss the next time Leviathan dropped by. There were several newspapers by her. One, in a stunning example of insensitivity that would have had Assault getting pissed, showed a headline: ENDBRINGER SIRENS SOUND ON WALL STREET. Only two days later, and they were already coming up with headlines a focus group thought would get people buying their paper.

Sometimes, Emily hated humanity. "They're keeping the stock market closed for now, but everyone living just above sea level, from Miami to Galveston, got a lesson in what can happen. Most of the American people might have been able to ignore Newfoundland and Kyushu… but not this. The housing market is cratering, and the number of… dropped mortgages…" she shook her head. "It's going to be bad, and expect it to be reflected in our budget numbers… as well as in resettlement programs for the refugees. Given that, there's no way to justify rebuilding the city. By the way, we're tagged to accept at least 10,000, in addition to the six thousand that Shadowdancer brought through."

Armsmaster was silent for a moment. "They do know we have a substantial neo-nazi presence, correct? Surely Los Angeles…"

"California may be accepting as many as 100,000. There were over 1.2 million in the area, and between tidal waves and the damage to the city, we lost just over 250,000 and that number is likely to go up. Given how trashed the region is…"

And to add insult to injury, in terms of Cape deaths it was one of the best fights on record. The Bay contingent had lost Rune, not much a loss in Emily's mind, and Miss Militia had had her legs torn off, but Panacea had stopped that. Leviathan's initial moves had sidelined capes that couldn't fly, so they were safe from anything other than the saves. Then he'd turned around and targeted Merlin which had quickly turned things into a duel between the Endbringer, Merlin, the Triumvirate, and the few other capes who could keep up.

They're already asking if we're about to see the Quadrumvirate. Of course, that distracts people from Tattletale claiming that the damage was more or less cosmetic…

And wasn't that causing lost sleep in some quarters. If that was the case, why did Endbringers retreat at all?

And then once he hits ground, he decides to specifically target one of our Wards. Frontpage pictures, all over the world, were showing a little slip of a girl, looking like she'd just been hit by a dozen sledgehammers, standing off Leviathan. She'd only managed to do so for a few minutes, but long enough for Scion to save the day.

Long enough for it to become clear just what a heavy hitter she was, even compared to her boyfriend.

"Shadowdancer," Armsmaster said. "She remains… fragile. She's had panic attacks, usually when she's near a cape. She speaks very little and we're keeping her in the infirmary." He shrugged. "She can't sleep unless Trollhunter is in the bed with her."

"Fine," Emily said.

"Gallant has requested another chance to see what is wrong with her."

"Does he want to be strapped to a bed again due to a panic attack of his own?" Emily shook her head. "No, not until Shadowdancer is more coherent. What did Merlin say?"

"He ah, brushed her hair back, and told her she was strong."

Emily stopped.

"Merlin."

"Yes."

"Fuck."

Armsmaster took a deep breath. "And there's the New Wave issue. Brandish was severely injured. She refused treatment from Panacea."

"I—she looked fine."

"Yes, well, according to witnesses, Panacea looked around said: "You know what, normally I'd ask, but being a crazy bitch means you're not in your right mind…" and healed her." Armsmaster paused. "She also may need more combat training, because when Leviathan attacked the hospital, she equipped herself in her armor, used some kind of biological missile on him and then…" The hero sighed. "Punched him in the face."

Why are all capes insane? Emily shook her head. "Schedule it."

"Yes, Director."

"I'm such a coward…" Claire said softly. She closed her eyes, tried to look at the mem—DeathcriesscreamswhyWHYWHY…

She came back to herself, panting, sweat all over her body. She looked up at the clock. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds before the panic attack hit. It was better… Missy had visited her, and she'd barely said hi before the attack had hit, a horrified Missy being hustled from the room as Jim held her, her body just shaking with sobs.

What was in you. Did it influence your parents. Did the silver thing reach into their minds and arrange this? Claire bit her lip, shaking her head as she had an image of Missy, Taylor, Chris, wooden puppets, dancing and bouncing on strings while two puppet masters looked down at them, making notes and nodding…

Claire tried to slow her breathing down.

Souls exist. That means God Exists… So why didn't he do anything!?

She couldn't tell a cape. She knew what would happen. The silver entity, the one nobody saw would… change things. It was sneaky. That was why Dinah was always right, but never in the way she needed. Everyone given powers, but powers just twisted enough to make them… worse off. Claire didn't know what the Endbringers were for. Maybe a way to make a wall, to keep people from doing something the entities didn't want, when they couldn't be, or didn't want to be subtle?

Could she tell Merlin? No, not yet. Merlin had said it—his powers weren't mechanical, but magical. If Scion, or worse yet, that silver being, were around, they wouldn't use magic. They'd use…

But if you don't tell anyone, everyone dies. She had to take a chance. But if she failed, if she made one mistake… Best case, she died. Second best case, all of her friends died with her. Worst case, everyone, everywhere, died.

Like those reptilians. They'd been so proud. So confident. Reaching out.

Never knowing they were just experiments and all they were would come to dust.

Claire closed her eyes.

"I'm such a coward," she repeated.

"I had not expected that your mind had been damaged, Fair Claire." Blinky said.

"What?"

"You called yourself a coward. Obviously a delusion—"

"I…" Claire looked away from him.

"I do not know what you saw. Only that it was terrible. Terrible beyond even Morganna." Blinky tilted his head, staring at her through his six eyes. "Do you remember what you said, when you saved the trolls?"

"I…"

"Tell my family I love them. All these trolls, some who had voted to send Jim to the Darklands, all of them, depending on you. You a little girl, who had just entered our world, raised your staff and prepared to die. Die for your friends and strangers."

Blinky looked at her, his six eyes opening and closing suspiciously rapidly. "You are many things, Fair Claire, but a coward? Oh no. As someone older and…" he laughed, "occasionally wiser, I can tell you that you aren't that."

"But I… I don't know what to do. I can't… I have to tell someone, but I can't…"

"Have faith in yourself, Claire. After all, we do."

Jim wanted to be with Claire. He didn't want to move from her side. But…

But Director Piggot was right. They had six thousand traumatized refugees… and he could calm them down.

I'm not even seventeen! Part of him wanted to shout. He remembered bitching to Toby about how sometimes adults always thought they knew best and one day he'd be calling the shots. A joke.

If he could find a parahuman with time travel, he was going to go back and slap himself silly.

The Brockton Bay Civic Center had been tagged for refugee housing, especially as more came in. The Wards were there, as well as the Protectorate team, including Miss Militia getting used to her new legs, courtesy of Amelia.

Amelia, who had punched Leviathan in the face. Jim hadn't even been fast enough to get to him before the fight with Claire had ended—only arriving to see a man struggling to keep her from tearing her eyes out.

He growled, then took a deep breath. The people here didn't need to see that. They had lost everything. The first group had come in two days ago, and more groups were coming in now. Yesterday, there had been a minor riot when some people demanded to be taken back to find their family members and friends.

He walked over to where the unaccompanied kids were, his burden in his arms. "Hi kids," Jim said. "Anyone up for pizza?"

Some of the kids perked up. Not many. When the alarms had first blown, many adults had packed their kids away with friends, strangers, anyone who might escape the death trap that New Orleans would likely become.

Some were dead. Some were missing, but there were a lot of kids who hadn't found their parents.

They had some volunteers watching them. There was a pretty, Brown-haired girl named Charlotte. She'd even come with a nametag, and for all she was nervous whenever things got tense, she was good with the kids.

Makes sense. Jim thought. After all, that name tag had little webs drawn around her name. I wonder how you ran into Orb Weaver?

Jim talked with the kids a little bit, did a juggling act with a giggling five year old and then assured several children that yes, Legend and Alexandria were looking for their parents, and just as soon as he had more information, he'd tell them. (Actually, he already knew about two of the children, their parents' bodies having been recovered. But they were under strict orders to keep things vague with the younger kids. Parents were being 'looked for' at least until children's services could free up a qualified psychologist to help them break the news.).

Jim passed by another group. The remains of a high school cheerleading team, they'd been on the way out of the city when the sirens had sounded. Out of over sixty in two busses, there were now six.

"So," Jim said, "How is she?"

The girl looked up at him, her shoulder length blond hair bedraggled. Cindy had been the youngest of the survivors at 14, but somehow she'd become the leader. She had a junior's head pillowed on her legs, the older girl's eyes shut.

"Not good." Cindy said. "She can't sleep, but they say they can't give her anything." The older girl just quivered. "We saw… it, when the wave came and…" her voice trailed off.

Took Linda's boyfriend and parents right in front of her eyes. They didn't need to say that again.

"I'll try and get some help for you," Jim said, looking at the other girls, curled up on pads, eyes closed. Yep, Cindy was their leader now. Jim didn't envy her. "And…"

"No news." Cindy said, looking towards the big board where missing persons requests were being put up, and the other board where lists of the confirmed dead were being put. There were people there, some crying, some desperately searching, one women praying to Jesus in a loud, toneless voice. "But hey, No news is good news!" she said. She repeated. "No news is good news…"

Jim reached out, took her hand. It was trembling. "It is." He said. "Lots of people are like this, and they're focusing on rescuing people and getting them shelter over getting everyone in contact with each other."

"Right." Cindy said. "No news is good news." She repeated, closing her eyes.

Jim took a deep breath. He looked around at the full room, a cheery banner announcing the Brockton Bay Garden show seeming obscenely out of place. There were places like this all over the country.

And these were the lucky ones. Jim took a deep breath. He'd take a break. He just needed to go sit down somewhere where nobody could see him…

And take a break.

Just a short break.

Then he could come back.