"Megan!"

A tall, athletic woman with long dark curly hair lifted her gaze up, past the paperwork situated on the table of the café, searching for the one that had called her name. She spotted her coworker, Mike, slipping through the gate the café used to separate the seating area from the street, his coat tossed over one shoulder.

It was a little thing, located within a five-minute walk to the river, tucked away with a set of commercial ground floor shops. Most people were sitting inside the building, wary of the gusts of winds that were blowing through the city as a prologue to an approaching storm, so there was only a handful outside to watch the man go to his friend.

"I figured that I would find you here," said Mike, shifting the other chair so that he could take a seat. There was a dull thump as he set down the bag he was carrying, before gazing around with his brown eyes.

Megan raised a single eyebrow, her hazel-blue eyes conveying nothing but blunt questions, a view that caused the man to squirm and scratch at his trimmed beard.

"… no, I didn't follow you, you bring a cup of coffee with this place's name on it seemingly every other day," Mike frowned. "Speaking of which, I checked the reviews on it, why haven't you told us about this place? They have to have better stuff then what offices caf gives us, just based on SightOne at least."

Megan rolled her eyes this time. "The same reason that I've never been to any of the office parties, Mike."

"Ah, ok." The fact that she wasn't the most sociable person at the PRT's department 46, went unsaid.

"So… any recommendations?"

"Don't go for a latte."

"… But I love lattes."

Megan smiled at the man. "Exactly."

As Mike shook his head and left to get himself a drink, Megan reflected on the man.

After five years of working inside the Public Relations division, Mike Noble had settled into PRT Department 46 as one of the sub-leaders. He had a good grasp of tracking trends, keeping up with the shifting public opinions, assisting in others, writing up reports about whatever cape-based issue or task that he was given; all in all, Mike was a solid worker.

But he was just that, a solid worker, one of dozens in Department 46's workforce. The only thing that really set him apart from the rest was his personal history, and the fact that he wouldn't stop flirting with Megan.

Oh, it wasn't anything over the top, as he and Megan didn't cross paths all that much, just once per day (if she was lucky), but when most of their extended conversations tended to include at least one pass of some sort, it tended to get annoying.

And quickly.

'Course, despite effectively being Mike's boss, there were several reasons that she couldn't just fire him.

For one, she didn't actually have that power, as her position of 'VP of Public Relations' was something of a joke. She really was a coordinator of the PRT's PR Division, the one sent out to other Departments to help with any PR problems they had, as well as develop ways to prevent it from happening again. This meant, by default, Megan technically was considered a Deputy Director for PR, if only to give her the authority to do her job in other Departments other than 46's.

Department 46, also known as Minneapolis, of the Twin Cities, or Training Camp. As one of the main acclimatization zones and training areas for new and international capes in the Protectorate, or coming to the United States, it featured a larger than normal PR department, mostly due to the amount of capes that walked through its doors.

And Megan Nagel was technically was in charge of the PR elements of it all.

Technically, the department actually had a PR head, but given how well-known Megan was (as well as the fact she was a coordinator and PR expert) meant that, more often than not, Megan at pulled her weight in dealing with everything that the PRT needed for any Public relations. Such as dealing with costume changes, setting up conferences, keeping track of approval ratings of capes and the PRT, etc, etc.

The amount of time and effort needed to take care of all of these factors was often undervalued, as Megan in particular sometimes spent more time in other departments handling PR snafus then working in her own department or traveling to other departments at their request for assistance.

It was unavoidable, given Megan's expertise which she had gathered from working at Training Camp, that she would be in such high demand.

Of course, the name 'Training Camp' started as a joke, a meme born from both PHO and other social media sites. With how many capes of independent and otherwise non- villainous nature that had ended up passing through the department, the rumor mill started about the PRT holding class at Minneapolis for capes on how to use their powers.

It didn't help with the situation involving Department 46 either. With the low population of the surrounding area, as well as the surrounding states, most cape teams were divided into 'strike teams' armed with Movers to help get them around. That meant that there was always something happening involving PR, as teams were constantly traveling from one area to another, doing patrols in out of field offices, or simply reminding people that they were there.

Eventually, as new capes both foreign and domestic entered and exited the area, resulted in Training Camp.

And after a few very short years of panic as capes flocked in unpredictable waves and surges to the city, the simple idea of having a training camp for those with powers (but on the fence of joining the PRT or where simply looking for ways to better control their powers), it was formed in actuality.

While not as… comprehensive, as many wanted to think or wanted to believe (as some Parahumans came to find out), Department 46 still had the most 'hands-on' experience with dealing with powers outside of combat.

If only from the numbers that they come and went from the city.

Both Mike and Megan worked in the Public Image department of 46, dealt with new Triggers, old capes, new identities, followed PHO for troublemakers (to a degree, Watchdog kept a closer eye on the site than them), and helped manage the PRTs overall image.

Simple things like how to act in public, how to deal with civilians, when to let a villain go or to chase them down: all of these and more (like all the paperwork and protocols involved behind the scenes) were things that department 46 helped capes, both new, foreign, and just recruited, learn.

… Well, they worked together to a degree. Due to Megan's positions, she got her own office, and would be in semi-regular contact with Glenn Chambers, the Director of the Public Image Department. Mike was just one of the guys that shared the PR office section with Megan.

Each PRT department contained a plethora of support staff, not limited to: janitors, IT workers, repairmen, guards, troopers, receptionists, officers, researchers, and management staff. Not to mention the PR staff, like tour guides, stockers, cashiers, and a switchboard for calls.

This meant that when one got right down to it, each PRT office was self-contained, capable of keeping itself going even if cut off from the greater PRT network.

But there were still certain positions that extended their reach beyond a single department.

The Chief Director, the Director of Public Image, the Director of Marketing, the Director of Technologies, etc. etc.

Glenn Chambers was in charge of dealing with how the public viewed the PRT and the Protectorate on a strategic level, but the various PR managers in each city could also make tactical decisions that involved things like costumes, events, and merchandise sales without getting total and complete approval from the man. The same went for most high-end managers, as long as they filed the right paperwork and didn't do anything unreasonable, or screw up.

It was no different than the power the Departments' Directors had, just on a smaller scale.

Enter Megan Nagel, PRT PR coordinator. She could, would and did oversee everything from costume changes to gear design (to a degree, as Tinkers didn't always have the ability to make good looking tech), as well as keeping the PRTs slew of pictures and merchandise up to date, alongside Glenn Chambers, her (more or less) direct boss.

Having effectively been with the PRT since the beginning, Megan had climbed the ranks until she landed her current coordinator position, a job that she barely received given her stance on several PRT practices.

"So…" Mike began as he came back to the table, coffee in hand. "Whats a stunning woman like you doing sitting in a place like this?"

"Mike," Megan began firmly, already knowing where this was going. "I'm your boss, and while I don't mind the occasional compliment, everyone likes hearing those from time to time, we've talked about this. Not. Interested."

Mike shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "Doesn't mean a man can't still try, and you still owe me a date."

"Just because some wacko in the south named himself HamMan on the account of him being disturbingly infatuated with pork, doesn't mean that a pig has flown. If that was the case, then Gesellschaft simply existing would have landed you a date long ago."

Mike smiled. "Can I at least get partial credit? Buy you a drink?"

Megan stared, her face like stone. "… No."

"Fine," Mike groaned out. "Then we'll talk work, at least then I'll be able to stay in your wonderful company a bit longer."

Megan rolled her eyes at this.

"Did you manage to see the report on the newest Wards in San Diego? I think they followed your recommendation for the twin brothers."

"That I did," Megan replied, falling into the conversation, if only because she wanted to finish her drink before walking away. "I also saw that they didn't do what I suggested with the Thinker's costume. Those braids are far too long, if she ends up in a fight then someone can easily grab her and toss her around."

Mike huffed and took a sip of his drink. "What did you expect, she's a non-combat Thinker, the PRT and Youth Guard likely have no plans to ever let her get close to combat. She'll be lucky to patrol the area close the HQ."

Megan glared at her co-worker. "With her power, added to her projection ability, she could easily take on a whole team of non-powered personnel, even a few low-powered capes."

"She needs a whole minute for her power to get up to speed," Mike defended. "Sure, being able to push a ghost out of yourself, one that can move around and touch things, is useful and all, but the thing is like a preprogrammed robot; she tells it what to do and it does it before fading away."

"Did you not read her psych profile?" Megan asked.

Mike looked confused. "Should I? I don't need to know how the girl thinks, and we were just asked for a second opinion on their outfits, not to make new ones based on her feelings."

"Based on what the profile says, the girl is always pushing herself to do better, better grades, faster movements, trying to beat records in training. She's always trying to go above and beyond what is asked of her, including in using her power. Now, what do you think is going to happen when she is told that she has basically become a fluff piece for the Wards, one where the best she can hope for is dealing with a minor car accident or dispute?"

"She's a kid, Megan, she didn't need brass knuckles on her suit."

"Her projection power can do everything she can," Megan explained. "How long do you think it will take her to start looking into how to box? Or a martial art? If we… They, started teaching her now, rather than waiting for her to do it herself behind the PRT's back, then we could not only keep her safer, but also keep her in the Protectorate when she turns eighteen in a year and a half."

It wasn't uncommon for Department 46 to be asked for advice, having one of the highest turnover rates for capes (mercifully, in a good way) meant that they had learned a thing or two. And with Megan being considered second best only to the Director of Image, Glenn Chambers himself, and the Director of PR, Isaac Huntington, meant that quite a few things crossed her desk (if only from sheer volume).

Megan was well known in the PR industry, if for the wrong reasons. She was constantly butting heads with Glenn on designs, over things like colors, giving a cape that needs an outfit more leeway in designs, making things more practical, and most damningly, adding various layers of armor to Wards and advocating enclosed helmets whenever it could be done.

Despite this, her work was top-notch, with Glenn often praising her for her designs, how the public viewed them, how she could (and would) turn a PR disaster into a win (or at least perform damage control), often remarking that despite their differences, there was no one else he would rather be butting heads with. Plus, there were more than a few capes that owed their lives to the woman (mostly Rogues and Independents) because she had added Kevlar underlinings to their costumes.

Some had complained about the extra weight, as well as the lack of easy movement from slightly thicker material, but they tended to shut up after getting shot at, knocked across the street, or the first time they fought an enemy that gained the upper hand.

The result was that when Megan spoke, people tended to listen.

Even if they didn't agree with her, like Mike.

In fact, this was one of the reasons that Megan had struggled to get as high as she had; she tended to be very outspoken about the state of costumes made by the PRT, as well as the fact that she viewed the Wards program as ineffective.

Mike sighed and ran a hand over his buzzcut. "Well, that's ultimately her decision, if she thinks she can make it as an Independent, good for her. But while she's in the Wards, she follows the rules set forth by the PRT and Youth Guard."

"Those same rules prevent them from actually training the Wards in anything more than basic self-defense, as well as only teaching them how to responsibly and safely use their powers. Beyond that, it falls to the Wards themselves to figure things out."

"Wait…" Mike began with a startled look. "The Wards program is sold as training the next generation of heroes, how can they do that if they don't, you know, train them?"

Megan shrugged at the man. "Loopholes, really. The Youth Guard has rules in place to prevent the Wards from learning to fight beyond the basics, mostly because no one wants to link the Wards and the idea of child soldiers together. But the rules do allow them to learn things while in the Wards, either by the Protectorate teaching them, or by the Wards asking to be taught themselves."

"But you just said that the Youth Guard has rules about that sort of thing."

"That's why it's called a loophole; neither the PRT or the Protectorate should be teaching the Wards how to fight someone like say, Jack Slash, but they can, and do, teach them the same basics that police officers go through, as part of the whole hero-ing thing. You know, helping stop robberies, catch criminals, uphold laws. They also use this to teach the Wards about their powers, how to use them, when and where to use them, that kind of thing." Megan paused for a moment to take a spin of her drink before continuing.

"Doing it this way means the Wards get both training for a future career as a hero, as well as learning how to use their powers, while following the same rules that all government-backed capes follow; no going off-grid, no attacking another cape without permission first, no diving headlong into fights without checking in, no using their powers just for the hell of it, the basic stuff that every government-sponsored cape needs to know to do. With the Wards however, with the fact they are still underage, they get slotted into safe areas, patrolling places that fall within the PRT-Protectorate sphere of influence, to keep an eye on low-risk areas, while still gaining experience. This makes the Wards more like a neighborhood watch system, and as long as they aren't sent into high-risk areas without proper reason, then they can do patrols and basically can ask (or get voluntold) to go up against gangs, intercept crimes, and fight other capes, just like the Protectorate, but aren't actually being trained as child soldiers."

"That seems like a lot of hoops to jump through just to get around the Youth Guard. Don't the PRT and Protectorate have special rules that apply to them for this kind of thing?" asked Mike. "I mean, the President was the one that formed the Protectorate and the PRT, surely they thought about this beforehand."

Megan shook her head while smiling at Mike's naivety. "Not really, but that's politics and a changing situation for you. The PRT/Protectorate was formed in the aftermath of Behemoth's first attack, but the groundwork was being put into place for several years before that, and there were a few years of growing pains where the Protectorate and the PRT got up to speed on things. Having what is now the Wards program was something that fell to the wayside as they got places under control."

Megan paused and thought for a moment. "… At least until they realized that they had hundreds of kids that wanted to either help out or didn't know how to use their powers and they had to do something with them. Plus, it's an appearance thing; if the PRT was caught sending kids into dangerous places then they would be in a lot of trouble, both with parents that have legal rights over their kids, as well as giving fuel to those that are outspoken about what and how the PRT does things. Doing it this way makes it so that it's the Wards that is willingly putting themselves into those situations. 'Course there are investigations, punishments to be handed out after the fact, and the fact that by joining the Wards you are basically already agreeing that you are willing to fight people like the Nine or the Endbringers to save others if it comes right down to it, but for the most part, the PRT does it's best to keep the kids out of trouble."

Mike went silent for a moment, contemplating. "… Doesn't seem like things are as they seem in the PRT huh? How do you know about all of this anyway?"

Megan huffed and took another drink of her coffee. "The Wards handbook is available to the public, but you start to learn and hear things both the higher you go and the longer you're are with the PRT. Director Armstrong in particular is a fan of my work, as I have no problems coming up with dozens of new costume ideas and ways for the Case 53's to present themselves, unlike some others that I won't mention here."

At this, Mike frowned. It was something of an open secret that he didn't like the case 53's. The clearest reason that Megan had gotten was that he didn't like their inhumanness (or monstrousness as she'd heard it been said a few times) and how fundamentally different they were from 'normal' people, and the same went for several types of non-standard capes.

Oh, he had no problem working in the background in PR for them, though he never went the extra mile either.

It was to be expected from a person like Mike, considering…

"Weld in particular was very happy with what I managed to get made for him," Megan continued. "Though I must give credit to the Tinker that figured out how to make that plastic mesh; nothing else would have worked out quite as well."

"Yeah, good for Arachne," Mike mutters. "Though… it's not all true, right? About the whole Wards thing?"

"… Mostly true," Megan conceded. "Like everything else, there is a difference between what is expected, and reality. In this case, everything goes by a department by department basis, and a Youth Guard rep basis. Most know that the Wards need to learn to fight, so most reps tend to look the other way; same goes with the Departments. Some do everything by the book, but train the Wards in their civilian identities, while others all but blatantly teach the kids the quickest way to introduce someone's face into the ground. Some Guard reps uphold all the rules, while some of the Protectorate Ward leaders do the minimum required to get a Ward up to speed, then leave it all up to them afterwards, stepping in only if needed."

"… okay," Mike began. "While this does sound terrible and like something that needs to be fixed, from your tone, I can't help but feel that there's something else that's bothering you about this."

Megan glanced away and watched the passing foot traffic outside the café's fence. On one hand, she didn't really like Mike, on the other…

It would be good to talk to someone else about this, rather than her usual cluster of people.

"… I had a report cross my desk for finalizing some costumes; several of them, actually. The profiles stated that none of them were over the age of eight."

Mike frowned. "Well… that sucks, but at least in the Wards they'll get help in using their powers, not to mention the paycheck. Get fast-tracked into a new school if needed, good healthcare, a better deal than most jobs, at least."

"No, not really a bad deal when you think about it," Megan conceded softly. "It just… eight-year-olds shouldn't be having to worry about things like this. The Wards program doesn't account for age beyond powers; if you have something that can be used in the field, the PRT can and will push you towards using your powers in that way, even if you are underage. And while working as a Ward is voluntary, the PRT can make your life miserable if you fight them on everything."

"That, is something that I don't believe," Mike stated. "Sure, with the way things are on the villain front I can see the PRT getting them out young, but eight?"

"There is a Shaker 9 that would disagree with you; she was doing patrols when she was ten. Sure, she was under the tutelage of a member of the Protectorate the entire time, but she was out on the streets."

"No way, people would have talked about that."

Megan nodded. "It happened. She's twelve now and patrolling with a teammate instead of someone from the Protectorate. Part of me thinks it's a position of power thing, that the Wards don't understand that they don't have to listen to everything that someone older than them tells them to do, that they don't know yet that adults don't know everything. Not to mention that kids grow up being taught to listen to adults and people in positions of power over them."

"That's… oddly specific," Mike said slowly with a frown. "And quite a shift in the conversation."

"Not really," Megan replied with a shrug. "There are more than a few adults that happily toss their kids into the Wards program, or tell them that joining it is for the best, just so that they don't have to worry about controlling their kid, and their kid's power, themselves. Same goes for other everyday things, like parents telling their kids not to talk to certain types of people, shaping them into future racists, or football fanatics."

Mike leaned back in surprise, "What's wrong with football?"

"Can you name why you follow a particular team? Is it because of the team's morals, the good they do for others? Or is it a connection to color, or maybe a link to family gatherings? Because your parents enjoyed watching it? Do you do it because you enjoy it, or because you are just following in the footsteps of what someone showed you how to act when you were younger?"

For several moments, Mike stared, seemingly disoriented by the barrage of questions.

"… I like cracking open a beer and relaxing in front of the TV."

Megan rolled her eyes. "A very male answer, fitting across the ages. And I hazard a guess that is something that your father did as well?"

When Mike frowned at her words, Megan continued, heedless of what he'd thought. Maybe this would get him to stop flirting with her.

"One way or another, how adults act around kids influence them. I am no stranger to this effect as well. One would think that they would gain experience through age, to remember to act differently, to not repeat the actions of the past. But it seems that age does not equate with wisdom."

"I don't know about that," Mike countered. "It's not like most kids understand how the world works, or bother to think things through. Just take a look at half of the Independents that are under twenty; they make it, maybe a year? Two, if they're are lucky? Seems like the ones that Trigger later in life tend to survive longer, or at least are smart enough to team up with others."

"Which is why we need better teaching of things like that, not just for the Wards, but for the Rogues and Independents, more than just the standard training about how to deal with the police, EMTs, and what do to after you've stopped a crime. The PRT is very much like a parent, teaching their 'kids' the big picture things, the ways on how not to embarrass themselves or the PRT, as well how to follow the laws and rules of the land, yet never provide teachings for all the little social aspects, leaving them to figure out things on their own."

"… I'll be honest here; I'm not following this reference."

Megan sighed and snatched her coffee off the table, holding it close with both hands.

"I'm saying that the PRT focuses too much on PR, and not enough on making things happen. The Nine, for example: the two biggest threats? Bonesaw and the Siberian. The rest are just crazy people that are smart enough to keep their heads down when someone stronger than them passes by. If we could figure out a weakness of the Siberian, and then find a way to contain Bonesaw, then the Nine would cease to exist overnight."

"I doubt it's that easy; the Nine have been around for years, if it was a simple matter of taking them out, then it would have happened already."

"It actually is. Aside from the Siberian, each member of the Nine could be taken out by Eidolon, with Bonesaw being a danger only because of what she could do. Even Crawler would be easy if you planned for him."

Mike huffed. "Crawler, easy. Sure."

"Sure, just find a power that destroys things outright. Or, if you can't find that, someone like Narwhal could hold him in place, then you'd use something like hundreds of gallons of containment foam and concrete to seal him up; or hell, I'm sure that there's a few Grey Boy bubbles that we could drop him into."

"And what, just keep him around?"

"Or throw him at Behemoth," Megan said with a shrug. "I doubt that he could survive that. Tough he may be, but I don't think his regeneration powers won't stand up to exploding from the inside."

"… and on the off chance that he does?"

Mike threw a hand up to ward off Megan's glare. "Hey! Just asking. He is very tough after all."

"Then we throw him into the Sun."

"… Okay then," Mike said slowly. "You've obviously put some thought into this."

"Obviously," Megan parroted. "Did you forget what my job is? PR. Public Relations; I may not be a field agent, but I've read countless reports on powers, villains, heroes, and everything that could be related to them, all for the sole purpose of trying to figure out the best way to spin it so that the public doesn't panic. If you knew half the shit I've seen…"

Megan shook her head, and turned away, gazing out into the street.

"And… how does this whole thing relate to parents?" Mike asked. "Because that's the part where you lost me."

"… did your parents ever tell you that they knew better?"

Mike paused for a moment, eyes looking at Megan warily. "Yes," he drew out. "That they did."

"Then they also tried, at some point, to tell you what to think, how to act, and what was best for you. Most parents do this because they have their child's best interests at heart, and have learned a few things in their lives, but at least some of those things they did were based upon their own experiences: things that shaped them, gave them prejudices, ones that they then would try and propagate them onto you."

"Yes, part of what you were taught likely included things like how not to be an asshole, how to say please and thank you, how to do good in school/life, and how to act in a way that doesn't leave you alone all your life. But then there were the other things, the things that your parents had feelings for, and then pushed onto you because that's what they wanted you to do and act, rather than providing the tools and support to make their own decisions."

"So the analogy here is that the PRT is teaching the Wards that it's their way that's the best," Mike half asked.

"In blunt words, yes," Megan confirmed. "Every parent fails in some way; it may be a minor thing, a failed teaching in how to act, or just in making sure their kid knows their way around life. How many parents do you see just letting their kids act out over the stupidest of things? Or arguing with them over it? Things that could be solved if the parents just talked about them? How much of it could be solved if they realized that just because they're older, doesn't mean that their experiences line up with kids'. Or that they should just listen to them when they say, 'because I told you so'."

"I sense bitterness there, on the subject of parents," Mike stated dryly, as he took a sip of his coffee.

Megan huffed at the man. "I just so happen to think things would just be better if you had to take regular classes on how to be a parent, even while you are having the kids. No one really teaches anyone how to be one after all, so they end up doing their best and screw up in the end somehow."

"Really?" Mike asked. "Same goes for your own parents? At least, that's what I'm guessing this is coming from."

"… it was… more complicated than teenage rebellion with mine," Megan said after a moment. "They weren't ever really my parents, not in the typical way. But yes, what they wanted, and what they tried to teach me didn't quite mesh with how I discovered the world worked, which drove a wedge between us. But let's just say that… in the end, we didn't see eye-to-eye on many things, and things ended on bad terms. Still, despite what they all said about my choices and about my decisions, here I am, safe, sound, and perfectly healthy. While their lives pretty much got wrecked by their actions in the end."

"That makes two of us, as my parents were dicks as well, and I turned out fine," Mike said with a soft smile. "I've got a good-paying job, nice hours, benefits, and I get to hang out with some lovely ladies." At this, Mike winked at Megan, prompting her to roll her eyes.

"There were all sorts of things said about me growing up," Mike continued. "Yet, I avoided all the heavy drinking, the late-night partying, the mid-life crisis (so far), even to this day. One might even call me one of those 'good guys,' you know, the ones that finish last? Hah, I don't even have any driving tickets!"

'That's because you're smarter than the average Fallen follower, and likely under orders from the Crowleys to serve as a mole by not doing anything stupid.' Megan thought.

It was a funny thing, trusting people. You have to make and accept what they show and tell you, never knowing what darkness lurked with them.

Your next-door neighbor, the same one that would make a cake for anyone's birthday, could be making bombs in his bedroom in an attempt to kill the lizard people that had taken over town hall, and you could never know. Because the best, or worst as the case may be, ones of those types, were the ones that firmly believed in their cause, the unshakable ones, despite whatever was thrown their way, and were willing to do anything to further it.

Even if it took years.

What was even funnier however, was that if Mike (real name Dwayne) knew the whole truth of who she was and what she'ddone, Megan figured that he would shit his pants on the spot.

Or drop to his knees and start worshipping her.

It was always tough to tell which it would be, especially with people like the Fallen followers. On one hand, mass murder of what many would view as a sub-group of humans, rightly so considering that they were clones. Still, just like they Fallen themselves, not all of the Vat-Born were mindless brutes.

At least he hasn't killed anyone (in the city that was) since joining the office nearly five years ago.

Though it was hard to track his movements when he left to go and scratch that itch every few months. He was at least smart in that regard, going off-grid as he did. And she still didn't know if he was just a psychopath or got off on killing.

As far as Sentinel had dug up, Dwayne was the loner nerd in high school, leaving him mostly friendless for years, until he went to college.

Once there he used his growing computer skills to climb the academic ranks but was still subject to bullying not that uncommon to someone of that era and position. This changed when one Drew Jones vanished from college.

As one of the biggest bullies to the man that would become Mike, some pointed their fingers at the college student, citing revenge, but to no avail. With no body to be found and no evidence located, Dwayne slid past any sort of punishment, yet still dropped out of collage within a year.

Most suspiciously, this just so happened to occur around the same time that there was a surge of recruiting at his college for followers of the Endbringer cults.

Then he disappeared for a few years, reemerging inside the PRT offices as a new hire.

While he managed to hide from the PRT, data mining was something of a specialty for Megan, even if it wasn't something she used much for her current job.

Blind luck, really, Megan herself was looking into the same files as 'Mike' was, prompting her to better investigate his past (something else she was good at) and uncovering the truth.

Whoever had made his fake ID was top-notch, and the man had seemingly dedicated himself to the new personality. But it wasn't backstopped, and it all fell apart when she checked out the physical records.

The ones that didn't actually exist.

From there it was a simple matter to bounce the data over to Sentinel and Watchdog and watch them (via guiding them with carefully laid leads, as the methods she used weren't exactly… legal) slowly circle around the mole, cutting off any chance of escape.

Downside, they were slowly circling him.

In terms of skill, Mike wasn't anything special: he had a good grasp of color-coordination, was a fast reader, was a team-player, and was solid when it came to sifting through the public data, but he wasn't unique. Department 46 had dozens of men and women just like him, and the only reason that he had climbed the ranks as he did was because of his time spent working within the PRT.

It wouldn't be the first time that a gang, villain, or agency placed a mole within the PRT's ranks, it wasn't even the first time that someone with links to the Fallen had gotten inside (though Mike was one of the few ones that had managed to hide his nature for years, even while taking trips out of a town to kill people). Given the size of the PRT, it was actually depressingly common to hear about a worker getting jail time for selling info to villains.

For Megan however, it was happening far, far too slowly with Mike; as not a day went by that he didn't try and flirt with her.

Worst part was that it was nothing really that forward; a compliment here, asking to go out for drinks there, a date request at times. And while Megan wanted nothing more than to fire the man just to get him to shut up, she couldn't just do it because…

1st: While it was annoying her, the amount of interaction that they had on a weekly basis was really rather slim, largely due to the fact that they didn't really tend to cross paths until work actually brought them together.

2nd: she'd yet to hear anything else from more than a few other female co-workers, all single as well, as he kept it clean to the married/in-relationship ones, making it seem just like he was having 'harmless' fun.

3rd: you don't just throw away potentially good intel, because why and how the fuck did the Fallen get a mole into the high-ranking Public Relations division of the PRT?

And most damning, D: she was a woman in power, high ranking enough that she could have him fired very easily. But after working in public perception, in one form or another, for as long as she had, Megan knew that such an action could easily come back to bite her.

Men and their delicate egos. Even after all the years of civilization, some of just couldn't stand not being the top dog over a female.

Plus, she was a big-picture type of girl; Mike was 'harmless' enough to her that she would/could bear his flirting while there were questions being asked about what he was doing.

Questions that the PRT intel groups wanted answered, and while Megan could just make him go away just fine by herself, then that would open up a whole new slew of questions.

It would be one thing if it looked like he was going to get away, or if she figured that the PRT had nothing more to be gained from the man still being alive (as she would always plant what needed to be planted), but then there were the Oaths that she followed.

Sentinel just liked to take things slowly, and he wasn't that bad of a 'source' on the Crowleys, even given that he was entirely too confident in his fake IDs. Someone that knew what they were doing would have had a bolt plan, and would have based at least a few things on reality rather than making up everything.

Like she did.

Mike had done nothing of the sort. Maybe he had schizophrenia? And really thought that he was 'Mike?' Possibly, he certainly acted the sort at times. Yet he always sought her out to ask her about things, what news she'd heard of, if she knew anything new about what was happening in the PRT involving this or that, seemingly to simply learn what he needed to get higher in the bureaucracy that was the PRT.

Of course, Megan was using that to her advantage, giving him all sorts of knowledge about the PRT and the Protectorate, but all things that people could either figure out themselves, or ask and get answered at a press conference.

However, she wasn't the only one that Mike was doing this with, and while most of what he'd gotten was 'harmless' (as much as having a mole inside your organization was, it was still a major breach of InfoSec after all), there were some concerns within Sentinel about the Fallen gaining some type of advantage.

Something that Megan doubted would happen, even with what she'd talked about today. Most of it was watercooler talk, stuff that would only be useful to rally idiots against the PRT. The truth was that she had slightly over-exaggerated some things: like Vista, she had asked to join patrols, and had to jump through several hoops just to do that.

But disinformation had an advantage: whenever and wherever the Fallen had decided to regurgitate the info supplied by Mike, Sentinel would know that there was a link back to him.

Plus, every time he stopped to talk to her, she was hacking his phone for the hell of it. That alone made it easy to track what he was doing before and after he talked to people.

(For example, a quick check while he had walked away showed that he had been tracking her movements for nearly two weeks now, something she had a real problem with.)

And then there was this entire conversation; while Megan did in part believe in most of it, she was overselling it, taking it over the top, in hopes that it would freak him out and drive him off.

At least for a bit. Because, come on, she was basically ranting and going off the deep end like one of those crazy conspiracy theorists at this point.

(There were still a few nuggets of truth locked away in what she had said however, it just wasn't quite as bad as she made it out to be.)

Instead, he was letting her talk, adding in a comment here and there, just to keep her going. All the while trying to hack her phone.

He wouldn't get anything worthwhile out of it, aside from being able to follow her, as she had hacked his phone months ago. But the implications were unsettling.

It spoke of an increase of interest in her, something she would not stand for.

Her Oaths prevented her from simply killing the man and making it look like an accident (no matter how much he deserved it), and Sentinel had rules and legal proceedings to follow, so they could dot their i's and cross their t's; but if Mike thought he could make moves on her (to what end, she didn't know; killing her? Seducing her? Getting more information from her?), she would take things into her own hands, Sentinel be damned.

Megan never liked the Fallen, never liked anything religious in the first place; it was far too easy for people to twist things like that around, to turn people against one another over an unprovable idea.

Humans as a species were far too fickle and self-centered to exist peacefully with multiple styles of religions, unless they were all forced to coexist by said religions making it so (even then, things could be iffy considering… humans were humans).

Not that it was (entirely) the religions themselves fault, as much as the followers; even without something to grasp onto, people still would fight over anything and everything.

And even then, there would still be people like Dwayne, who wished for nothing more than to do something that made them happy.

Regardless of the cost to others.

Despite this, there were some benefits to religions, a sense of security, having rules to follow, lessons to be taught via history; but again, humans being human tended to ruin things.

And no matter how much she wanted to grab some people by the shoulder and shake them, she couldn't, some people refused to follow any path but the one they decided to follow, and Megan couldn't -wouldn't – force things upon them like things were forced upon her.

Which was another Oath, one that helped stay her hand against Mike. The rules and laws of the land said that he needed to be brought to justice. As such, with both her Oaths in place, as well as the eyes of the law on him, Mike got to live.

For now.

Megan had to chuckle however at what Mike said, despite what she really thought. "Sorry," she apologized. "Old traumas, and a bit of personal beliefs spilled in there. I know that there is more going on than what I'm seeing, but I joined the PRT because I believed in what they were doing. I may not be on the frontlines of fighting capes, but I'm damn good at what I do. I just hate seeing people being stupid because they don't bother to stop and think things through; and having worked as long as I have, I've seen plenty of idiots, both inside the PRT and not."

"Yet despite what the PRT has done up to now, I can't leave; I've invested far too much of my life into it. And while I wish that I could make the changes it needs, I know that they will never come to pass without some other major changes happening first. So I stick around, for the little guys, the kids, the Independents that fall under the umbrella, to make sure that someone has their an eye out for their best interests, and not just that of their parent organization."

"That explains why you are always offering to help with the Wards then?" asked Mike, as if he needed the clarification. He was also checking his phone, Megan almost wanted to say that was because she had scared him off and that he was looking for an out.

Truthfully? He was likely checking to see if his hack had worked.

"In a way," Megan agreed. "My personal life and upbringing has influenced me, and there were many things I missed out on due to the actions of others, and from things far outside of my control. So yes, I want to help them, and I will help them."

"Each to our own then," Mike added, to which Megan hummed.

"…If you asked me about this," began Megan after a few moments of silence. 'Then I can ask you about it."

"Why did you join the PRT, Mike?"

Mike blinked at her and opened his mouth to reply….

Brzzzz

On the table, Megan's phone rattled, and kept rattling, drawing the eyes of the pair upon it.

"Must be important," Mike commented as Megan reached for it.

Of course it was, Megan thought, why else would it…

Oh.

"… Something wrong?" Mike asked after a minute of waiting.

Megan replied without taking her eyes off the screen. "Public Trigger happened in a school."

Mike winced. "Ouch, rough, but… not uncommon."

Megan hummed tunelessly, as she read over the report about Brocton Bay, and quite possibly…

A new Dreamer.

… Well, it seemed that Mike's time would come sooner, rather than later.

Megan hated loose ends, after all.


"There's a point where it tips

There's a point where it breaks

There's a point where it bends

And a point we just can't take

Anymore~"

Megan let the door to her apartment shut behind her and shuffled the folders around in her arms in her attempt to place her keys on the counter next to the door.

Her apartment was a stylist's showing of a modern place, from the colors of the walls (a soft shade of light blue) to the furniture itself (matching sets of grey and assortments of other colors). Even the kitchen was filled with some of the newest appliances to leave the factory floor in under five years.

In fact, if it wasn't for the little bits out of place things (a mug here, a magazine there, a few pictures that didn't match the décor) one would have easily believed that the apartment was a showcase home.

With the door opening right next to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen, Megan could see her entire apartment; from the fridge, to the tv, and the short hallway that lead to the bedrooms.

It wasn't quite an open floor plan, given the counter/half-wall that separated part of the living room from the kitchen, but other than that the whole place was rather spartan in terms of what it contained.

Megan bypassed the kitchen and living rooms, heading down the short hall, heading to the 'guest' room, still singing softly.

"There's a line that we'll cross

And there's no return

There's a time and a place

No bridges left to burn

Anymore~"

Not that there was a bed in it, the wall of computer equipment and screens taking up one side would have sleeping rather impossible, and that wasn't even counting the shelves and other storage containers in the room.

She didn't have a chair, not that it bothered Megan, she could stand for hours, easily, and given the placement of the few keyboards, sitting down would be counterproductive.

Once there, she began to trawl through the net, looking for any info she could find about what happened at a school called Winslow High.

For someone like Megan, pulling up data about the Brockton Bay Incident, from sources on the internet and PRT records she could get access to, as well as the ones she didn't have access to, was child's play.

She was sure to hide her data signature however; Dragon might have been shackled and there was no reason she would even do much as glance in her digital direction, but that was no reason to get complacent.

And even if she did (or was ordered to), Megan was sure that Dragon would fail to find anything, as she lacked kind of knowledge and skills that Megan had gained over her many years of life.

Dragon was outmatched in other areas as well, like hardware; still, for the time that it took to cover her tracks vs any chance of exposure, there was literally no reason not to do it.

Unlike most of her 'family,' she did not run headlong towards the objective thank you very much.

She'd always preferred the stealth approach, a byproduct of her history.

"We can't just wait with lives at stake

Until they think we're ready

Our enemies are gathering

The storm is growing deadly~"

PRT paperwork laid forgotten on a tabletop, sharing space with several half-finished clay models supported by stands. One had some of the basic colorings done: the light brown of the 'cloth' covering the shoulders and head then extended down like sashes to the back and sides, which had the main strokes of test paint placed as well.

A pity, she had finally found a good metallic purple for the main body that she wanted to try.

In no time at all, Megan had the complete data on the Incident, including the most recent reports, and was reading over them all.

… Action would need to be taken, they were actually considering Birdcaging the 'parahuman' responsible, which just would not do.

Lucky, with a bit of … creative reporting and data showing, Megan knew that she could file a report to the Director in charge of the Bay, outlining a different plan.

The city was dying, Megan could tell that at a glance, but the PRT wasn't willing to pull out in any case; they still wanted their image to stay in good standing, despite the facts showing that the city wouldn't last five years without the PRT mediating things, or the gangs really stepping things up for the comfort of the citizens.

Hell, even with the PRT staying, they were only keeping the city afloat enough for it to collapse economically.

With her position, no one would bat an eye if she filed a report, especially if it she 'posted' the report in a few days. It wasn't that uncommon for reports like that to show up after something like this happened; Megan in particular was well known for her opinions on public Trigger Events, and she was vocal enough about the younger generation of capes, as well as the lack of support of non-PRT capes in general, that even Director Piggot wouldn't bat an eye at seeing an report from her.

Brockton Bay. A city with one of the highest cape population per-capita in the United States. Three major gangs (although the Merchants only fit in that regard due to their drug peddling), a family-based Independent group, a Protectorate group that nearly had two full teams, and more than a dozen minor Rogues that worked the city's lesser areas.

Each of the gangs even presented a unique problem: There was Lung, who was well-known enough to warrant concern, the Empire 88, which had definite links to Gesellschaft, and the Merchants, who were major drug dealers and makers.

Lung was… Lung, fighting him off wasn't an option, which left the PRT in making moves with BBPD to shut down the ABB's street-level operations. Which was something that capes were both good at, and a waste of resources because most of them lacked the training need to perform such a role. They could make due, but the presence of a cape during a drug bust tended to draw out the other sides capes, which escalated things.

It was the same situation with the Merchants, as most of what they did largely fell under the preview of the BBPD. Unlike the ABB, however, BB, the few Merchant capes did everything from fighting over drug houses, to just taking joy rides in the city.

As for the Empire, they were the most active in the city, with capes doing semi-regular patrols, and doing the same with recruitment drives. With the amount of capes at their disposal, coupled with a competent leader and a healer, the Empire was the one most thought of as being the biggest threat to the city.

However… it was the Merchants that held that title: as the city could be falling apart around them, but as long as they were able to get their fixes, they were happy. Add that to the sheer reckless that many of them showed, meant that it was a full-time job just keeping them contained.

… Megan could have practically removed them from the city within a week, she reflected as she continued her song.

Lung could be dealt with an simple ambush, hitting him hard and fast enough to overwhelm him before he ramped up. The Empire would fall under the same tactics, only the aim would be to force them to collapse their territory into something smaller and therefore easier to destroy in one (or several if needed) swift hits. The Merchants were the ones that would take the longest, as destroying and tainting their drugs to cripple them from the inside would take a bit more patience, but it was doable.

From that it was a simple matter of making sure that the BBDP and the PRT ENE kept the advantage, and that any kinds of escalation was slammed into hard to prevent the status quo from flipping too much back the other way.

And she would let the self-titled 'heroes' take care of the rest.

"Now it's time to say goodbye

To the things we loved

And the innocence of youth~"

Unfortunately, the Grandmaster had invoked the Oaths, a set of rules and guidelines to be followed by those of the Clan of the Moonlit Cradle.

The trick was, these Oaths were voluntary; Megan could break them at any time, as could all the others. But that was the point.

Control, self-discipline, over one's actions and decisions, that's what the Oaths were all about. It was what stopped Megan from arranging an 'accident' to occur to Mike, or any other person that broke her Code.

Not to say that she, hadn't killed anyone since taking the Oaths, it was just that they needed to let the rules of the land take charge first.

And when they failed, when they didn't step up to stop all the horrors that lurked under the surface of civilization, especially now? With parahumans running amuck?

… well, there was a reason that some ended up dead. People like Gavel could only be tolerated for so long before something needed to happen. After seeing what String Theory's tech did to Tāwhirimātea, coupled with her actions using said tech in offering 'safety' from being her next randomly selected target, and later making the threat to knock the moon out of its orbit, she had escalated to the point of NOPE.

Which was sad really, half of her tech used parts and power sources that were (relatively) replicable and could have given birth to a fusion powerplant by 2009, with the possibility of cold fusion (with some… outside help) happening in 2014 if had she gotten the right connections and hadn't gone straight for the Mad Scientist route.

'Course, this was all a hypothetical model done by Tin Mother, so it was open to interpretation of what would really happen.

Parts of her Oaths stated that she would protect those that needed protecting, which was one of the reasons that she had joined the PRT, and later on, worked so hard for the Wards, Rogues, and Independents.

And now her services were required elsewhere.

A warble sound in the room, and Megan extended her arm as if to allow a bird to land on it.

Something the size of a medium-sized dog floated from its resting place on a shelf, gently landing its semi-rounded body onto her arm.

Largely grey, with lines of gold running over it, the eye would be drawn to the two half-sunken cylinders implanted on the sides of its 'head,' but much of peoples' focus would be the one in the center of its 'face'.

There, a circle with an elongated T rested, with the top part of the T extending past the range of the circle. The way it moved, one could count it as an eye, despite only having superficial similarity.

"What do you think Bo'nox?" Megan asked. "A trip to Brockton Bay seems in order."

Her companion lifted itself up from her arm, its two 'tendrils,' almost like what might find on a squid, twisting about as it floated through the air, its 'face' moving back and forth to track the many screens.

The Shade gave a mix between an organic warble and a mechanical beep.

"… Thought as much… though I wonder, will this new Dreamer find themselves lost on the path like those few before them?"

"Or will she arise, and take her place among the stars?"

Bo'nox floated upwards as Megan moved away, following her as she went to the same wall from whence he came. There, she reached out and grasped a odd-shaped red container, like a distorted teardrop, before slowly turning it over to look at it.

"With a doubt in our minds

Why we chose this life

And at times we can't help wondering..."

The wall where the container was had a collection of items, some were obviously guns, though the materials of a few seemed more organic. Others were something else.

Like the one that Megan now reached a hand out to run her fingers along.

A slab of white-silver with a cutting edge of black; longer than her entire torso, it rested on the wall, held in place by heavy bolts. It was a sword, its hilt made of the same white-silver metals as the back edge of the blade. A set of rings, one far larger than the other, inlaid with gold, rested above where one would grip, from there the blade was connected to the hilt with an gold array, almost forming what one could say was an artistic eye.

Most would consider such a blade to be unwieldy, as the size and weight would prevent anyone but a Brute from using it effectively.

But Megan had become skilled in its use over the years. Training and experience were good teachers for Paracesis, the Sentient Slayer.

Such a history the blade had, both bloody and streaked in death, as with all Tenno weapons. Others were faster, quicker, some could destroy an entire wall with a swing, could leave a trail of poison, or sever armor just as easy as flesh, but few bore the same marks as the Paracesis.

It was a weapon of war, the Paracesis, unforgiving in design, brutal in execution, it's blade seemingly hungering for blood.

Megan let her fingers run over the merge point of the blade, where the black and white-silver met, as the tone of her Clan's adopted song shifted into its final notes, reflecting the Paracesis' own origins.

"Were we born to fight and die?

Sacrificed for one huge lie?

Are we heroes keeping peace?

Or are we weapons pointed at the enemy so someone else can claim a victory?"


Welcome to the Nexus

Currently viewing: Tin_Mother discussion Stream.

Please follow all terms and rules when posting.

Stream starting in one minute.

Praise the Red Text, our savior and messenger of our lord.

Yah! I'm early!

Yet!

Well the praise guy is here again.

Whats this one about again?

!Time.

Yeet!*

I managed to meet Lucid the Mod last Meet-up, he was nice!

Stream stating in...

3

Yeeeeeet!

Here we go!

2

Made it!

Can we stop that Yeet guy? Its all he ever says

1

… A voice in the night, a half-remembered dream, rising to the surface of your consciousness, from backbrain to forebrain, a sound to a vision, pullin' up and... knockity-knock. Hello, Dreamers. You all hearin' me in the here and now?

Hey Tin Mama!

Hello!

Shes back!

Yeet!

Yes! I caught a stream!

Hah hah, good to hear you Dreamers, it's been a while, hasn't it?

No need to say anythin' through, I'm just a hand in yours, a voice for your speechless, a bedtime story for the sleepless. The name's Tin Mother, you might know me as one of the PHO moderators but oh am I so much more than that, and I got somethin' to say, sweet things.

Ah shit.

Love you Tinny!

When's the art contest again?

Loot drops?

Mac-10?

Endbringer attack?

Poka dots!

A Nightmare is coming for you, one that will rock your world to the very foundations.

Somethin's out there, Dreamers. Tin Mother can feel it. Pulling at her waters like the Moon pulls the tides. Something big, and something old, oh so very Old. Yet it knows us, has seen us, it's been watching for so long, that it itself might have even forgotten for how long it has been.

What will it say, I wonder, the day it finally steps up to our door and knocks?

Rap

Tap

Tap

At our chamber door-

Only this and nothin' more.

So… will you live the Dream Dreamers? Or get carried away by the waves of that bright shapeless Ocean?

Profound, yet terrifying.

Is it going to be another Endbringer?

This isn't ominous at all, but its Tin Mother so expected.

Mr Poe, is that you?

Yeet?

In a world like this, it can be hard to have hope, when the man owns the system and the system serves to save the man, from us. But I'm here, Dreamers. To help you pierce that false fog. We'll chase it away with acts of beauty and - succeed or fail - face the foe, eyes open. As someone once said: If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.

So… how has everybody been? Heh, I know how you've all been, and I know what 'ou all want, so lets get started.

For those waiting for the next Meet-up, I got good news and bad. The bad is we're gonna have to move locations, the good is…

You have left the Stream: 'WallisHalberd'


A/N: is this too dialog heavy? It feels too dialog heavy to me, and my god over 10000 words! Gah! My brain!

Really though, the entire convo in the beginning refused to not be written that way, no matter what I did it ended up circling back to the same subject!

I mean, sure, it feels like an organic conversation that anyone could have (and given what little we know about the subject it 'works' fine), doesn't mean that I feel it fits.

What was supposed to be a chapter on introducing a new character and her job (and that little bit about the mole), turned into some of a critique on the Wards and how the PRT treats them.

Given that we have limited knowledge about the inner workings of the PRT (even taking into account the handbook), I do feel that things could work out that way, given expectations vs reality and legal reasonings. After all, the only in-depth look at how the Wards operate that we get is in the quests (limited at best) and in BB, both of those situations are very unlikely reflective of the entire Wards program.

this of course doesn't stop me from glaring at that part and hating it.

I'm sure some of you will have ideas on how to make this shorter, but after a certain point I just threw my hands up and walked away to let it write itself and figured that I'll use it as character exposition.

Still I'm keeping it as is; the time that it took me to do was far too much for me to toss it away.

Oh, and because I forget to say so here, the gun the Nova used was a Stradavar, and the side stories are things that are happening in the background; Taylor isn't going to run into a Warframe anytime soon.