A/N: Chap 9 and 10 review responses are on my forums like normal. I also made some corrections in both chapters, because while typos are one thing, actually mixing up OC names is a boneheaded editorial mistake that legitimately needs to be fixed. And now-I present you a chapter in which the authorities are not idiotic, mustache-twirling villains.
Chapter Eleven: The Price of Coffee Beans
Assistant Director Dan Seneca stepped into the secured teleconference room with his laptop tucked under his left arm and two cups of coffee held precariously in the other. Given the cost of coffee beans, he'd long ago given up on the good stuff and now considered himself lucky to get a cup of anything hot and reasonably caffeinated.
He set up quickly, aware of the tension in the air. He strongly suspected he was going to be witness to a hero getting chastised at best, possibly dismissed at worst. The news all weekend had already crucified the Seattle PRT and Protectorate because of the massacre at the Industrial West area. But then to find out that the Winslow Simurgh was not only at Bayview West, but that a Protectorate member let her walk out unscathed?
Granted, Nutcracker wasn't technically Protectorate, but the people didn't care.
It was no surprise that Director Foote was in a mood when she called him in early that morning. The cape responsible for letting Hebert escape then compounded his error by skipping right over the Seattle Protectorate to bring in a strike team from Los Angeles.
Dan knew that Fume, Gasconade's second in the Seattle Protectorate office, despised the capes of the LA Protectorate with a passion. Having Nutcracker call in such a team to Seattle was a slap in the face for Fume and the entire Seattle Protectorate.
He'd just logged into his laptop when Foote stepped into the meeting, talking on her cell.
"…assure you that we are taking every step, Governor. Our first priority is and always has been public safety. In fact I'm stepping into a meeting right now with the Chief Director and Alexandria regarding the Bayview West Incident. Yes, I most certainly will. Thank you."
Patricia Foote, Director of the PRT West-Northwest Seattle, looked like a grandmother. Not the slim, elegant grandmother you'd see on a soap opera. More like someone's cynical view of Mrs. Clause. Wide-bodied to the edge of obesity, with a huge bouffant of white hair held in place with industrial-levels of hairspray that might very well have been bullet proof, Patricia wore easily five pounds of garishly colored costume jewelry around her neck and wrists in the form of necklaces and bracelets.
Given she made Assistant Director in the FBI before switching to the PRT in an era that very much made it twice as hard for a woman to succeed, Dan Seneca also knew the woman was as smart as a tack and tougher than nails. Possibly even tougher than the hair she took such perverse pride in.
"Well, I'm certainly earning my salary this morning," she said dryly. "Dan, how's the family? Still adorable?"
"Always, Director."
"Trust me, that'll change when your girl hits twelve to thirteen. They go from adorable to raging hormonal psychopath so quickly." She sounded wistful, as if she missed the psychopathy days.
He handed her the second cup. She stared a moment before beaming. "There's a reason Armstrong recommended you. Thank you!"
With his boss handled, Dan grabbed a separate wireless keyboard and mouse and began bringing up the room's teleconferencing system. The large wall monitor opposite them blinked and in moments they found themselves looking at Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown in the national DC PRT office.
"Good morning, Patricia, Dan," the Chief Director said primly.
She had a fairly deep, powerful voice for a woman. She had about a decade on Dan, but wore it better than pretty much anyone he knew. Hers was not a magazine beauty—rather, she projected a sense of strength and striking appearance that simply demanded respect from all those who met her. He always thought she should be in uniform, with lots of insignia on her lapels.
"Rebecca," Foote said with a casual nod. "How did the subcommittee meeting go this weekend? I wasn't able to catch the coverage."
"Senator Hollings has decided to restart her crusade to register and restrict Parahumans."
Dan sat up in alarm. "Really? I thought that movement died in committee last year."
"It did. Then the committee members heard about a telepathic murderer tearing her way out of Dragon's transport and later walking unhindered out of a hospital," Costa-Brown said dryly.
Oh. Dan almost felt sorry for Nutcracker.
The door to the conference room opened and the last two members of the meeting entered. Nutcracker himself looked thin, but the kind of thin that followed after rapid weight loss. He had loose skin around neck and jaw and carried himself as if he were still unaccustomed to his new weight. Otherwise he was unremarkable in appearance—thinning auburn hair, a weak chin and a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth. He was, as far as Dan was concerned, a one-trick pony. His post-cognition was very effective in solving crimes, but he had no other powers.
Technically he wasn't even Protectorate. Nutcracker was part of Watchdog, the Protectorate's internal Thinker group dedicated to protecting the United States from all Thinker-class parahuman threats both internal and external. They held the dual roles of protecting the country's economy and acting as an informal Internal Affairs division for the Protectorate. They answered directly to Alexandria, rather than Legend in New York.
Which probably explained why Alexandria herself was the last to enter, following a step behind Nutcracker.
Dan had only met Alexandria twice before today, and just like those two times, her entrance into the room was memorable. For one, she wore a tight body suit of charcoal gray that hugged the curves of a tall, athletic, frankly perfect female body. The helmet hid her nose and eyes behind a dark gray, pointed visor, but left the firm, unyielding line of her mouth exposed. In years of fighting Endbringers and villains, she'd only been injured once—in their first fight against the Siberian. It was that same fight that the world lost Hero, who, along with Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon, helped form the Protectorate in the first place.
In point of fact, the 'Code Zebra' Nutcracker invoked two nights ago was a direct reference to the unstoppable, naked, zebra-striped cannibal called the Siberian.
"Good morning, Becky," Alexandria said with a casual nod to the monitor. She smirked a little as she did so, and Dan couldn't help but wonder if it was a casual swipe at the Chief Director. The rumors among the ranks was that the two did not get along, which might explain why they were never seen in the same room, ever. Dan thought the rumor plausible—they were so alike he could see them like powerful, positive magnets repulsing each other just because of their many similarities.
If she was irritated, Costa-Brown didn't show it.
"Alexandria, Nutcracker. First, thank you Director Foote for hosting this inquest."
Inquest. Dan looked to watch as Nutcracker sat with a nervous glance at Alexandria. The heroine didn't appear concerned as she too sat, taking only a moment to flair out the stiff tinker-made fabric of her cape before doing so.
"Before we begin, I just want to make sure we're aware of the severity of what happened at Bayview West this last weekend," Costa-Brown continued. "Yesterday, the House subcommittee held a hearing about the, and I quote, 'Parahuman threat'. This morning, I received a summons to testify before the Joint Committee on Parahuman Affairs. I have a meeting with the AG before that, and a briefing with the President shortly after. The general consensus is that Hebert should be in the Birdcage right now. I am facing a great deal of angry incredulity that a wounded cape in a hospital, surrounded by PRT agents, was allowed by a Protectorate hero to walk out uncontested. With that, we can begin."
Director Foote nodded as Costa-Brown spoke, though it was less in agreement and more about acknowledging the points the younger woman made.
"Thank you, Chief Director," she said. "Nutcracker, while you are not technically a part of mine or Gasconade's team, you've been a valuable presence here in Seattle for several years now. I would like you to explain why you declared a Code Zebra."
Nutcracker cleared his throat. A lot. Finally, he nodded.
"I declared a Code Zebra, ma'am, because based on what I just witnessed in the Industrial Park area of West Seattle, I did not believe we had the resources to detain Hebert, even injured. The attempt would have at best led to a PR nightmare a thousand times worse than what we're seeing, and at worst an excessive loss of life of all of our personnel and any civilians caught in the way. By letting her go, the only casualty was a Tekiya foot soldier who made the mistake of trying to take her hostage because he thought the police and PRT were there for him. There was no way we could win once she woke, and so I let her go with the intent of following. I contacted Alexandria personally to request additional assistance to track her."
Dan found himself trying to wrap his head around what the man was saying.
"So, you're telling us that one of our top PRT containment teams would not have been sufficient to detain her?"
Nutcracker shook his head. "With respect, Assistant Director, I'm saying the entirety of the Seattle PRT and Protectorate combined do not have sufficient assets to take her into custody. You could have mustered all ten of our containment teams and every cape in the city, and she most likely would have won. All the numbers would have done was forced her to use lethal takedowns, like she did with the Russians."
Dan leaned back in his seat, a little numb from the other man's declaration. Alexandria sat silent, not even looking at her subordinate.
Patricia sipped her coffee. "Well, this sounds interesting. After you ran off with Fume's motorcycle, we were left with our own devices and determined the West Seattle massacre was a result of an intrusion of Elite against the Bratva. You're implying that's not the case?"
"Correct, Director. As you know, Console requested my presence at the old Industrial District West area of south Seattle. SAC Peabody and Gasconade both thought it was a gang battle between the Saltykovkoya Bratva and either the Tekiya, or possibly even the Elite. Close to a hundred heavily armed Russian soldiers were found dead on or around a converted research vessel, along with five members of the Saltykovkoya Bratva. There was evidence of a machine gun cannon on site.
"Police recovered nearly a hundred kidnapped teenagers from the hold of the ship. Almost all of them were subjected to repeated sexual assaults as part of an international sex slavery ring. PRT also found three of the Bratva permanently incapacitated, with two more dead. Upon arriving, my postcognition learned that what we saw was not the result of a gang battle. The Saltykokoya Bratva inadvertently kidnapped Taylor Hebert as part of the sex slavery ring. I don't know if she was assaulted prior to gaining consciousness, but as soon as she did regain consciousness, she killed them. All of them."
Dan started to process what that meant. Foote grasped it immediately.
"So, this one fifteen-year-old girl killed almost a hundred heavily armed soldiers and beat the snot out of five older, experienced capes all by herself? Dan, we've run into the Bratva before, having we?"
"Unfortunately, yes, Director. Saltykovkoya's master power especially proved…problematic. That was the battle where Tunguska blew Gasconade so far into the Sound it took him two days to reach the shore."
"Exactly," Nutcracker said. "Hebert wiped the floor with them. I'm still drawing up the diagrams and computer animation, but what my postcognition showed me was a young girl making one-shot, one-kill use of multiple handguns. She only killed with her power when she had to, otherwise she used whatever weapons were available. In fighting the Bratva capes, she displayed what I would have to call pre-cognition. She was able to predict where a teleporter would be accurately enough to shoot her. And then she displayed an almost Simurgh-level telekinesis and crushed the ship's tower like an aluminum can. She used the same power to rip open the steel doors where the Bratva held their captives."
"But she was at Bayview West, so she was hurt, right?" Dan asked. "That mean's she's not completely untouchable."
Nutcracker shook his head. "One of the captive girls triggered during the fight—Hebert was affected like all parahumans and momentarily fell into a trance. She was shot during that episode. Even so, she went on to kill several more soldiers before she freed the kids, and then healed an underage shooting victim."
This time even Alexandria sat up.
"Healed? You didn't mention that. This girl can heal too?"
"The PRT CMO was onsite and before she realized who we had, said Hebert was likely a six or seven on the Stansfield-Manton scale. Those were gut-shots she healed."
"So, you called a Code Zebra because she was threatening to kill everyone in the hospital?" Dan asked.
Nutcracker shook his head. "May I?"
He queried Foote, who merely nodded. With that permission, Nutcracker reached behind him to the second of the two wireless mouse and keyboard sets tied to the room's computer. He quickly brought up security camera footage of a hospital ER.
From the angle of the wide-screen camera, Hebert looked small and wounded. She was hunched over slightly and clutching a satchel over one shoulder.
Through the security camera's built-in microphone, they heard a young, scared-sounding voice speaking.
"If you let me walk out of here, nobody gets hurt. If you make me fight, people will die. I don't' want to go to the Birdcage. Like I told Dragon, I'd rather die first. Compared to that, killing you fuckers is easy."
Dan might not have been a Thinker, but he'd been in law enforcement enough to sniff out a lie. The girl was terrified, and was using bluster to try and avoid a fight.
"…If you surrender peacefully, you can have your day in court."
Dan's mind drifted a little through Nucracker's speech, but the girl's response definitely caught his attention. What he heard was utter, heart-breaking despair. It sounded like she was talking through tears.
"Day in court? People are fucking terrified of me. They don't care about guilt or innocence, they'd shove me into that hell just because of what I could do. No thank you. You're all liars. You fuckers killed my dad. I won't let you kill me. Now move, or I'll make you move."
"You didn't declare the Code Zebra to save our people, you declared it for her."
Alexandria's voice made Dan jump. There was no doubt, no question. She stated the fact, and having stated it Dan had no choice but to accept the truth of it.
Nutcracker evidently felt the same. "In part, yes. That said, I have no doubt she could easily have walked out no matter how much we threw at her. Most likely she would not have killed anyone, but by attempting to detain her we would continue to feed into her very justifiable feelings of persecution. Instead, I let her go and followed her ghost at a safe distance. While most people's echoes fade after a few days, Hebert's ghost is nearly incandescent to my power. I imagine if when I get to Brockton Bay, I'll be able to see her echoes with ease."
"Please continue, Nutcracker." That came not from Foote, but from Costa-Brown.
"Yes, Director. While the bureaucracy turned to get me a strike team, I followed her to a motel. She slept in a stolen car, then broke into a guest room for clothes. Unfortunately, the family arrived as she was doing so."
Dan hadn't heard that at all. "Are they okay?"
"The son got an eyeful when they walked in on her changing, but she didn't hurt them," Nutcracker said. "In fact, the mother dressed Hebert's gunshot wound without compulsion. Hebert locked them in their bathroom, took some food, a set of clothes, and a drink, and drove north. She tried to convince them she was heading to Mexico, but the mother informed me that Hebert was not a very good liar.
"Unfortunately, we lost her late that night."
Dan and Foote shared a look. "You just said she was incandescent to your power," Dan pointed out.
"She was. Until she was led into a café by a presence that left no trace to my power. Her ghost disappeared and was replaced a second later by another that looked identical for thirty minutes, before that presence faded. In that half hour, I lost her."
Costa-Brown directed a scathing look not at Nutcracker, but at Alexandria. "Chameleon?"
"Most likely," Alexandria agreed. "Which means the Elite has her."
"What a coincidence," Foote said dryly. "Esterella Corporation just sponsored a young woman for her healing license at UW Medical Center this morning by the name of Quintessence. Esterella is one of the Elite's cells, isn't it?"
This time Nutcracker looked surprised. "Let me guess. A seven on the Stansfield-Manton scale?"
"A six, actually," Foote said. She perched a pair of reading glasses on the end of her round nose and looked at her phone. "For 'non-intrusive healing of most trauma and illnesses. Licensee was found not to be effective on congenital issues or cancers.' I imagine if she could have cured cancer or replaced limbs, she'd be higher."
Dan couldn't help himself. "Damn."
Parahuman Healers were considered a national asset. Licensed healers even more so. For this girl to have so many powers…
"What is this girl?" Dan couldn't help but ask. "Telepathy, telekinesis? We saw that blaster power in Montana against Narwhal. Precognition? And now healing? How can she have so many powers?"
"She's likely a Trump of some kind," Alexandria explained. "Quite often when one cape is nearby the trigger event of another, the new cape has a trump ability. Otherwise, she's an unusually powerful grab-bag cape. It's not unheard of it. That's one of the reasons I'm sending Nutcracker to Brockton Bay."
There were only a handful of capes that seemed to have so many powers. Among them were Eidolon, the most powerful cape behind Scion himself, and Glastig Uaine, a cape who could rip powers out of other capes for her own use, or harvest the powers of capes who were already dead. Eidolon ran a Protectorate Team in Houston and was one of the Triumvirate. Glastig Uaine was in the Birdcage voluntarily, since no one could have defeated her, possibly not even Eidolon himself.
"What do we do?" Dan finally asked.
He looked around the table from face to face. It was Foote who finally answered.
"We do nothing. Cape politics, Dan. There's nothing to publicly link Quintessence to Hebert. If we unmask her, we risk the Endbringer truce."
The Endbringer Truce. When Dan jumped ship from the flailing FBI to the PRT, that was one of the first and most important lessons drilled into him. The truce was why parahuman gangs were allowed to exist in the first place. Because only Parahumans had a chance to hold off Endbringers. The only reason any part of Seattle still stood was because of the twenty-five villain capes who joined the local heroes to slow Leviathan down before the Triumvirate arrived. Half of those villains died in the process. More than half of all the capes fighting died.
"If nothing else, we now have a healer in Seattle for the very first time," Nutcracker said. "And if I recall, Assistant Director, we have a new Ward on the list for emergency parahuman healing. Perhaps…we should take advantage of a bad situation?"
Dan found himself staring at the post-cog Thinker with a gaping jaw. "You're suggesting we take Ashwinder to the Winslow Simurgh for healing?"
Nutcracker shrugged. "Since I've lost her, the most recent intelligence we have is that Hebert is fleeing south to Mexico. No, I'm suggesting you take her to Quintessence, whenever that young cape starts offering her services publicly."
Before anyone could say anything else, Alexandria cleared her throat.
"For the record, Becky, Patricia, Nutcracker was in communication with me within minutes after the Bayview West incident. I approved the call—based on the Industrial Park incident, a fight in the hospital would have been a disaster. At the end of the day, he is Watchdog."
Costa-Brown made a point of shuffling paper. "I should have been informed of this sooner."
"Agreed, and my apologies," Alexandria said without a hint of regret. "To you as well, Patricia. It was a quickly evolving situation. Regardless, I stand by Nutcracker's decision, and have authorized him as the head of Watchdog to take over the Hebert investigation, both here and at Brockton Bay. I'm sure you'll agree that the PRT ENE's lack of progress is a concern."
Costa-Brown pursed her lips before nodding. "Yes. I agree. Very well, thank you all for your time." The connection ended abruptly.
"So that's what I tell the Governor and Mayor?" Foote said. She didn't sound challenging, simply curious. "She's going to Mexico?"
"Yes," Alexandria said. "According to the last intelligence we had, Hebert was heading south to Mexico. I recommend we sell it, as well. APBs for the PRT, FBI and police for all points between here and the border. And in the meantime, we will keep our eyes on this Quintessence. The moment she gives us an excuse…I'm only minutes away if I push myself. Not even that if Strider's available to teleport me."
With a final nod to Foote and Dan, the heroine stood and walked calmly out of the secure room. Nutcracker stood afterward, smiled weakly at the two PRT officials, before he followed her out.
In the silence that remained, Dan found himself studying his new superior. "Why does it feel like we just watched a stage play?"
Foote regarding him in silence for a moment. He noticed that, with her lips pursed the way they were, that she was likely a smoker for most of her life. She just had the wrinkles that came with smoking.
"You're going to do well here when I retire, Dan," she finally said. "Smelling the bullshit is half the battle. Knowing when to step in it and when not to is the other half. Well, we have our marching orders."
"Ma'am?"
"As soon as Quintessence pops her head up to start healing, take Ashwinder in. The list for Panacea is eighteen months long and the girl's family doesn't allow her to travel. From what Dr. White told me, our newest Ward may not survive that long."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The very next morning, Nutcracker wore his WDGEG badge on display as the taxi he took from the Brockton Bay airport drove away. Ahead, the burned shell of Winslow High School sat empty, framed by yellow police tape and orange cones. He stepped under the tape to the front door. It was unlocked—down the far hall he could see men in orange HAZMAT suits talking with someone in a hard hat.
From the initial report, the fire had exposed Asbestos in the walls. It wasn't a surprise, really, since the school's last major renovation was just after the second World War.
He ignored the insurance adjusters and remediation specialists and instead walked up the stairs to the second floor—the floor where Taylor Hebert's life collapsed, and where eight other girls died.
From what he understood, the city still planned to use portions of the school due to severe crowding issues with the other schools. The lost space was made up using portable structures that crowded the parking lot, or so he'd read.
He removed his phone and dialed PRT main number. "PRT, how can I help you."
"Good morning. My name is Nutcracker, Protectorate ID GDG-87655. I am currently at Winslow High School and would like to request PRT transportation back to your HQ in half an hour. I would also like to schedule an appointment with Director Piggot. She should be expecting me."
With his Protectorate ID number, the PRT agent knew he was part of Watchdog, an agency that, while fighting to keep Thinkers from influencing elections or stock markets, also acted as internal investigations within the Protectorate and PRT.
"Understood, Nutcracker. Welcome to Brockton Bay. Transport requested. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No, thank you."
With transportation handled, Nutcracker began walking down the hall. The smell of burned metal, charred wood and dust lingered with the cold and the snow that filtered through the holes overhead.
The air itself trembled with the ghosts of tens of thousands of students. It was the one shining most brilliantly, though, that he was interested in.
Just as he suspected, something about Taylor Hebert shone brilliantly in his Post Cognition. It felt almost as if she changed the very world she passed through in a way other capes or mundanes simply didn't.
There was no trace of the locker he saw in his vision in the real world. The walls around it had been shattered as if by an explosion. But with his power, despite the time that had passed, he could see easily enough what happened. The psychic energy involved must have been astonishing.
He watched as the taller and more muscular of the three girls struck and then violently shoved the otherwise tall, lanky girl into the thin, five-foot locker that was a throw-back to the 50s. Though his power did not provide smell, he could still catch a hint of the rot from the pads and tampons within just from the hall around him.
More importantly, he saw how the physically more powerful girl closed the door over her own hand, somehow phasing it through her own flesh, to ensure that the victim could not escape. That girl was a cape—likely the Ward called Shadow Stalker. He'd read that the local PRT chose not to list her cape name as a victim to protect her family, instead listing her only by her civilian name—Sophia Hess.
He fast-forwarded the ghosts, which he considered one of the most useful aspects of his power. He was able to skip several hours, watching while students and staff alike traversed the halls. Hebert had to have been making noise—calling for help or banking on the locker. The initial report showed she'd almost ripped the fingernails from her hands as she struggled to escape.
The three girls remained close by, lingering between classes to bask in the delight of causing their victim harm. None of that was in the PRT ENE's report. According to the report, Hebert simply cracked under peer pressure and lashed out.
What truly upset Nutcracker were the several staff members who simply ignored what was happening.
And then it happened.
With his precognition, a Trigger Event looked like a massive heat bloom in a thermal scope. It was an event that slipped outside of his power's ability, and so it looked to him like an expanding sphere of white. It bloomed from within the girls' locker in a flash. Seconds later, the locker itself exploded, raining shrapnel through the hall, and through the three girls who'd skipped their last class to gloat.
He could see the strongest of her tormentors—the cape who was likely Shadow Stalker—staggering from the Trigger Event. Such events affected nearby capes as well as the newly created one. Distracted as she was, she was not able to use her power to save herself from the shard of twisted metal which pierced her skull like a bullet. The other two girls fared little better.
Concussive force blasted away walls and the ceiling and floor. The girl hung suspended in the air, her hands to her head as she screamed. Her face was twisted with a soul-deep sense of agony. Her trigger was hurting her badly. The fire that bloomed around her left her untouched within the shell of her power, even as five of the girls who'd been incapacitated by the initial psychic scream burned. When the PRT and Protectorate arrived, she swatted them away almost without noticing, such was her pain.
Until the white bloomed again. Nutcracker stifled his shock as he watched her go through a second trigger of her power. She then fell through the hole in the floor to the first floor below, where she collapsed unconscious just in time for Armsmaster to cover her in foam and tranquilize her. The report said Armsmaster subdued her. The reality was he took advantage of her unconsciousness.
It did not surprise Nutcracker at all when the present, very real, Armsmaster stomped down the charred hallway behind him.
"I was surprised to hear you were in Brockton Bay," the renowned Tinker said sharply. "What can I do for Watchdog today?"
Nutcracker smiled as he turned to face the man.
"Good morning, Armsmaster. I'm heading up a taskforce investigating the Hebert case. Could you please provide me transport to her home? I'll also need all Protectorate surveillance of Hebert while she was in your custody. I expect to meet with Director Piggot later today. I have a lot of work to do, and Alexandria expects quick results."
Armsmaster just stared at him with his jaw jutting out stubbornly.
It was, Nutcracker predicted, going to be a long day.
A/N-Dan Seneca and Director Foote are names I picked from Weaver Dice campaigns that I didn't actually read. So if I mis-characterized them, please consider them AU. Thank you.