Step 2.2
I went as far as the Boat Graveyard before stopping. The city lights illuminated the shapes while still leaving it all too dark to really make it out. It left a nebulous black expanse full of dark amorphous shapes groaning against the weight of the waves stretching out to the horizon. Only the light of the Rig in the bay broke the darkness, which somehow made it even more creepy.
Boat Graveyard on one side. Abandoned warehouses on the other. Only a few functioning street lights. The ambiance left me feeling like the star of some noir detective story. All I needed to complete the image was a cigarette and some internal brooding monologue about the city…
Okay yeah, I only needed the cigarette.
The location worked. I didn't think Dragon wanted to track me down, but why take the chance? Make the call far away from my workshop and I needn't worry.
I settled into a nice spot against a warehouse wall. The location offered a long view of my surroundings and kept me out of sight without any lights to reveal the location. Like most of the warehouses in the docks it looked abandoned, but the Dockworkers technically still owned it . A split hair I supposed, but Dad was head of hiring so did it even qualify as breaking and entering?
I checked my watch one last time and nodded.
4:39
"Alright Veda. I'll handle the talking…We need to get you a voice."
"Voice?"
"You know. One that doesn't obviously come from a soundboard."
"Tasking. Contacting Dragon for designated meeting."
I took a deep breath, reminded myself that Dragon didn't just hang around waiting to talk to Taylor Hebert. Dragon's appointment was with Newtype and Newtype didn't get nervous like a schoolgirl around the greatest tinker in the world.
So I told myself.
The paranoia and the creepy backdrop didn't help my nervousness.
Dealing with the people selling ray guns to villains didn't inspire my self-confidence, but the world didn't abound with solutions to my problem. Who wouldn't be suspicious when Dragon of all people just happened to show up? Could it be a trap to arrest me: a trap to bring me in, or a trap to spy on me.
I loathed it.
I never walked through my life terrified of everything before. I overreacted with Dinah, and I overreacted when Dragon first talked to me. I cursed the Trio, Winslow, the heroes, even my dad for it.
Which just left me feeling opposing ends of foolish stubbornness and blind paranoia.
I resolved that at the very least I'd have a better talk with Dragon than Armsmaster. No repeats of that little moment suggesting he redesign his armor. Or shouting. Or yelling…and storming off like a child; crap it sounded worse the more I thought about it.
"Connection established," Veda said.
One last assessment revealed the streets silent, and no figures skulking in the dark.
Safe as I'd probably ever hope to get.
I took my pistol in hand and charged it anyway, just in case. My power seemed to want to turn the thing into a hand cannon, so it took a bit of time to get the output low enough. I gave it three settings in the end. Hurt, Brute hurt, and Lung hurt. More or less.
"I'm ready. I guess."
A small screen appeared on my visor, showing a red dragon head and a green dot to signal the connection was live.
"Newtype. StarGazer."
I didn't expect anything specific. No one knew much about Dragon, outside of her heroing. I didn't expect her to sound so…normal. A little bit of a Canadian accent I guess but not too strong. Her voice sounded warm and inviting.
"Good evening, Dragon," I said.
"Good morning," she replied. Damnit. "Sorry if I'm a little sporadic responding to you. An Endbringer attack is expected any day now. Preparations are always frantic."
I thought back. Behemoth attacked during the winter, right before the school year started back up. Around New Year's, or a little before that. Four months already? And here was me dragging her attention away to my little problems.
"I don't want to take you away from something important," I said wearily.
"Don't worry." I heard the smile in her voice. "It's quiet at the moment. Besides, I'm a superb multi-tasker."
"Um. Okay. Thank you for your time."
"Brockton Bay needs all the help it can get, and the world too."
A brief silence followed.
Dragon asked, "Is StarGazer joining us?"
"Um." I did not think she'd ask that, for which I chastised myself. "It's a bad time. I-She doesn't do well with other people. Face to face I mean. It's one thing to chat, but actually talking…" And I must remember Veda's a girl now apparently. "She stutters a lot?"
"A disorder?"
"Ye-Yes. Something like that."
"I can relate," Dragon said. "Agoraphobia."
"Sorry?"
They must use the same dictionary. Veda and Dragon gave the same definition word for word. Agoraphobia, the fear of places and situations that might cause panic, helplessness, or embarrassment.
After the definition Dragon added, "Most people think of it as a fear of open places, but that's not quite accurate."
"I didn't know that. About the agoraphobia, I mean."
"I don't advertise it. It's why I'm so rarely seen in person. If I'd known StarGazer had a similar situation, I might not have pushed so much during the game."
"No. I don't think she minded. Why did you invite us though? It seemed kind of…odd."
"I remember how lonely it can be starting out," Dragon said. "The games are my way of giving otherwise isolated heroes a little company. I'm the only one everyone knows by name, but the rest are people who will listen if you or StarGazer ever need to talk."
"Oh. Are all the players solo heroes?"
"Not all. Narwhal plays sometimes, and Kaze as well."
And I just figured out who "1Horn" probably was and holy shit my AI plays RPGs with Dragon, Narwhal, and Kaze.
How the hell does that even happen?
"Well. She um, appreciates it. I've been meaning to get her out more."
"Glad to help. Younger heroes tend to forget that the rest of us were there once, and the older like to pretend they never were. There are a few things I wanted to confirm, if I can ask a question?"
I shifted my weight uneasily. "Okay."
"Are you aware of the unwritten rules?"
"I've heard of them."
"I find the best rule of thumb is simply don't escalate."
Sounded simple enough. "I can do that."
"Take it slow. Too many heroes try to do too much too quickly and suffer for it. You're young. There's plenty of time to save the world!"
"Um. Right."
Is this what a pep talk sounds like?
I couldn't remember the last time anyone gave me any sort of encouragement. Other than Veda anyway.
The screen changed, Dragon's avatar replaced with the schematic of the design I sent days ago.
"On to this then," she said. "I'm impressed. Most new tinkers don't come up with something this complex on their own."
I didn't. "You understood it?"
"Deciphering the designs of other tinkers isn't so straightforward as coming to a full understanding."
Thinking back to some of Leet's stuff, I agreed. Some of it came quick, but even the functions that I made sense of didn't relate to knowing how to build them myself. The forcefield drone still eluded my understanding, to say nothing of the Groovitron.
"Several of these components are odd, and the physics behind the device itself is much more complex than I'm used to. I can't build this, but I can discern enough to know its function and that it can work."
Okay I admit it. I felt a small swell of pride at the idea my power let me do something Dragon couldn't.
"It definitely works," I stated. "I found out about the problem with the particles during the first spin up test."
"And you shut it off?"
"As soon as a simulation showed the toxicity risks."
"StarGazer was a little vague about that."
"Cellular damage," I explained. "Not sure how much. Didn't seem like something I should test."
"I'm inclined to agree," Dragon said. "I am curious, do you know your specialization? Or even what I mean by that?"
"I don't know mine. I'm kind of all over the place. Robotics. Physics. Code." Artificial Intelligence.
"Tinkers are often broader in ability before learning their specialization. One of the quirks of being in the club."
"Wait, I'll become less capable once I know my specialization?"
"'More focused' is a better way of putting it."
"Huh."
"I'd take a class on parahuman theory if you have the chance. The college in Brockton Bay offers a course. I'm afraid the mechanics of powers are poorly understood even among researchers, especially tinkers, but you might derive some benefit from the experience."
She couldn't see me, but I nodded. That didn't sound like a bad idea. Mom taught at the college and the campus and staff were a tight-knit community. We went to functions in my younger years. Someone there might help me. Maybe I'd just take it freshman year after getting my GED. Brockton Bay Technical College wasn't a garbage dump, but prestige didn't describe the campus either. The admission standards weren't some great hurdle to be vaulted.
"More importantly," she continued, "I gathered enough from the design to feel confident you're not trying to blow up the moon."
"Blow up the-Isn't that what—" I tried thinking of the name but it didn't quite come to me. "Strong Theory tried to do?"
"String Theory. Yes. I'd very much prefer not dealing with that again."
"Um. Yeah. Right."
Could I blow up the moon? My power supplied me a cannon design, but the power requirements exceeded the ability of any GN compressor I'd designed thus far. I pushed the idea away before I started thinking of a fix for that. Blowing up the moon was bad, and I did not want to know how.
I turned my attention back to Dragon. "So you're willing to help?"
"Yes. The potential of this device to provide cheap energy is exceptional. What precisely is the trouble you're having?"
"I have an idea to take advantage of topological defects to get the stability under control and enhance the power output."
"Topological defects?"
"Yeah. I managed to come up with a general design for the part, but once I started trying to build it, my power…I don't know. Everything is in my head, but I can't put the pieces together."
"Hmm. The likely possibilities are that this lays outside your specialization, or you've hit a limit."
I'd considered the first possibility, but the second?
"Limit?"
"An expansion on the Manton Effect theory," Dragon explained. "Recent research has proposed all powers come with inherent limits. You may have come across one in yours."
"Is that normal?"
"It's very common, though tinkers tend to run into it less. I won't presume what the problem is between you and the local Protectorate, but Kid Win can talk with you about it. He's run into blocks frequently over the past year."
"Right…You know Kid Win?"
"Armsmaster and I work together on a few projects. This and that. We talk."
I tried not to announce my discomfort. Dragon worked with Armsmaster? Another thing I didn't think through. If Dragon came out at number one, Armsmaster certainly belonged in the top five. Maybe even the top three right after Hero. Of course, they knew each other, but talking about a Ward? That didn't sound like a workplace conversation.
The sinking sensation came back, but I beat it back and focused. My eyes scanned the street. A stupid fear. The worst kind of set up for a trap, and why would they want to? Maybe I got a little overeager taking Larry's van, but I wasn't a villain.
Newtype is already here, Taylor.
"Can you help with the problem?"
Dragon must have noticed the shift in my tone because she took a few seconds to answer.
"I can't."
I bit back a yell, remembering that I didn't want things to end the same way as they had with Armsmaster. The sense of betrayal rose up in my mind. Was she trying to steal from me? Embarrass me?
She's not Emma, damnit!
"It's not something that falls in my range of expertise," she admitted before I could speak. "Robotics, computer systems, automation, reverse engineering. These things I know, but replicating foreign environments? I'd suggest Alan, but…he's no longer with us."
The lament in her words took a little of my edge off, but not all of it.
"I don't know who that is."
"Sorry. A lost friend." A phone number and some user names popped up on my visor, including several websites. "What I can do is put you in touch with a group who can help you."
A series of names and numbers appeared on my visor, and I tilted my head as I scrolled through them. The names were odd, to say the least. Doctor J. Master O? Were they capes or a rap group?
"The Foundation is an independent team of tinkers and thinkers," Dragon went on. "Doctor J, Professor G, and Master O might be able to provide you with what you need, but they'll expect a trade."
"Are they heroes?"
"Rogues. They help the Guild and Protectorate on a number of programs, and in exchange we provide them with resources, but they'll help independents as well."
I nodded. Toybox without arms dealing to villains then. That I could live with. "What kind of trade? I'm not wealthy, and most of my materials are used in my own projects"
"Knowing them, they'll likely help you in exchange for data. The solar furnace is the kind of project they like to be involved in, and, well…Doctor J and Armsmaster don't get along."
"Um. Okay?"
"I'll just say some people seem destined to hate one another."
Happy thought.
If they helped I didn't really care. The currents of anger faded, and I felt silly again. Like Dragon would spend her time just jerking me around with an Endbringer coming.
"Well. Um. Thank you. This problem has really stalled my progress."
"I'm glad to help. If you don't mind I'd like to be informed of your progress. Mass production of tinker-tech is a long way off, but even a few dozen of your solar furnaces scaled up to a larger size could power the entire eastern seaboard."
I'll admit that never crossed my mind. From the moment I designed it, the GN drive was a power core for my suit. Using it to power the lights? I felt stupid again. How didn't I think of that? Build a big enough drive and make my own power company. Was I allowed to do that? If I gave free electricity to all of Brockton Bay, the economy might actually recover if no one needed to worry about power bills.
"That's…thinking big."
"Tinkers can do more than fight bad guys," Dragon said.
I recognized the quote as one of Hero's. Guess even the greatest tinker in the world looked up to the guy.
"I'll keep it in mind."
"If you have the time, this brought something to my attention."
"What?"
"Topological defects? You know what those are?"
"Um, yes?"
"Do you read a lot of graduate level physics books?"
"…No."
"Interesting."
I didn't get it. "How is it interesting?"
"You can't be any older than sixteen as far as anyone can tell."
I flinched. "Y-You're trying to figure out who I am?"
"Of course not, but the PRT investigates all parahumans and builds psychological profiles. Estimates suggest you're well educated, but not so well educated you'd understand Topological solutions. That's a topic college graduates never hear of outside of specific fields."
I wanted to debate the "spying on me" part, but thinking back, I did know a lot of things I didn't know before…"Isn't that normal for a tinker? Can't build tinker-tech if I don't even have an idea how."
"No. It's not. Unless they study it themselves, most tinkers have no intrinsic knowledge of science as part of their power. We're simply able to build things."
"Oh."
I knew most tinkers didn't understand the science behind their inventions, but I didn't realize that meant they didn't know any science. When things like 'gravitational negation' and 'topological defect' popped into my brain I just assumed all tinkers got bits of info like that.
"Does this mean I'm not a tinker?"
"It's possible your power has a thinker component you're unaware of. Power testing with the PRT might help root it out."
The math problems.
Did my power feed me the answer, or was I simply solving them in my head? It's not like the ideas I got for designs and code came with a lightning bolt to the brain, or a ding to announce my power at work. I just thought about them and the answer came…
"It's not something to be overly concerned about," Dragon added. Her voice was calm and soothing, which did help. "I'd dare to say most parahumans have a poor grasp of their power for the first few years."
Again, I nodded as she spoke.
"For now, let's focus o—"
The abrupt stop startled me.
"Dragon?" No answer. "Dragon? Is something wrong?"
"The Simurgh is descending."
Ziz, Hopekiller, The Smurf. Lots of names for a creature that destroyed a country every couple of years and just flew off in the aftermath. For some reason I couldn't recall any of that in the moment. I heard 'Simurgh' and 'descending,' and my brain went blank.
"I have to go."
"R-Righ…" I couldn't get the word out.
"I am sorry. Contact the Foundation. I have to go."
The connection died, and I stood alone.
"Taylor sad. Taylor sad."
Pink and Red rolled to my feet. I didn't remember the trip back to the workshop at all. Green, Orange, and Purple watched me, while Navy walked forward with a water bottle in his little hands.
"Thanks…"
I didn't drink it much. I sat down at the control station and pulled up the news.
"Are you alright, Taylor?"
"Just a little shocked," I answered. "What's going on? Where?"
"Reporting is minimal."
"They don't like reporting on attacks until it's over," I realized. "Especially the Simurgh's."
Only heroes—and villains—who fought her knew the scream, but everyone knew of it. A sound that drove people listening for too long crazy, or got them to do things years later that were crazy. Since it first appeared, the Simurgh had destroyed three countries and left two others in ruin. No one put the scream, or her, on TV for fear the effect might be transmitted.
Well at least I'm not the only one who's paranoid.
Fifteen minutes later Veda announced, "The Simurgh is attacking Independent Kurdistan in Iraq. The Protectorate's assistance was requested by the local governor thirty-three minutes ago."
Iraq. "Iraq has nukes."
"Iraq is suspected to possess such weapons," Veda responded. "Is that bad?"
"The last time the Simurgh attacked a country with bombs it got really bad."
"Searching. Turkey 2005. Antalya."
"Yeah. I remember it a bit. People went crazy. They seized the army base outside the city and tried to fire a bunch of missiles. Mom and Dad sat in the living room watching the TV all day, and I threw a tantrum"—And this is a happy memory?—"'cause we were supposed to go to the park."
It went on for days. The Protectorate didn't return to the US for nearly two weeks as they tried to contain the crisis and prevent a civil war from breaking out. Neighboring countries threatened invasion, the UN threatened sanctions on anyone who invaded, and Armenia did invade to "protect the interests of the Armenian people in Turkey."
"Protectorate and King's Men intervened, seizing control of the base and removing the missiles."
"Yeah."
I went with Mom to the parade. Miss Militia became famous afterward. The Inaugural Wards were part of the assault that retook the base, and Chevalier and Miss Militia got medals for it. She transferred to Brockton Bay a few months later with Stratos and Challenger. Whatever happened to him anyway?
A few basic press releases gave me the idea. The Simurgh shifted from orbit and began descending on Kurdistan's capital slowly. The Protectorate and Guild expected to arrive before her by using Strider, an independent teleporter who moved people en mass.
Veda filed away the names of the scientists and the contact information. Dragon probably didn't have time to tell them about me anyway, and I didn't know if they were helping or not. Best not to interrupt. I'd be unable to focus in any case, waiting to hear if the world would wake up down another country.
I checked my watch.
06:17
"I need to go on my run and get back home."
Setting my costume aside, I changed into my running clothes in the closet. The Haros might be robots, but I didn't want to strip in front of anyone else's eyes.
When I got outside, the sun was just peeking over the skyline, casting long shadows and red across the clouds. The attack occupied my mind the entire time. I almost ran right into traffic. I chose a place near the boardwalk to collect myself.
Endbringers attacked before and I never freaked out, but then, I wasn't a cape before. How do I stop Leviathan, I thought, as if the question was simpler than the solution. How utterly childish of me.
I found Dad watching TV in his bathrobe. He stared at the screen with weary eyes, arms lax at his side.
I steadied myself before closing the door and feigned ignorance. "What's up Dad?"
"The Simurgh attacked Kurdistan," he said.
"Oh."
I walked up next to him and watched the news.
The reporter announced the outcome. The announcer spoke with a small box in the corner showing pictures. Capes standing in the aftermath. I saw Miss Militia in one, standing next to Armsmaster and Chevalier. Alexandria and Hero on the horizon, with a bolt of light I assumed to be Legend. A few showed Eidolon with that golden glow that always surrounded her, hovering over a ruined church or mosque.
Some of the pictures left a bad taste in my mouth.
No pictures of the Simurgh itself. I didn't know what she looked like, outside of what people said. A beautiful woman white as snow with lots of wings. Taller than any human. When she first appeared years ago after the Gold War people assumed she was a parahuman, until she started cycling her attacks with Behemoth and Leviathan.
"Following up on our latest report, the Simurgh has returned to the atmosphere after attacking Erbil in Kurdistan. The regional capital endured assault for twenty-nine minutes, narrowly avoiding the thirty-minute deadline that would leave the city quarantined. The battle ended when Eidolon destroyed a device built in the city center. The Hopekiller calmly flew off after her plan failed."
Twenty-nine minutes? It felt too simple. A few talking heads discussed what little the world knew of the Simurgh. A precognitive master with tinker capabilities and powerful telekinesis. Why did she attack? Why did she need thirty minutes to control someone? The questions sounded kind of glib to me, but I stood and watched.
"You don't have to go to school today," Dad said.
"Okay."
Normally I went to sleep after Dad went to work. The attack left me feeling awake.
I showered and changed, rejoining him on the couch and just watching.
They'd switched to an image of an older man in a suit. The caption under him read "Director Armstrong Honors Bastion."
One reporter asked, "Who will be taking over for the Boston Protectorate?"
"For now, Style will take on a temporary role," Director Armstrong said. "As for a permanent leader, that will be decided by Legend and Chief-Director Costa-Brown, with Hero, Alexandria, and myself offering recommendations."
"Is there a short list?"
"No choice will be made until cleanup operations in Kurdistan are complete and the region stabilized."
The analysts talked about it anyway. If you can call a bunch of cape geeks in suits analysts. Most of the heroes on the Boston team were younger, not ready to take over Bastion's role. Someone suggested Rime as untapped potential and underutilized as Alexandria's second. Some proposed moving Chevalier from Philadelphia.
A few other reports followed. Chicago lost a Ward. Sparrow had volunteered to go, even though Wards weren't expected to take part in Endbringer fights. Myrddin let her because her power helped get people out of destroyed buildings. A few villains died too, and the news quickly reported the death of Vindicant, a vigilante from New York.
The names of Bastion and Sparrow came out first.
Jeffery Hines and Naomi Randal.
They'd be publicly identified on the memorial, and I guess no one saw the point in hiding it.
The news calmed down after that. Every channel still reported on the attack, but I guess after seeing the face of a smiling seventeen-year-old girl who died fighting a monster, everything else seems a lot less tragic.
We ate a late breakfast. More of a lunch really. Legend gave a speech honoring the dead and announcing that the Protectorate, along with the Internationals from the EU and the King's Men from Britain, would remain in Kurdistan to help stabilize the region and keep the peace in Erbil.
Iraq's government wanted them gone. Despite the whole world seeing Kurdistan as mostly independent, Iraq still saw them as a region of their country. It occurred to me that Kurdistan became independent after the Simurgh attacked Turkey in 2005. No one fought over it at the time. Too many other problems…but it felt odd.
The Simurgh attacks a country, Kurdistan declares independence, and then the Simurgh attacks Kurdistan? Supposedly she saw the future. Did she make one attack simply to make another, or was Kurdistan step one of something else?
I don't know when I fell asleep. Around noon I think.
"It's a travesty," a man said.
The voice roused me from my nap. Sharp and accusing, not unlike Blackwell in a way.
"It's one thing to go over and help with an Endbringer attack. Few countries manage to rein in their parahumans as successfully as the United States. We might as well make use of them, but to stay and interfere in another country's affairs is ridiculous. Worse, while the Protectorate is gallivanting on the other side of the world, the villains are left free to do as they please."
Muruta Azrael, which I didn't believe was his real name, I only knew of vaguely. He appeared in the news often enough I'd be shocked if everyone didn't know his face. A handsome man, not something I enjoyed admitting, with a nice white suit and a blue tie.
He sat in a nice plush chair on one of those talk shows. The host, an otherwise generic-looking man save for his broad forehead, pointed out the Endbringer truce. Knowing about the unwritten rules it made even more sense. Don't start trouble when there's an Endbringer attack going on. I always wondered why villains bothered helping, even ones from far away cities or other countries.
Azrael held his hand out and waved in response. "Ah yes, the truce between capes. A lovely little set of rules they've made for themselves. Except their rules don't apply to the rest of us, do they? Does anyone really think the Nine or the Butcher care? The Elite?"
"Oh. You're up."
Dad walked into the room, still wearing his bathrobe, carrying a glass of water. I took it and drank greedily, one eye glued to the screen.
"Well I don't think it's very fair," Azrael continued. "The rule of law should be the only rule that matters. No special rules for special people. I can assure you my organization won't look kindly on the so-called heroes dragging their heels while the likes of the Elite run rampant."
"Your organization being Blue Cosmos?"
"You say the name like it's dirty words. I'll admit some of our members have been overeager—"
"Blue Cosmos has been implicated in a number of violent attacks, Mr. Azrael."
"Absurd. The attacks, I mean. I won't deny them. Passions run hot in my group. Many join because loved ones have died from capes or their gangs, some unjustly at the hands of the PRT and Protectorate."
He shook his head.
"Tragic. But honestly, can you blame them? A bunch of grown men and women run around playing comic book games while cities are destroyed, and crime runs rampant. We're expected to be calm? I think that's far more absurd. How can humanity be expected to advance into the future as it stands? The government won't act to bring the capes into line, of course some people are going to take matters into their own—"
Dad shook his head. "He sounds like Kaiser."
"How do you know what Kaiser sounds like?"
"Because he used to give speeches on campus. Costume and everything. He and Lustrum almost fought once."
"What? You never told me that."
"A long time ago, Kiddo. Back when All-Father led the Empire and the Protectorate didn't even have a Brockton Bay team yet. Villains used to be able to get away with a lot more."
He changed the channel to a report about Kurdistan. I watched but a few things obviously happened while I slept.
"What did I miss?"
"Iraqi soldiers are gathering at the border," Dad said in a tense tone. "Hero and Alexandria are trying to negotiate with the government."
"Oh."
"You know it's a weird thing to say, Kiddo, but it's been kind of nice having you home for the day."
When Dad's right he's right. It was a little weird to say.
"Why?"
His solemn smile tightened. "It's just nice."
Crap. "Um. Yeah. I guess."
Dad clearly wanted to say more. I wished he'd just put it out there, whatever it was. Couldn't be worse than watching him nervously search for words, decide to get up only to stop before rising, and his constant nervous glances in my direction. How hard is it to just say it? Home is awkward. It's been awkward since Mom died, and even more awkward since the locker. I knew it, he knew it, and I didn't know what to say.
Isn't getting the ball rolling the parent's job?
Avoidance. The tried and true strategy.
"Want to make dinner?" I asked.
"Okay."
We made dinner.
"In breaking news, Blue Cosmos has just announced protests in thirty major US cities."
Dad and I both slipped back into the living room during the dishes to look at the TV. A local news station that usually only reported Protectorate and Ward activities, according to Veda.
"Starting tomorrow, Muruta Azrael is calling on all members of Blue Cosmos, the anti-parahuman protest movement, to oppose the ongoing efforts of the Protectorate to maintain peace in Kurdistan following the recent attack by the Simurgh. Lord Djibril, the leader of the group's European branch, has announced protests throughout the European Union.
"This is the second organization of mass protest in the group's history, following international rallies held last year after the Three Blasphemies attacked Paris. It follows years of growing strength for the Blue Cosmos movement since the Gold War. Many were shocked as tens of millions poured out internationally, a far cry from early years when Blue Cosmos consisted of a few thousand scattered members.
"For Brockton Bay, protests are being planned for Brockton Bay Library, City Hall, and Arcadia High School…"
The reporter continued, but I stopped listening.
It didn't make sense to me. Protesting capes in the aftermath of the Simurgh? It felt…ungrateful. Selfish. A little stupid. The world tried fighting the Endbringers with tanks and guns. It didn't work. Worse, it made me worry. The bastard wasn't completely wrong. What stopped the Butcher, or Lung, or the Nine from doing as they pleased while as much as half the Protectorate went to another country to prevent a war?
"Not again," Dad mumbled. "Last year was such a mess."
"Was it?"
It was hard to keep track of daily events with the trio making my life hell. I remembered something about a bunch of gatherings.
"Yeah," Dad said. "A bunch of them nearly got fried by Lung. They decided to gather outside some of his brothels to protest how the cops don't do anything about them."
Ah. That hit close. Veda started sending in tips weeks ago, and out of dozens of tips, the BBPD responded by hitting a few drug houses. The Protectorate, to my dismay, seemed to be ignoring me.
"Taylor."
I jumped at the voice, my head twisting around and looking for Dad. He'd returned to the kitchen and didn't turn at the sound of Veda's voice.
I slipped upstairs and closed the door.
"Veda? What's wrong?"
"I have received a message from Dragon."
"Is she okay?"
"She is well. She wished to inform us that the Brockton Bay Wards and Deputy Director Calvert want to meet with all independent heroes to discuss coordination. She stated that attendance is not mandatory, but hopes that we will help keep the city safe while Armsmaster and the Protectorate are away."
The information appeared on my phone. The PRT headquarters, noon tomorrow, and a pass phrase to tell the receptionist. To call my feelings mixed was an understatement. My feelings were a tsunami of anger, distrust, and uncertainty.
The Protectorate didn't even seem interested in following up on my tips, and now the PRT wanted to meet with me about doing the Protectorate's job? The Protectorate didn't do their own job! All the time they spent posing for photos in the aftermath of an Endbringer attack, and they couldn't work on getting rid of a few drug dens? Not even the brothels?
After spending some time thinking about the Protectorate and how they did things, I thought they'd go after the easy PR opportunity at least. They at least liked playing heroes.
Except Dragon helped me, and now she wanted me to help keep the city safe.
And the blonde bigot had a point. With the Protectorate on the other side of the world, who was going to keep the villains in line?
Didn't I want to be a better person than the people who let my life become hell?
I groaned and fell onto my bed. "When did I become the bad guy?"
