Step 4.1
The clock ticked. We didn't even have a clock to tick, but I heard it. Tick tock tick tock right in my ear.
Fifteen more minutes, I told myself. Fifteen more minutes.
Dad worked over the stove, eggs and bacon sizzling while the toast toasted behind him. My eyes kept twitching to the left. Muscles in my legs tensed, ready to leap and grab it. Easy. I could do it. Just get up, grab the toaster, and rip out the heating coils. Easy enough. Yep. Just take it and hide the coils in my pockets until I got back to my room.
Stupid plan. Maybe my dumbest. Dad might miss his daughter skipping school for weeks, but toast? Who would miss toast? A monster. That's who.
Replaying that thought, I stifled a sigh.
I need to get out of this house. I'm losing it.
It all seemed like such a good idea on paper. Not perfect of course, but good. I got what I wanted, and Dad's anger just needed time. It would fade. In theory I'd only suffer grounding. Easy.
What exactly did grounding do to me?
Nothing, that's what.
No friends. No social life. Dad wasn't going to stop me from running or "tutoring" Dinah. Frankly, he couldn't even enforce such a punishment given his work schedule.
In the mean time I got to dump a mountain of potential problems on Blackwell's desk. She let bullying go too far. She bullied her own staff into helping her. She lost track of a student for months.
Even considering my subterfuge on that, it didn't speak well of her.
She saw me almost weekly for a year and half. She what, found nothing odd when I stopped regularly appearing in her office? Talk about a career killer. Maybe if I'd been less emotional, and Dad less distraught, we'd have thought of that well before things went so far.
Spilled milk and all that.
It paled in comparison to the catharsis of making that wonderfully ironic threat.
After all, why should I be the only one worrying about Blue Cosmos and lawsuits? Did Blackwell, or the PRT for that matter, ever once consider that? Blue Cosmos and affiliates sued them all the time over everything.
Not going to lie.
I loved throwing that in Blackwell's face.
Part of me felt like it came too close to bullying. But, she did those things and with my identity on the line I didn't have the luxury of pulling punches. And it all came together so easily for me. Easy. As easy as swiping the toaster off the counter and taking it apart with no one noticing focus Taylor.
Looking away from the toaster, sparing the poor appliance my power's twisting anxiety, I lamented.
Dad and I met Blackwell on Friday. I didn't tutor Dinah on the weekend. I ran as expected, but Dad expected me to come back home and stay there.
I didn't even manage to sneak out at night. Dad spent the evening Friday shouting at Alan Barnes over the phone. I don't think he got any sleep. He kept wandering the hall, peaking in on me. The next day he announced that grounding include no Internet. That meant no phone, and no Dinosaur. I.E. no talking to Veda.
I couldn't go anywhere. No computer. No phone.
Ill feelings quickly gave way to a mild desperation.
Did I say mild?
Three.
Days.
With.
Nothing.
To.
Tinker.
Tinkering apparently is like an addiction. When you don't do it, you start twitching and itching. The mind spirals with constant anxiety, feeling pent up. Hell, I woke up sweating, like I was detoxing or something.
Building a prototype coil gun in my closet didn't quite satisfy my needs.
I wanted to fix my damn suit.
Dad set breakfast in front of me and sat with his own plate.
"I'll be here at five," he warned sternly. "Does Dinah like Chinese?"
"It's never come up?"
"Ask."
Dad didn't say much else. Three days and we still hadn't talked about much of anything. Not even my lying, or what to do if Blackwell let the bullying continue. Finding out I'd skipped school for three months. Learning Emma orchestrated the terror campaign set on destroying me, and that Alan knew about it.
Nothing. No talk. No words. Just stern commands and silence.
I expected a hundred questions, not constant reminders of his disappointment via stern silence. I knew he'd be angry. When it came to his temper, Dad brooded sometimes, but never for three days.
I don't know what made the atmosphere, but tension didn't suffice. Something worse. More primal. A butter knife wouldn't cut it. Maybe a blow torch…
And I…I didn't know how to respond to that. Like a broken record after the past few months of disconnect between us.
Part of me hoped that if I ripped off the Band-Aid, the one Dad didn't even know about, maybe we'd get back on track. After the locker, things got better. Then Newtype got started and we just stagnated again.
I ate my food at a slow pace, and when I finished I got up and cleaned the plate.
"You're going to school?"
"I'm not leaving Charlotte to fend for herself," I mumbled. "Not until Blackwell gets off her ass."
A soft thud from behind me. I turned, seeing my phone sitting on the table.
"Fine," Dad said.
Fine. Just, fine?
I gave it a few seconds, waiting to see if he'd say anything else.
He didn't.
I took my phone and the ascent upstairs in silence. Before it felt like I killed our conversations. Now, Dad didn't seem to be trying. Did his anger break? Was he just that disappointed in me?
I needed to get out of the house. Needed to think.
I'd never been so happy to go to Winslow and dear god I want to go to Winslow.
Tossing my pajamas aside, I contemplated Blackwell's response. Surely she recognized the gauntlet I'd slapped in front of her. Incompetent she may be, but oblivious? I doubted it. She'd respond obviously, but Dad didn't respond the way I expected. What if Blackwell did the same?
As I came back down the stairs, Dad said, "I'll see you at five."
"Fine," I mumbled.
I walked out the door and slammed it behind me.
One frying pan to the next. Bright side? Suit out for repairs. No early morning raids. Time to think. Time to plan, more carefully, and time to watch things play out. That sounded nice. Sit back, let things play out a bit. See how my schemes lined up. Do some easy tinkering. Something new maybe.
"Something is happening," Veda announced.
I stumbled, eyes snapping back behind me and then checking forward. I stepped off to the side and lifted my phone.
"What?"
"Available processing capacity has dropped seven percent."
"Dropped?"
"Available processes add up only to ninety-two percent."
I rose my brow in confusion. "Level Seven does that, Veda. You know-"
"Ninety-one percent."
Didn't she say seven?
"Probably just a bug. One sec."
I pulled up Veda's code and started looking over the log.
Eighty-nine percent?
I never saw Veda use that much of her capacity.
"Wait. Veda. What the hell is Queen Gun-"
My eyes snapped open.
"Why is Level Seven running forty-three instances?!"
"Unknown."
"Forty-nine!" That's impossible!
The first instance ended in a blink, and the next one moved up in line. With fifteen more new instances getting up behind it.
"What the hell? What did you find?"
"Level Seven access is restricted," Veda chimed.
Seventy-four.
How could there be seventy-four? A glitch? Possible. Likely even. That Veda ran so smoothly for such a complex program for so long probably defied all expectations. No way she unmasked that many capes at once by accident. I don't think she'd unmasked that many capes in her entire three months of execution.
My shock only grew as the numbers kept rising.
Ninety-three.
And risi-
FUCK.
The bus pulled up to the stop at the corner, but I'd already bolted across the street. The sound of my heart in my ears overwhelmed the sensation of feet against pavement.
Think I lost a shoe at some point. I just kept running. It didn't matter. Not right now.
Not with instances stacking, each one sectioning off a piece of Veda's brain. The individual instances inserting data into the archive didn't take up much capacity. Mostly purging all memory outside Level Seven of any trace took up resources and time.
Individually not a problem.
Except each instance needed to wait for the last to finish wiping memory before starting its own wipe.
But if the instances spawned faster than they resolved, Veda lost more and more resources with each new run. Resources got locked up, waiting in line behind the one in front for its turn to purge memory…memory that locked up right along with processing power to do it.
I already saw the headline.
World's first AI killed by processor lock up because tinker didn't cap how many instances of a resource locking program ran at once. What a grand tale it would be. Just might beat out the Mars rover team that forgot to convert metric to imperial for most expensive fuck up. Figuratively speaking.
Could Veda even be restarted? I didn't know. I never turned her off. What happened if I turn her off? Did turning her off and on again do anything but wipe her memory?
I threw the door open, ignoring the repeating greetings of the Haros and grabbing my keyboard.
Veda's cameras tracked me.
"Is something wrong?"
"Level Seven is running four hundred fifty-two instances! That's what's wrong!"
My fingers played across the board, keys clicking and clacking as my mind furiously worked out a solution.
I couldn't stop active Level Seven processes. Locked myself out of that. Stopping more from spawning? That I could do.
My pinkie slammed the enter key. The update compiled into Veda's code, shutting off the ability of Level Seven to run automatically.
The instances capped at six hundred ninety-two. Six hundred ninety-one. Six hundred ninety.
I breathed in relief, and collapsed back into my seat.
"Taylor? What has happened?"
I sat up, a chill replacing the heat I'd felt moments before. How do you tell your AI you messed up and almost killed her?
"I stopped Level Seven from running," I ordered. Before…before it was the only thing running.
I pulled up the system check, watching as processes returned to Veda each passing second. She'd be okay now, but how did she end up in trouble to begin with?
Other than me fucking up that is.
I pulled up the Level Seven code routines and tried to find any bugs. Didn't see any. I did see the total number of runs.
"Eight hundred sixty-four?"
"In total one thousand two hundred three instances of the Level Seven routine have executed since operations began," Veda said.
Okay, she'd found more identities than I thought, but more than four fifths of those she found she found over the course of sixteen minutes.
"What did you do, unmask the Protectorate?"
"Unknown."
I didn't like the obvious explanations. Either Veda found something big, or my program suffered a critical, possibly AI killing, error somewhere. Opening Level Seven might tell me which for sure, but I didn't want to. Fucking Pandora's Box, right? Open it and you can never close it again.
"Veda. Take the Level Seven routine apart. Look through every line of it. Maybe you see something I don't."
"Executing."
While she did that, I went looking through the log.
Veda kept herself busy over the weekend, running at near maximum capacity for three days straight. The surge in activity put the generator in the back close to a red line. Might need to upgrade it, and have Veda dial it back a bit till I did.
I skipped past most of the log. I didn't recognize many of the programs and files she'd generated. I'd ask why Veda was building a Gundam after making sure I didn't commit infanticide by accident.
Rolling back, right before the instances started spawning and Level Seven went crazy Veda pulled up some Empire media accounts. She found some code language being used and traced them all back to the Aryan Nation's main Twitter page. Nothing significant from the actual page itself, but one comment stood out, blown up with over a thousand replies within a mere twenty minutes.
And I quoted, "Sand nigger pretending to be white? What?"
Several of the replies linked pictures.
Porcelain mask, blond curls, and a frilly dress.
Parian.
I refreshed the page.
Definitely Parian.
They were talking about Parian, accusing her of pretending to be white. I replay that in my head, with addendum. A bunch of bigots are talking about Parian and they're not calling her Parian.
"Veda, search on Sabah Ibnat-Saleh."
"Sabah Ibnat-Saleh. Searching. Found. Immigrant from Jordan 2000. Father Ahmad. Mother Fatima. Two brothers. One sister. Student at Brockton Bay Community College. Studies Fashion and Women's Studie-"
The sudden stop pretty much answered my question.
"I need to know Veda."
"Her father pays the Boardwalk Business Owners Association an annual membership fee, but owns no business there. Sabah Ibnat-Saleh is the registered legal owner of the Brockton Bay Doll House trademark."
How? Not just how. Why? The Empire killed the guy who tried to murder Fleur. Why suddenly go out and break the unwritten rules, and against Parian of all people? She did say something about them trying to recruit her- And she isn't white.
Fuck.
I typed out a message on my screen. Just four words. "Use your StarGazer account. Send this to Sabah Ibnat-Saleh as a private message."
"Sending."
Parian has been outed.
Going back to the original Twitter message I tracked the links through a few other accounts, and then to a website. I'd never heard of Phantom Pain, but I recognized the logo in the corner. Even if I didn't, the banner told me everything I needed to know.
A forum by naturals for naturals.
Then I saw the rest of the forum.
Veda's code shifted, some turning to the same screen as me.
The thread titles consisted of jumbled letters and numbers, followed by a dash and a time stamp of some sort. They all posted up within seconds of each other by users with jumbled names, bots I thought. It looked like common Internet spam, until I noticed the preview of the original post for the most recent thread.
Labyrinth, one of the capes on Faultline's crew.
I clicked the thread and…shock isn't the right word.
I didn't feel anything. Not at first.
I read the file. Looked at the pictures and charts analyzing her power. Detailed stuff. Detailed enough to tell me exactly how to beat her. I watched the video of a woman with long black hair coaxing another with short blond hair to use her power and produce a twisted stone pillar in the middle of an empty room.
Then I got to the end.
Elle Hawkings.
I shook my head. It's a sick joke.
Hitting the back button I picked another file. Same structure as the last, but a lot more speculation on power and more uncertainty about exactly what it did. No name at the end.
A momentary breath escaped my lips. Relief.
It's just a sick joke.
I clicked on another regardless, and my breath hitched.
Ashley Stillons, also known as Damsel of Distress.
Never heard of her.
The file listed a long history, and gave a lot of detail on some containment scheme. The author described her as too unstable, and her power too overtly dangerous. Couldn't be recruited, but she could be isolated. Specifically, kept in an abandoned area of Stanford, New Hampshire, far away from anyone else.
And boy did that sound like something I'd expect from them.
The next thread opened.
Browbeat.
I'd heard that name. I'd never heard of Oscar Ortiz, but the file listed that as his real name at the end. Big green letters on one page read "is considering joining the Wards program."
This isn't real.
Turning my attention to the PRT watermark on every page, reality sank in. It's real, if only because this is the level of incompetence I should expect at this point. The same thing, on every thread. PRT watermarks. PRT signatures and seals. PRT files on capes, their powers, and their real names!
Real names.
My heart raced against my eardrum again.
I went to the form search bar and typed in my name.
Is that how it ended? All the effort to hide my identity. Sparking new tensions with my father, conspiring to get Blackwell fired or replaced…All moot because someone spilled it onto the Internet?
I hit enter, and there I am.
Newtype.
Followed by a big wall of "redacted."
I refreshed three times before accepting that.
I typed another search. StarGazer's file didn't contain the word redacted, but it barely said anything at all. Associated with Newtype, believed to be a younger sibling or friend. I didn't like how close that came to truth. One part suggesting the local PRT drive a wedge between StarGazer and Newtype to "facilitate the recruitment of a potentially game changing cape for WEDGDG" infuriated me, but not enough to get through the relief.
And then I felt everything.
Shock.
Anger.
Disbelief.
Confusion.
How? How the hell did the PRT lose confidential internal files listing people's fucking names? How did Blue Cosmos get them? Did someone plan to shut the website down? Keep anyone from-
"Veda, reroute your connection through a dozen VPNs. Launch a DDoS. Shut this website down. Keep it down. I don't care what you have to do."
"Very wel-"
People are going to die.
"Cancel that," I snapped.
This is real. It's real and people are going to die.
I made my choice quickly. Not like I gave a damn about Blue Cosmos' opinion of me anyway.
"Delete it," I decided. "Hack the servers. Reduce the entire web page to zeros."
"Executing. Sabah Ibnat-Saleh has responded."
"What did she say?"
"She is asking who we are and if we are joking. Is this something people joke about?"
"Link her the Aryan Nation twitter page."
I contemplated letting Veda delete that too but the Nazi's already knew. Even if Veda deleted it, then what? Go to war against the whole Internet until everyone stopped talking about names? No. It's too big. I'd never catch everyone.
I'd have to settle for cutting off the faucet.
Move on.
"Tell her it's Newtype," I finished. "Tell her not to go home. The Empire already knows her name they can probably find that out-"
Medhall. If the Empire and Medhall worked together, finding everyone in Brockton Bay just by looking at medical records. A record system with perfectly smooth response times. I'd know. Jean1 built it months ago.
"Just, she can't go home. She needs to warn her parents. The Empire can probably find out where she lives."
"Relaying."
What do I do?
I began grabbing my tools.
"She needs- I don't know. She needs to hide. Somewhere."
I can't track them all down.
O Gundam knelt on the floor behind the van, the wires, servos, compressors, and everything vital exposed. A few armor plates lay on tables and shelves ready to be fitted, but not enough to properly protect the suit.
"How long until the armor plates are done?"
"Seven hours," Veda announced.
Too long.
Did it even matter? Even with the suit ready to go, I couldn't be everywhere.
The PRT? They're the ones who fucked this up. Police? Corrupt. If they weren't, so what? They stood no chance against a cape. Protectorate? Any real difference there with the PRT?
In my frantic ramblings on what to do, I saw one of the clocks around the room. First period started nine minutes ago. I imagined Blackwell standing by the front doors loving this. Taylor Hebert, absent again. Dad won't be happy. I might get worse than grounding.
I dodged a bullet. Guess Calvert wasn't lying. The PRT did classify everything about me. Or at least they knocked it up past whatever level these files existed on. I could just go to school. Make up some excuse about the bus. Not like I could be everywhere and help everyone at once.
Yeah. Turn my back and do nothing. Right.
I turned away from the clock. If Dad got angry, I'd have to live with it. If Blackwell gloated, I'd have to live with it. I'd live with it.
This went beyond my problems.
I still can't help all of them. There's too many. Villains? Shit what if the villains are outed to? The Protectorate? The Wards? For all I knew every other cape in the Bay got outed. Me, Veda, Dinah. We might be the only ones with any anonymity left- Dinah!
"Veda, have you finished deleting everything?"
"Negative."
"Index every cape that got outed." I hesitated, but did it really matter anymore? "No need for Level Seven now. They're all out already."
"Complete."
"Search Dinah Alcott."
"No results."
Thank god. "Send Dinah a message. Tell her to lay low while I think of…something."
"Sent."
I stopped myself. Standing in the center of the room and taking slow easy breaths, I tried to just empty my head and focus. Make a plan. Doesn't have to be a perfect plan, but something. Anything really. Wandering around my workshop frantically didn't help anything.
"Whose been outed? Go alphabetically by cape name."
"Avian. Armory. Arguile-"
"Stop!" I didn't know any of those names. "Who?"
"Avian, independent hero in Hartford, Connecticut. Armory, vigilante from Boston. Deceased 2008. Arguile. Vigilante from Providence. Deceased 1998."
Hartford. Boston. Providence? Deceased, one for more than a decade? So the PRT kept files on dead capes. Alright. That made sense I guess. Governments and paperwork.
"Any Empire capes?"
"Negative."
I raised my head.
"ABB?"
"Negative."
"Any villains?"
"Circus. Grue. Leet. Lustrum. Marquis. Uber."
I almost said something at Grue, but then Veda listed Lustrum.
"Lustrum?" And Marquis?
"Yes."
"Why is Lustrum there? She's in the Birdcage." Marquis too. Reading back over the list, I realized, "Any Wards?"
"Negative."
"Protectorate?"
I already knew the answer, but I wanted to be sure.
"Negative," Veda confirmed.
Just independents. Independents and small time capes. Rogues. No one associated with a large gang or a hero team.
"What cities? Just the cities. No states."
"Augusta. Boston. Brockton Bay. Concord. Hartford. Montpelier. Providence."
New England north of New York then. The PRT North East, more or less.
This is so much worse!
"I have finished deleting the data," Veda said.
I simply nodded, still trying to figure out what to do? Did the PRT know? I wouldn't put it past them to miss it. Pretty much bottom of the barrel at this point on faith in them.
But so random. If the PRT maintained a database of unaffiliated and small time capes, that made sense. Keep the gangs somewhere else. Protectorate and Wards in another. Basic split in information, but even dead capes were getting outed.
Why out dead capes? Imprisoned capes?
That didn't make sense…unless someone just grabbed everything and threw it out. Who did that? The PRT probably kept the files secure, unless they sucked at security. Why not fail at yet another thing? Bitterness aside, surely the PRT maintained some security. Someone on the inside then, with some level of access allowing entry through basic security…
Someone I can think of already did that.
It's going to be one of those days.
"Veda, I need Dragon."
"Contacting."
Dragon's voice came over the speaker a moment later. "I'm sorry I don't have much time-"
"Did the PRT arrest the leaker?"
"I-" She paused, and while I didn't hear a breath or a sigh, I imagined one. "You've noticed?"
"The white power nuts are spilling Parian's real name all over Twitter. Yes. I noticed."
Dragon sighed. "I hoped to get Phantom Pain blocked before the leak gained attention."
"Phantom Pain has been dealt with," Veda replied.
"Wh- The web page is down."
I nodded, starting, "We-"
Dragon interrupted me, saying, "I hope that you do not intend to tell me you sabotaged a privately owned website. Something that I will point out violates several state and federal laws."
I recoiled, trying to think of some response to the sudden scorn.
"I also certainly hope," she continued. "That I will not have to lie when a Blue Cosmos lawyer asks if I know who took one of their most popular support forums offline."
And...I relaxed. Reading between the lines, I understood her. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. If asked I don't want to have to lie.
"Personally, I would congratulate whoever did such a thing, seeing as Blue Cosmos has historically taken groups like the Guild and PRT to court when members have tried to block their websites in similar situations. Braving that threat is commendable in service to others."
You did the right thing. "Okay."
"I need you to tell me you didn't do it."
I rose my brow. "Why?"
"Did you do it?"
And I went right back to being confused.
"I need you to say it," she reiterated.
I stumbled through the words. "I didn't do it?" Did she take not lying that seriously?
"Nor did I," Veda said stiffly.
"Good," Dragon replied with a more upbeat tone. "Since the only person I might suspect of such an act has firmly denied it, I can honestly say I don't know who did. Could be anyone. Lots of tinkers and thinkers in the world. If they are smart, whoever did do it will maintain anonymity. Being sued by Blue Cosmos is not a pleasant experience."
And that brought all the pieces together. Veda pulled up a news article. A Ward outed in Seattle. Dragon blocked access to the server hosting the information, and Blue Cosmos sued the next day on behalf of the owner.
After giving me a moment, Dragon added, "If we're lucky, the unknown party who took down the Phantom Pain boards will additionally take down the backups."
A moment later a series of IP addresses appeared.
I got the message.
sys.t/ take them down
sys.t/ don't say anything after you finish
sys.v/ I understand
Looking back to the screens, I asked, "What is the PRT doing?"
"I'm honestly not at liberty to say, and I don't have the time to give you the play by play. I'm trying to coordinate a dozen suits right now and a conference call with all available PRT Directors and Protectorate leaders."
"Ah."
Of course she was. Dragon, greatest tinker in the world. Busy, busy. I understood that, but still.
I asked, "Is this because of me?"
"No," Dragon answered quickly. "If anyone is at fault, it is me. Guarding these databases is in part my responsibility. My security failed."
I nodded. "Alright."
"I have to go. Call Lieutenant Ramius. Brockton Bay is worse off than other cities."
The line died, and I weighed my anger versus people's lives. Easy choice really. I'd never live with myself sitting on the sidelines doing nothing.
For the first time I hated being alone. Not literally alone. Veda, and the Haros, and Dinah helped me. But all from the back line. For anything that really needed doing, what did I have? Me and my suit, and at the moment I didn't have my suit.
No choice, again, but to rely on the people who kept disappointing me.
Settle down girl.
Time to chew on the heroes for their mistakes would come later. For now people were in danger, and I couldn't do anything about it alone. Talk about another broken record...
I got up and pulled together my costume.
"Veda. Call Ramius."
I stripped and kicked off my remaining shoe. Green brought me a pair of beam sabers, and Orange a few grenades. The Beam Carbine rested on one of the work benches half assembled. Pink and Red both rolled over and started putting it back together.
"Hello?"
I took a deep breath. "Lieutenant."
"Newtype?"
"Yeah. I've been following what happened."
"Can you help?"
"What do you need?"
"Anything honestly. Half the PRT is locked in the HQ building, along with half the Wards."
My hand stopped, zipper halfway up my stomach.
"Locked in the PRT building?"
"Sabotage," she answered. Oh. "We're under manned. I think we're at the step of taking all the help we can get."
"Who is available?"
"The Protectorate, Clockblocker, Vista, and a few troopers off duty when the lock down hit."
"So few?"
"Shift change."
Shift change? Shit. Someone did plan this out.
"Armsmaster is coordinating," Ramius explained. "Let me connect you."
"Alright."
I donned my mask and gathered my weapons. The line clicked, and then-
Shouting. So much shouting I barely heard a word.
"-ould use a little help here! Vista!"
"I can't use my power with this many people around!"
"Console," Armsmaster said. "Contact New Wave. See if Glory Girl and Panacea can help extract Dazzler."
"Right," a rough male voice replied. Triumph, I guessed. Only member of the Protectorate I hadn't met.
"LaFlaga?" he asked. "Status."
"Underpaid and overworked!"
"That is not the correct answer."
"I got them. I got them! We're on our way."
A sigh followed. "Browbeat's mother and sister are secured Armsmaster."
"Continue looking for the father. LaFlaga, after delivering Mrs. Ortiz and the girl to the Rig, Miss Militia needs help tracking down Laughter. The Abbess says she ran out of the building a few minutes ago."
"I might need some help too," Prism warned. "I'm at the campus, but I don't know Sabah's class schedule."
"Cape names," Armsmaster warned.
"Parian. Sorry. Just"—she sighed—"I wasn't ready for today." Tell me about it. "I can't search this whole place by myself."
"We don't have any more hands to send-"
"Give me your phone number," I interrupted.
"Newtype?"
"Is that Newtype?"
"Welcome to the party!" Clockblocker shouted. "Population please help us seriously this crowd keeps getting bigger!"
Armsmaster snapped, "Calm down Clockblocker."
Triumph said, "Glory Girl and Panacea are coming. Shielder is just across the street. Prism, Laserdream and Lady Photon are flying to the campus."
"Wait. Newtype. My phone number?"
"So I can give it to Parian."
"You're in contact with her?"
"Not right now. I warned her she was outed nine, ten minutes ago."
"Have a pen?"
"No need."
sys.t/ Veda
sys.v/ I will handle it
"Console, Velocity. Faultline is taking her crew out of town. They're packing up right now."
"Let them go," Armsmaster declared. "Same with Grue. Assume Faultline and the Undersiders will handle their own. Newtype, your robots?"
"What about them?"
"Can you deploy them to cover the city?"
I turned in my chair. The Haros stood around me in a semi-circle, waiting. If I sent them out, my progress on repairing the suit would go even slower. Though, if we got everyone somewhere safe, for a little while, I'd have the time to get it up and running.
"Yeah, they can."
"We need eyes," Armsmaster explained. "Too many people we need to find and not enough people to find them. The plan is to relocate all affected parties to a secure location. Preferably the Rig until the PRT HQ is secured."
Made sense.
"Can you give StarGazer access to the traffic cameras again?"
"Only Director Piggot or Deputy Director Calvert can authorize that," Miss Militia answered. "Both are trapped in the PRT building until the M/S quarantine drops. We can't contact them."
"Not until Shadow Stalker comes back out," Velocity added.
I raised my brow. "M/S quarantine? Wait. Why is-"
"We do not have time for a play-by-play," Armsmaster said.
A play-by-play on how the PRT fucked this up this much? No, maybe not. Not yet.
"Fine." I grit my teeth. "I can put the Haros out there and have them look, but I'm going to need pictures."
"Are we allowed to give those out to independents?"
"They're already outed," Armsmaster decided. "Our focus is on damage control and preservation of life."
"I've got Parian," Prism announced.
"Do you need assistance?"
"Not unless the skin heads staring at us decide to run through the thirty or so students staring at them. Come on Sabah. We're goi-"
"Get her to the Rig. LaFlaga, pick them up when you can. Console, send Newtype pictures."
"Transferring now," Triumph said.
sys.v/ received
I pulled the images up. I didn't expect so many. Twenty or so. Some old. Some young. Parents and siblings. I got a list of names too. I didn't waste any time looking.
sys.t/ ready?
sys.v/ yes
"Pink, Red, Navy."
"Let's go, let's go!"
The three Haros rolled over to their cradles. The motors started up, and the back door lifted.
"Um. We lost Dazzler," Clockblocker said.
"What?"
"How?"
"GG just grabbed her and flew off," Vista answered. "She's going in the direction of the Rig."
"Well." Stratos chuckled. "That's one way to do it. So that's Browbeat, Dazzler, and Parian."
"We still need to locate the families," Armsmaster said.
"Naturally, but I'm less worried about getting the folks in nice and safe than the ones with superpowers. Who's still on the lam?"
"Chariot, Laughter, and Sere," Triumph replied. "Uber and Leet, maybe. We have nothing to suggest they ever returned to the city after their escape."
"Militia, group with Prism and Parian," Armsmaster ordered. "We'll let Newtype search for faces and then deploy to collect them once they're found."
sys.t/ Can you handle the coordinating?
sys.v/ yes
"I'll secure Sere," Armsmaster continued. "Velocity, warn his family. Bring them in if you can. I've confirmed Chariot's location. Militia, can you get him?"
"On my way."
"Vista and I can go too," Clockblocker offered. "We've got nothing to do around here now."
"Negative," Armsmaster said. "Return to the Rig, both of you. If something happens you're well suited to handling an emergency. Report to Stratos and Dauntless."
"I don't have my suit," I explained. "Not for a few more hours anyway. I can go out and pick someone up though."
"Go with Militia," Armsmaster said. "The sooner we extract Chariot from Winslow, the better."
Wait what. "Winslow?"
"You know it?"
"I can find it."
"I can meet them there as well," Ramius offered. "I'm supposed to be handling coordination with Newtype anyway."
"You aren't technically in my chain of command," Armsmaster replied. "Do as you wish."
"I'll meet Miss Militia and Newtype there. Give me twelve minutes."
"I'll be there in thirteen," Miss Militia said, the roar of a bike audible around her.
"Newtype?"
I didn't answer. My brain kept replaying the word Winslow. Chariot went to Winslow? Made sense I guess. Brockton Bay supposedly hosted one of the highest capes per capita populations in the US. What were the odds a school with over a thousand students only hosted Shadow Stalker and Newtype?
Still. According to the clock, first period started twenty minutes ago.
Apparently, I am going to school today.
Irony, thy name is Taylor.
I got into the van and Veda started the motor.
"I can be there in fifteen minutes. Who are we looking for?"
"Trevor Medina," Miss Militia answered.
The van went over a bump in the road, jostling me in my seat. Shaken from my stupor I asked in an even voice. Shock? Maybe I can't be shocked anymore. Too many surprises back to back.
Annoyed?
Agitated?
Those I managed.
"Sorry, interference. Could you repeat that?"
