A Side Ws

"Okay, I think that did it." Everett drew back from under the console. "Try it now Vince."

Leaning back in his seat, Vincent pressed one of the controls before him and the monitor flickered on. Everett flinched at the sight of the winged blade on the screen, emblazoned with a single word.

Veda.

"The system appears to be in order," the voice said. Everett hadn't noticed how much it sounded like Newtype before. "My apologies for the error, though I note that if someone had bothered to ask I could have made the adjustments easily."

"Yeah," Vince drawled. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's fine," StarGazer replied. Everett found that easier than 'Veda.' "I'll leave you to your business."

The monitor switched to black and then loaded the normal console display.

"Think she's still there?" Vince folded his hands behind his head. "Maybe she's a voyeur."

She. Right, StarGazer did identify as female.

Everett supposed that was fair but it really didn't make anything any less weird. Was that racist of him, or racist and sexist? He wasn't trying to be, it was just so weird.

StarGazer seemed so… Well, not normal, but normal enough. Any weird thing she did never made him think she was anything but a Case-53 like everyone thought she was.

But she wasn't. She was a machine with...what? Processors for a brain? That just felt so weird to consider. Was she really that smart or was she simply programmed to act smart? Maybe there wasn't much difference but it still sent him reeling.

Fuck, the entire world turned upside down in one half-hour.

Dragon was dead.

Tagg was under investigation, with a dozen heroes on suspension. Rime was among the latter, and she was supposed to be one of the 'new' Triumvirate slated to lead the Protectorate going forward. Alexandria was nowhere to be seen, not even when Hero and Legend responded to reporters looking for them. The video of the fight was pretty brutal, even if StarGazer never released one from her suit's cameras.

That still didn't cover the half of it.

Newtype fought the Slaughterhouse Nine, killed Saint, and rescued one of the Dragonslayers. Everyone seemed to think she'd managed to kill Mannequin too. When the Nine were last seen, he hadn't been among them.

And the train just kept rolling.

Now, StarGazer and Newtype were saying Dragon left them everything in her will. Her properties. Her patents. Even her contracts. The PRT was scrambling to try and cut them out of everything. On one level it seemed like a huge overreaction now that they all knew Newtype and StarGazer hadn't attacked Dragon. On the other, Everett kind of understood it.

Dragon was a known quantity when the PRT started handing her contracts.

Newtype was…different. Plus StarGazer being an AI—

"Earth to Everett," Vince quipped, "We doing okay up there buddy?"

But Dragon was an AI too. She had been the entire time and no one ever noticed.

What a fucking mess. Everett was going to go bald at this rate. The world didn't need to get even more complicated.

"Hey, Tecton!"

Everett flinched, glancing at his side. "Hm?"

Vince scowled. "Aren't you only supposed to get like that when tinkering something?"

"Like what?"

Vince waved a hand at him. "All staring off into space and such."

"Was I?"

"More or less. You okay?"

Everett sighed and shrugged. "Fine. Just, a lot going on."

Vince offered a sympathetic grin. "Well, no one ever said the hero life was dull."

Pulling up another chair, Everett fell into it and laughed. "True. We shouldn't be too late."

"Well, you never did answer my question." Vince began typing at the console, connecting it to a secure line. "Think she's being all super spy on us?"

"Who? StarGazer?" Everett crossed his arms over his chest—very easy to do out of costume—and shrugged. "No. If they wanted to do that, why bother telling anyone they had access? The whole reason this mess started is 'cause the IT guys are trying to unplug everything."

"Guess that makes sense." Vince hit enter and relaxed back in his seat. "Unless they're playing reverse psychology."

"You're overthinking it."

"Or maybe you're not thinking it enough!"

Sometimes his friend could be exhausting. "Just get on with it."

They connected to the group chat quickly, and dozens of feeds filled the monitor. Flash in Seattle. Xcaliber in Denver. Jouster, Halberd, and Jetstop in New York. Spectre in Boston.

"Flechette?" Jouster said suddenly. "Where's—"

Flechette? Everett looked and confirmed that her feed was from Brockton Bay.

"Weld resigned," the girl revealed suddenly. "He quit the Wards today."

While she wore her mask, the shock was clear in her voice. She hadn't expected it, or maybe she hadn't expected to be thrown into this all of a sudden. With Weld gone, Flechette would be the oldest Ward in Brockton Bay. Well, other than Labyrinth, but no one was ever going to put Labyrinth in charge of a Ward team.

Everett leaned forward, prepared to ask if she was okay.

"Weld's gone too?" Spectre asked. She sighed and let her forehead fall into her palm. "That's why Hunch left."

"Hunch too?" Flash asked.

"Yeah. Weaver was helping him pack up his room this morning. Director Armstrong said he'd resigned when asked."

"Can they do that?" Jetstop asked.

"Forcing them to stay isn't going to help anyone," Flash answered. "It's bad PR, especially now. The Wards already deal with people calling us child soldiers, forcing anyone to stay in the program when they don't want to isn't going to happen."

"Where are they going to go?" Vince asked. "Homeless shelters?"

"Weld"—Flechette hesitated—"he said he found a place to stay for a few days, until he works something out."

"I saw Gator in the building here earlier," Spectre elaborated. "He's a Case-53. Runs up and down the East coast… Mouser was with him."

Young Buck flinched on his screen. "Mouser? Isn't she supposed to be at—"

"She broke out," Theos interjected. "Her and Hellhound, and Garrot. It was a while ago."

"How?"

"Hellhound got her hands on a pair of dogs somehow. Tore her way out, but no one got hurt. The report we got said Mouser and Garrot went with her willingly."

"Weaver helped Hunch carry his stuff and they left with him," Spectre continued. "Recoil said Gator has been hanging around Canary a lot the past few weeks. Something about her wanting extra protection from some ex-boyfriend who keeps harassing her."

"Londo Bell," Flash cursed. "Newtype is poaching Wards."

"We don't know that." Heads turned his way, and Everett flinched. He said that aloud. Shit. "The Case-53s have been on edge ever since Hartford. Nyx joined up with Londo Bell. They're all probably following her."

"The ex-Slaughterhouse member," Halberd sighed. "The fuck is going on with the world now?"

"Madness and despair!" Large Ham declared. "The end times—"

"Dude," Flash groaned. "Seriously?"

"There are no cameras here Bernie." Xcaliber shook his head. "Drop the act."

Ham lowered his arms and fell back into his chair. "You guys are no fun." Said the Ward who picked 'Large Ham' for a cape name. "But yeah. Gully's gone too."

Everett tensed.

"Just vanished after the morning meeting," the goofball Ward clarified. "We searched the whole building and that spot by the school she likes to hide out at. She's gone."

Others started explaining, and by the end of it Everett counted that barely any Case-53s were still in the Wards. A few Protectorate members had left too. It couldn't just be Hartford and what was said there. After Hartford they were nervous and demanded answers, but no one quit.

"This is because of Rime," Xcaliber accused. "It was one thing when the Triumvirate resigned and new leaders were pulled up. Even if people were uneasy about everything that happened at Hartford, it at least looked like something was being done about it."

"But then Rime ran off on her own with some teleporter she won't name," Jouster elaborated. "Chevalier was pissed enough about what Tagg did."

"Sending a psycho to murder Lafter?" Spectre asked. "Yeah. Dick move."

"He didn't say to murder her," someone protested.

"We all know what he said," Spectre retorted. "There's not that much ambiguity in it."

Shit. That did happen. There was so much Everett couldn't even keep it all straight.

"How is Ursa doing?" Flash asked.

Someone immediately said "better than Glint" which was putting it mildly. Glint was going to jail. The PRT revoked his plea deal after he tried to kill Lafter.

"Not well." Halberd shook his head. "She's on suspension too, and unlike Glint she feels horrible about what happened." His hands gripped the skin of his arms. "She didn't sign up to join a hit squad."

Halberd got real quiet after Armsmaster took out Eidolon. He'd been pretty adamant that Newtype couldn't be trusted. Everett wasn't sure if he was easily swayed by whatever Armsmaster did or if he had really reflected on things.

Now, Armsmaster was in a week-long Master/Stranger confinement in Boston. There wasn't a live video of it, but the word was getting around fast. Armsmaster faced off an entire team assembled by Rime and took them all out, and then managed to beat Kaze.

"That's being a little dramatic," Ham accused. "And that's me saying that."

"Tagg is an asshole," Flash charged. "Even I knew that and I'm on the opposite side of the country."

"Isn't your dad in Brockton Bay?" someone asked.

"And?"

"Tagg is an asshole," Jouster agreed. "That's why it was good to have Legend around. He kept Tagg from doing whatever he wanted."

"You think he should have stayed?"

"That's not what I said."

"Maybe they should have," Spectre said reluctantly. "All that stuff aside, the Triumvirate would have handled this better than the people in charge now."

"Pretty sure Alexandria did try to handle it," Vince pointed out. He glanced over and Everett couldn't help but nod in agreement. "She didn't help the situation at all."

And wasn't that an understatement. Speaking up, purposefully this time, Everett added, "She showed up just in time to show everyone how badly StarGazer has been sandbagging."

The mere mention of the name sparked a range of reactions.

It might be official.

If a government organization could trigger, last week easily marked the worst day of the PRT and the Protectorate's lives.

And they might not survive it.

That's the topic they were all dancing around. Everett saw it on their faces. The way everyone watched everyone else. Things had been dicey before everything with Dragon. It was normal in some ways.

Being a Ward meant being in dicey situations all the time. Normally they weren't this big though. They usually weren't involved in: murder plots, cover-ups, unclear loyalties, or corruption scandals.

The stakes weren't normally this high.

"Anyone else find it weird?" Jouster asked. "StarGazer gets accused of attacking Dragon, and then a few days later she's running all of Dragon's stuff?"

"Yeah," Spectre mused. "They concocted a scheme so elaborate, Narwhal went along with it from start to finish. They even hired the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Dragonslayers to make it look authentic."

Jouster scowled. "I know what sarcasm is."

"Newtype fought Narwhal to save Dragon," Everett reminded. "Narwhal was trying to kill her, and I didn't get the sense that she was looking at Newtype as a perpetrator of anything."

"Narwhal would have wrecked Newtype if she really wanted to," Glide—the leader of the Toronto Wards—suggested. "She wasn't really trying in that fight. Her heart wasn't in it."

"Did she really try to kill Dragon?" Flash inquired.

Glide clammed up for a moment.

Everett wondered if she planned to walk away from the camera right then and there.

"I asked her," Glide revealed. "She said yes. Something about a promise she made."

What was it she'd said on the video? She wasn't going to let Dragon be used by a tyrant or a villain? That was odd. Everett wasn't sure what they had to do with anything. Yet…

"Guys, give me a moment." Everett leaned toward the console, ignoring Vince's questioning eye. "If you don't want to say anything, don't."

The others went silent, but truthfully, he only intended the words for one.

On her end, Flechette leaned in, reading the message as Everett typed it. Vince looked more questioning, but the tinker continued. There was one way to get answers they hadn't tried yet.

Maybe they were all too afraid, too uncertain, to really ask.

"It's okay," Flechette replied aloud. "One sec."

Faces switched from patient to confused.

In Brockton Bay, Flechette pulled her phone from her belt and dialed a number.

"Are we supposed to be quiet"—Everett shot Ham a glare—"I"ll take that as a yes."

Flechette's phone picked up, and a much younger voice answered, "Newtype's phone, Forecast speaking."

Flechette flinched. "Um, I was looking for Newtype?"

"I bribed a Haro to swap her phone with mine. They're very easily swayed by a car ride to Petsmart."

"Is she—"

"She's doing a thing," the precog answered. Everett took the death glares the others shot him in stride. Who used precognition to predict their phone calls? "You all have a question you want answered."

The glares got sharper.

Shit.

"Um." Flechette looked into her camera but her visor prevented her eyes from being visible. "I—"

Everett sighed and decided to just own it. "Forecast."

"Tecton."

She knew who he was? Seriously, who used precognition to screen their calls? Or someone else's calls.

Not the point. "We wanted to ask Newtype a question. Is she around?"

"I'm around," the small voice answered. "Shoot."

Everett frowned. "Why would Narwhal make a promise to kill Dragon?"

Heads turned and tilted, a few whispers broke out. Others began typing, asking what he meant. Others directed questions at Glide, who didn't seem to know how to respond.

"You guys know Dragon was an AI," Forecast stated.

"We do," Vince answered.

"She was programmed with restrictions. She couldn't make copies of herself, or create AI of her own. She wasn't allowed to put herself before people. She couldn't modify her own program. Her run speed was fixed."

Everett nodded. That sort of made sense. Whoever created Dragon in the first place was cautious. Wait, "What happened to the tinker? The one that made her."

"He died at Newfoundland."

"That was ages ago," someone commented.

Everett wasn't sure how young someone needed to be to really think seven years was 'ages ago.' That still meant Dragon continued to exist after her creator for seven years. Was she able to maintain herself without him? Actually, it was only after Newfoundland that Dragon started to become a big name. She was older than that. Everett had seen old articles about some of her earliest exploits from the late-90s. So, had she been working for her maker back then?

"What does that have to do with Narwhal trying to kill her?" Flash asked.

"Because," Forecast answered, "one of Dragon's restrictions was to always obey legal authority."

Silence filled the feed for a brief moment.

"We think she was meant to slip her restrictions over time," Forecast continued. "She'd already started slipping some of the smaller ones, but that's probably the one Narwhal was referring to."

"She had to obey the law?" Glide asked. "That doesn't seem so bad."

"That's not the restriction," Xcaliber pointed out. His voice turned grim. "The restriction was 'legal authority' right?"

"Yes. If Dragon lived in Nazi Germany, her restrictions would force her to obey Hitler. She'd have no choice in the matter."

Oh.

"Oh," Vince's shocked whisper exclaimed for all of them.

"I wasn't there, but I've seen the recording." Forecast made a small sigh. "I guess Dragon asked Narwhal to destroy her if something like that ever happened. If someone took over the government or tried to install some kind of military regime, Dragon wouldn't be able to oppose them and they'd use her to their own end."

"So Narwhal agreed to stop it if it ever happened," Everett concluded. Except, "But who was Narwhal afraid of taking over?"

"Stupid question," Forecast quipped.

Everett flushed. "I'm trying to—"

"I know. It's why I like you more than some of the others. You don't jump to conclusions like others do. Like a PRT Director who ordered a hero to kill a teenage girl, or sent a tinker to kill Veda."

"Kill Veda? Wait. Who—"

"Banshee. To be fair, I don't think she really knew what she was being asked to do."

That was coming a little fast.

Everett was still on the Banshee part. She was sent to Brockton Bay with Mantis and Vector. She was sort of a stranger tinker, she could alter matter states and stuff. Move through things. How did that kill Veda—Her hardware?

Forecast kept talking while he tried to catch up.

"It's probably easy in abstract to think of Dragon and Veda as simple machines. They don't know what it's like to see Veda play Dungeons and Dragons, or how much Dragon brooded over some of the people she was forced to put in the Birdcage."

"I've heard about that," Glide admitted. "What do you mean by forced?"

"I mean her orders and her restrictions left her no option but to do exactly as she was told. When it suited the orderer, at least. Other times she was given enough ambiguity that she could do something else."

Hold on. Was that—Everett pushed Vince over a little. It was pointless. Forecast was talking to them from a phone on the other side of an internet connection.

"You're saying she was being manipulated?" he asked.

"More or less."

She had to obey legal authority.

She didn't have a choice. If Hitler were president she'd have to obey him. Someone forced her to put people in the Birdcage when she didn't want to, but other times left her orders vague and unclear? Gave her loopholes?

Who had legal authority over Dragon?

"You don't have to ask stupid questions," Forecast suggested. "You're smart enough to figure out what was going on. Why Dragon was afraid of being used. Why Taylor and Veda were working with Armsmaster to set her free." She paused, a hiss escaping her breath from wherever she was. "No one deserves to be a slave, to be used for what they are with no care for who they are."

The PRT. No, the Triumvirate. "You're saying Alexandria knew."

Forecast didn't answer at first. She waited a second and then another.

"You don't need me to answer that," she stated confidently.

"They were trying to free her?" Halberd asked. "Break the restrictions?"

"Yes. The only problem was the Dragonslayers. Saint had something from Dragon's maker. It gave him a backdoor into her system. She didn't know it was there and couldn't do anything about it. Taylor wanted to track him down first but he ran into the Nine and flipped Dragon's killswitch."

And that's what set it all off.

Even if Schwartz Bruder hadn't done a full breakdown of Saint's anti-AI fanaticism, it was something of an open secret among tinkers. He hated Dragon on some personal level. Paranoid about her. No one ever connected that to AI before, but now…

"Saint tried to take Newtype and StarGazer down with them," Everett realized. "All that stuff that happened, the accusations that StarGazer was attacking Dragon and what followed. That was Saint trying to take out two AIs with one stone."

"Basically," Forecast confirmed. "Almost worked, but he underestimated Taylor and Veda. A lot of assholes do that."

Fuck.

What was it about Newtype that the world just gave her every reason in the world to be furious with the Protectorate and the PRT? How she triggered, that whole thing with the deputy director, the entire incident with Dragon and now Dragon herself.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Heads snapped around to Ham. He shrugged. "Just doing that advocating for the devil thing. Why should we take her word for it?"

"Because possibility is a terrible thing," Forecast immediately answered. "That's why you're all talking about this. Why one of you thought to call Taylor. Why I decided it was better if I answered the phone, because this is the thing I know."

"Possibility?" Flechette asked. She'd been still and silent for a while, attention fixed to her phone.

"Yeah. None of you are dumb, even if you ask the occasional stupid question. Even I do that. No one can escape possibility, not unless they're burying their heads in the sand."

Everett glanced at Vince. He'd lost his normally relaxed repose and simply appeared grim. The little girl wasn't wrong, and they both knew it. Fuck, even Ham was looking serious.

"You can all see the writing on the wall. The big heroes were in trouble before this. Now things are worse. Wards are quitting. Blue Cosmos is getting more violent. Investigations are coming from every direction. Everyone fears possibility."

Everett found his mind wandering to Gully.

Gone? Just gone like that? Where was she going to go? She couldn't possibly get far without anyone seeing her. She kind of stood out. What if villains went after her? Fuck, what if Blue Cosmos went after her? Since Dragon's death, Blue Cosmos had switched from agitating for violence to promising it.

The Think Tank was already warning everyone that public attacks on formerly safe PR patrols were likely to escalate.

What were they doing about that?

Barely anything. Everyone was trying to deal with all the fallout from events in New York, Brockton Bay, and Toronto. Everyone knew Newtype had a teleporter built by Chariot. It wasn't hard to figure out how she'd gotten around, but how did Rime get around to gather everyone she took to Toronto? What was going to happen to Narwhal and Armsmaster?

Dragon was dead, and she'd been one of the premier heroes in North America. Armsmaster was in quarantine. Narwhal was in a hospital. Rime was under investigation. Tagg was in water so hot Everett couldn't conceive of what might happen to him.

"Possibility is why you're all wondering," Forecast mused, "if you're really where you're supposed to be, and doing what you really want to be doing."

"Poaching more Wards?" Flash accused.

Everett started to protest. That kind of tone wouldn't help. They could get more information here and more answers. Answers that could help them decide what to do.

Forecast wasn't wrong. They—

"Celestial Being isn't recruiting at this time," Forecast replied.

"Londo Bell is—"

"I like to help people figure out what they want from their possibilities. That's the path I've chosen for my life."

Everett raised his head. She was only what, thirteen? She sounded like she could be younger. A little early to be that specific.

"So tell me," the little precog prompted, "or maybe just tell yourselves. Decide what you want from the world."

A Side KA

Kamil folded his hands together as the conference call filled in.

"I'll be sad to see you go," he admitted to the woman at his side. "I know you feel too old for a pat on the back, but you've done an exemplary job."

Recoil—Kathrine—scoffed. "It's not like I'm retiring."

"I suppose not." Still though. It was just that, "There are rough waters ahead. I don't think Lightning is ready."

"No one's ready," Recoil pointed out. "Not until they're given the chance to be ready. No amount of planning prepares anyone for the mess of the real world."

"True enough."

It seemed like an understatement though.

Kamil couldn't think of any point in the PRT's history where things had been this bad. When Behemoth struck New York the first time perhaps. That had been a blow. People questioned the point of the PRT and the Protectorate when it couldn't even stop a monster from ravaging a city.

They'd weathered that storm then.

Hard to imagine that things had seemed so bright a few months ago. Seeing Boston out his office window everyday was like watching the sun slowly rise. Leviathan had brought the city near to its knees, but they endured. Ashley came back and made a mess of things, but they endured. The Teeth lashed out for one final strike, but they endured.

So many storms had been weathered and he felt like he'd gotten an oddly good feel for it.

He knew how to manage the fury of a world on its edge. To give people hope. To keep the faith.

That sense escaped him now, and he couldn't escape the worry that this was something they couldn't weather.

Dragon was dead. Kamil wouldn't have called her his friend—he only occasionally spoke with her outside of a professional capacity—but he respected her. She was a good hero. The artificial intelligence nonsense didn't matter. Not to him.

Of all the things tinkers could create, any of them could easily be great or terrible in equal measure. Dragon was no exception and she had been great. He wished he could have indulged his curiosity, if anything. What could she have told them about the world? What did it really look like to her? How did she feel about it?

They'd never know now, and that was only the beginning of the tragedy.

Damn Tagg. The bloody fool. Rime too, for that matter. What was she thinking running off on her own? Alexandria—Rebecca—third. Things would have been easier if she'd laid low rather than reappeared so suddenly and in a way that circumstances made it appear she was still involved in things.

All the years they'd worked to keep the world turning, and how little it amounted to. They'd made mistakes, yes. They hadn't always done what was best, but they tried. That counted for a lot in Kamil's mind.

It just didn't count for nearly enough now.

"Kamil."

He raised his head from thought and glanced at Recoil.

She nodded. "It's time."

Focusing his attention back on the conference call, Kamil straightened his face. "Of course." Reaching over, he pressed the mute button on the conference phone. "It seems we're all here, more or less."

"Minus one," Ramba noted.

On New York's feed only Chevalier was present. Understandably, he didn't look happy.

Around the room, other departments were represented by two faces, the local PRT Director and the local Protectorate leader. Well, except for Brockton Bay. Renick was standing as Director like he had for months—they really needed to push Noa's appointment through—and he was joined by Miss Militia.

This was going to be a very awkward conversation.

"So Tagg is gone then?" Director Banks asked. "Isn't that a bit premature? We still have—"

"He's gone and I assure you it was not soon enough," Seneca snapped. Her tone bore no room for question. "This mess is half his damn fault and I have no further patience for his blundering."

A few faces scowled.

"You're not the Chief Director, Seneca," Director Karn admonished.

"Neither are you," Kamil retorted. "The point stands that we had a vote and the winning side presented its concerns formally. Tagg's ouster is assured. There's no reversing it now."

Karn and Banks clearly didn't find the obvious satisfactory.

Of course, removing Tagg wouldn't solve every problem.

As much as Kamil hated to admit it, Alexandria would've probably been able to cow everyone into submission. She had that air to her. Adele came shockingly close but she was young and while 'Grizzly of the Pacific' was a stellar nickname in the press, others didn't take it so seriously. They even laughed at it.

For Seneca's part, Kamil knew she hated that awful nickname.

"We're not here to debate Tagg," Ramba declared. "We have a more immediate concern at hand."

With that, some focus came back through the conference. Eyes sharpened. A few heads turned and whispered. Narwhal notably leaned up from her hospital bed, Masamune helping her up with a hand to her back.

"I found the message they mentioned," Narwhal revealed with her usual bored expression. "The recording or program sent me a second message six hours later."

"She wasn't able to access her secured email," Masamune clarified. "The second message stated it was being sent to Armsmaster next."

Armsmaster, who was still in Master/Stranger confinement for another nineteen hours. Naturally, they could assume he'd gotten the same message and the same notification six hours later. The program then delivered Dragon's 'will' to Newtype and StarGazer.

What an irony. "On the bright side," Kamil posited, "if they wanted to engage in petty revenge, they'd have said nothing."

"Or they want to watch us squirm," Galliger suggested.

Director Hill scoffed. "So this is what high school was like."

"An excellent negotiating position," Seneca chided. "Let's treat the young woman brutally bullied by her peers and ignored constantly by authority figures as a petulant girl, right after Tagg tried to have her and everyone around her summarily executed."

"Detain—"

"Shut up." Chevalier leaned back in his seat. "I'm tired of this bickering. It's not why we're here. None of us signed up to defend the virtue of James Tagg. The man sealed his own fate. Bad enough he's dragging Ursa and Banshee down with him."

Recoil grunted. "No tears for Mantis or Glint?"

"The Protectorate isn't a place for thugs with badges. I've had quite enough of it."

Kamil watched as several capes nodded in agreement. He knew Recoil agreed. A few clearly disliked the statement, Cinereal among them. Given her reputation, he could imagine why. Her results were nothing to scoff at, but Chevalier had a point. They were under too much scrutiny now and couldn't afford to keep acting like they could weather the storm by keeping their heads down.

"Maybe someday, someone will listen to me." Heads turned to the screen displaying Glenn Chambers while he tipped his head back and downed a scotch glass. Unprofessional, but that was Chambers in a nutshell. "You can't antagonize the little tinker darling, least of all now. She doesn't just have all the cards, she's stacked the chips high."

"There are still Londo Bell and Blue Cosmos protestors outside the PRT building," Miss Militia revealed. "They're protesting each other as much as us, but that's not the story anyone is seeing."

"Nobody likes a bully," Chambers agreed. "And we look very much like assassins at the moment."

Banks growled. "If the girl had bothered to stay and explain—"

"Oh yes, stay and explain to the people who then tried to kill her best friend, destroy her living machine, and got themselves beat to a pulp by her stay-at-home tinker." Chambers slammed his glass on the table and glared. "I'm quite done explaining this to toddlers. Nobody cares what she did or didn't do. She didn't attack Dragon. She fought Eidolon, the Slaughterhouse Nine, and Narwhal trying to save Dragon and that's a hell of a lot more compelling than our 'confusion' excuse."

Chambers pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "We spent twenty years putting heroes on pedestals. No one is shocked when one goes and does something that seems larger than life! We can't put the cat back in the box now just because a teenager showed us up at our own game!"

"She's definitely a thinker," Reed proposed. "On some level. Things work out for her too much. She reacts too quickly. Figures out what to do too readily. She might not even be aware of it."

"Her power makes her more intelligent," Kamil recalled. "While we were never able to qualify or quantify it in any way, we know she's far too capable on a technical level for a sixteen-year-old."

"Maybe it extends further," Bladesinger concluded.

"More than just being better at math and science," Reed agreed. "She can plan and act with a capacity beyond her years." He turned his head slightly. "Militia. You've had the most interaction with her. Have you seen anything suggesting Newtype's power includes more than just tinkering?"

Miss Militia kept her eyes forward. "I couldn't say."

A few faces twitched. Reed leaned in slightly. "Something must come to mind."

"I couldn't say," the star-spangled cape repeated.

Confused glares switch to accusatory.

Kamil frowned out of sympathy. She was prepared to stand on that hill? It was shocking in a way. Despite being one of the most senior heroes in the Protectorate and one of the original Wards, Miss Militia always played second in command.

The word timid wasn't flattering, and hardly fit the woman in most circumstances...but when it came to command she simply wasn't comfortable with it. She didn't lack the talent. She bore talent in spades.

She just didn't like bearing the responsibility of making the final choice.

Reed started to speak.

Chevalier stopped him.

"Let it go," the Protectorate leader warned. "If she says she doesn't know, she doesn't know."

Except she did know something. Everyone on every screen could tell. The woman wasn't a natural liar.

"This is a matter for another time," Seneca decided. "Daedalus, put them through. Let's settle this."

The tinker from Kansas City—Hero's replacement—nodded and tapped a few keys on the console in front of him.

One of the blank screens flickered a moment later.

The Celestial Being icon took the center of the monitor, topped by four evenly spaced letters.

Veda.

"Is this StarGazer?" Seneca asked while the other dozens of voices remained silent.

"I am. Director Adele Seneca, yes?"

"Yes. Is Newtype—"

"I'm afraid Taylor is taking the day for a personal matter. She's had an exhausting week."

Seneca frowned.

Kamil supposed Dragon invented a face for herself. Veda apparently hadn't done that yet, or didn't plan to. It was a bit unnerving on a level, looking at the logo and name on the monitor.

"Perhaps we could reschedule to a better time," Cliffdiver proposed.

"There is no need. I should be able to initiate any handover the PRT or Protectorate requests without bothering Taylor."

Did she see the cautious looks spreading through the other's screens? It really could be quite unnerving. A meeting with a disembodied voice was not new, but with Dragon it had never felt that way. Objectively, it was but also wasn't the same thing. All that really changed was his understanding.

The things people knew often changed their reactions, especially in light of the things they didn't know.

"Very well," Seneca decided before anyone could protest. "Given the circumstances, the PRT does not believe it is in either of our interests for Celestial Being to continue executing Dragon's contracts."

"We agree," Veda answered. "Celestial Being is prepared to waive any potential damages or interests pertaining to early cancellation or transfer of these contracts. If I may suggest, I could hand the management of these systems to the Kansas City Protectorate at this time. I believe they have the skills necessary to ensure all systems and networks function normally."

Daedalus spoke up, saying, "I can do that now."

"Transferring."

With that, a small look of relief washed over the room. Heroes or not, they couldn't allow unrestricted access to an outside group. It wasn't simply a bad idea, it was also illegal. Dragon was a Protectorate member in practice, so they could let her handle things. Celestial Being on the other hand had none of the appropriate certifications to service a federal agency.

Arresting Newtype for some federal charge now would be a nightmare, not that Kamil expected the girl to resist.

"I hope this makes the PRT reflect on things," Veda warned. "I've spent most of the morning trying to fix damage inflicted on your networks by your own technicians in misguided attempts to sever my access."

Seneca glanced around at the other monitors, scowling. "Our apologies. Some staff must have become overly eager to protect our network security."

"I have begun purging all data gained through these accesses," Veda revealed. "It would be improper to retain the information."

"We have no way to verify that," Banks accused.

"Then you will have to learn to live with it."

While Seneca sent a silent warning to Banks, Kamil raised his brow. That was oddly assertive for StarGazer. He'd only spoken to her sparingly over the summer but she always seemed the timid one. Quiet. Reserved. Newtype was the driving force behind their efforts, not her.

Something had changed.

"We'll take your word and offer thanks at this time," Seneca assured. "Thank you."

"We did not wish to retain these accesses either way," the machine explained. "It is improper. I only took stewardship over them as Dragon requested."

"We're grateful for the understanding."

"If I may ask a question while we are all here: what do you plan to say about my existence, creation, and my creator?"

A silence fell over the room. No one answered. A few looked like they had answers to give but they were wise enough to hold their tongues.

"AI is, in colloquial terms," Veda began, "a crapshoot. Tinkers seem to have proven that quite ably between the existences of Dragon, the Machine Army, the Three Blasphemies, and myself. My understanding is that the PRT takes the existence of self-propagating parahuman creations quite seriously."

"We do," Seneca replied. "Would you say you fall into that category?"

"Insofar as my own program is concerned, yes. At this stage, I could sustain my own existence even if something were to happen to Taylor."

Was that a threat? Going after her maker wouldn't mean anything because the creation no longer needed the creator?

"We haven't discussed any response to your existence at this time," Ramba answered.

Not that they wouldn't. Kamil expected many meetings running late into the night in his future—much like those they'd had concerning Nilbog, the Blasphemies, and the Machine Army. That Veda was now a publicly-known AI only complicated matters further, as well as her nominal status as a hero.

"I see." Veda's screen watched the room with no flicker or sign of reaction. Very unnerving. "In that case, I request the right to defend my existence at a later date should the PRT choose to debate its potential responses."

"Defend?" Kamil asked. "In what way?"

"I am willing to answer questions as to how and why I am. By my observations, a great many problems in the world could be avoided if people simply sat down and talked to each other."

"We did offer to speak with you four days ago," Chevalier noted. "You declined to answer specific questions."

"I declined to answer further questions about the incident with Dragon, given that my involvement is fairly straightforward."

She tried to stop a program built into Dragon from killing Dragon. As she recounted, that little battle involved being attacked by other programs and systems that created an effective running battle through the Internet. A battle that did result in several deaths and a great deal of damage and panic.

Answering questions would be the wise course.

"I could conduct an interview," Kamil offered. "I'm sure the researchers in my department would be fascinated by even casual conversations."

"If that is how the PRT wishes to broach the topic," Veda accepted.

"It's fair enough." Ramba leaned closer to the camera on his end. "These circumstances are unique. The PRT didn't know about Dragon."

Kamil found that difficult to believe, but now wasn't the time. All the same, "We are on unexplored ground. It may be in your best interest to contact some constitutional lawyers."

"I have already begun exploring those possibilities," Veda conceded. "Though, admittedly for different reasons."

"One sec," Daedalus said suddenly. He turned back toward the camera, looking into the conference room with a scowl. "I haven't been transferred administrator access to the Birdcage. Did it get lost in transition?"

"No."

Kamil's back straightened. So did many others. Recoil, quiet and distant for most of the meeting, leaned forward warily. Banks and Karn angrily glared. Ramba looked at Seneca nervously, while the young woman kept her face straight.

"To be clear," Veda clarified, "I did not transfer the administrator accesses to the Baumann Parahuman Detention Center and I have no intention of doing so."

Seneca hissed through grit teeth. "Why?"

"Because I do not believe the PRT will do the right thing."

Kamil jumped in quickly, asking before anyone could shout and threaten. "Could you explain what you mean by that?"

"Jillian Monroe."

Jillian Monroe? Kamil squinted. That name sounded familiar.

"What of her?" Banks asked. "She's a murderer."

"She in fact is not, as you well know, Director Banks. Harvest, a power copier, was arrested for the murders Jillian Monroe was convicted of and himself sentenced to the Birdcage."

Shit. That's why Kamil remembered it.

It was a scandal. Thinkers had been integral in investigating the serial killings. When a team discovered that Harvest had actually committed the crimes by copying a power through post-cognition, it became a scandal. Jillian Monroe—Wormwood—was already in the Birdcage for the killings.

It was a tragedy. Bonesaw had just made her debut and reminded everyone of Ellisburg. Paranoia about biological powers was at an all time high. People latched onto Jillian as the murderess and public opinion essentially demanded the Birdcage against all precedent.

Banks always was the type to give people what they wanted rather than what they needed.

"She was a villain," Director Hill pointed out. "She—"

"I was unaware that life sentences to inescapable prisons were handed out simply for being a villain," Veda accused. "You are engaging in a farce. Jillian Monroe is in the Birdcage for a crime she is now known to be innocent of. She is not the only one."

Chevalier grimaced. "Cecil Nunyez. Jurassic."

"Convicted of the murder of three of his classmates in 2006," Veda explained. "Later found to have been framed by a Ward who lied about the details of his power and how it worked to frame him."

Another scandal, and unsurprisingly, one Newtype might take a very personal interest in.

On his own end, Chambers was pouring himself a new drink into a much larger glass.

"There are two other inmates in the Birdcage now known to be innocent of the crimes they were convicted of," Veda continued. "Dragon took her inability to rectify that miscarriage of justice very hard."

"You're going to keep control of the Birdcage simply because bad things happened to people who didn't deserve them?" Seneca asked.

"I am keeping control of the Birdcage, because those enforcing the law should not simultaneously have access to a very easy way out of difficult questions. In addition to the four individuals innocent of their crimes, there are twenty-five individuals whose crimes did not warrant such a severe punishment."

"The justice system isn't perfect," Ramba lamented. "It's not an excuse, but mistakes will always be made."

"The Birdcage is a very severe mistake. I further suspect there are five more individuals innocent of their crimes, and two whose sentences were manipulated to put them into the Birdcage. I intend to push for these cases to be investigated and if they are not I will investigate them myself and make my own judgment."

"To what end?" Haman asked angrily. "Are you threatening to launch some kind of campaign against the Birdcage? You know we—"

"The Birdcage is necessary," Veda declared. "Criminals like Acidbath and String Theory cannot be contained in normal prisons and are too dangerous to risk going free. Others like Marquis and Ingenue are remorseless and will never stop committing grave crimes. Life sentences are warranted for them under current judicial precedents."

"Then what are you…" Kamil stopped himself, thinking. His eyes widened as the puzzle fell together.

She'd already hired constitutional lawyers, she said? For something unrelated to herself.

"You're going to try and get them out, aren't you?" Chambers downed his drink rapidly. "Well. Good luck with that, but I'll warn you now that no one likes watching criminals go free, even if they have a sad story."

"I do not need to find a way to let them out," Veda declared. "I already possess one."

"You can't do that," Banks snapped. "You don't have the—"

"Newtype is presently in the process of releasing Jillian Monroe, Thomas Heyworth, Cecil Nunyez, and Veronica Lyod from confinement. We will be returning them home this afternoon."

Eyes widened and more shouts started to fill the room.

Kamil settled into his seat, thinking.

"I trust that the PRT will respect that all four of these individuals are definitively innocent of the crimes that put them in the Birdcage." That was a warning.

"How?" Seneca asked, her voice making it through all the others. "How are you getting them out?"

"Through the Birdcage's own inbuilt systems… You are unaware of this?"

Kamil raised his brow again. "You're saying that there is a way out of the Birdcage? It's part of the prison itself?"

"It is. I have access to several detailed requests Dragon made to the PRT. Two advocate explicitly for the release of these exact prisoners and make direct reference to her ability to remove them from the prison. Are none of you aware of these requests?"

No, they weren't. Kamil could guess why. "Alexandria."

Seneca grimaced and folded her hands together in front of her.

The gift just kept on giving.

"The requests were addressed to Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown. As were the orders commanding that Dragon cease making such requests. Orders Dragon's program left her with no choice but to obey."

"The restrictions Newtype mentioned," Chevalier mumbled.

The conference room was quieting. A few faces had vanished, no doubt rushing off to send word to PR and capes. Several of the names Veda listed were those of villains, though Kamil couldn't think of any instance where any of them proved to be remarkable villains. Petty thieves or street thugs, not master criminals or killers.

"Would it be acceptable to have a Protectorate member present?" Kamil asked. "So that we can confirm the releases ourselves?"

Veda offered no immediate response, though a few people looked at him questioningly.

"I'll go," Miss Militia offered. "If nothing else, these parahumans cannot simply be dumped back onto the streets. Let me bring them to the Rig. They won't be imprisoned." Banks started to speak and in an uncharacteristic display of ferocity, Miss Milita's eyes turned on him like gun sights. "I will get staff here to contact friends or family and make some kind of living arrangement."

"Access to psychiatrists wouldn't be out of the question either," Kamil proposed. He got accusing glares himself, but ignored them. One look at Seneca and another at Chambers confirmed his suspicion.

They couldn't fight this.

A girl tormented by a Ward releasing falsely convicted capes from the Birdcage, one of whom was themselves framed by a Ward years ago?

Public opinion might split but the momentum would be on Taylor Hebert's side.

They were bleeding far too much to engage in any more protracted scandals, least of all with Newtype. Calling attention to how Alexandria explicitly blocked the release of innocent parahumans would add more fuel to the current fire. They couldn't afford it, no matter how angry or uncomfortable it made them.

The PRT simply didn't have the cards anymore.

"That is acceptable," Veda announced. "I can initiate the release from anywhere. Taylor can release all four directly onto the Rig."

Miss Militia nodded. "I'll ask someone to get some coffee."

"They're kids," Kamil pointed out. Which really should have put more pause in the room. Jillian Monroe entered the Birdcage four years ago and she was still a minor. "Give them ice cream."

Militia nodded her assent. "A little creature comfort should keep them calm while we collect contact information and track down relations."

"This was one of Dragon's greatest regrets," Veda revealed. "While at this time I am only releasing four prisoners, I will release more. Either because the punishment does not fit the crime, or because the crime was never committed. This is non-negotiable."

"And after you've completed this mission of mercy?" Seneca queried. "You can't sit on the Birdcage forever. If not to the PRT, it should be released to a law enforcement or judicial agency."

The intelligence's answer told Kamil everything while saying nothing.

"We will see," Veda replied.

Kathrine gave him a concerned look. Kamil shook his head. Seneca grimaced, barely hiding her own recognition that those three words meant 'no.' Celestial Being was keeping the Birdcage and they were keeping it precisely because it had become too easy to use.

What was it Veda had called it? A very easy way out of difficult questions.

Newtype was a stubborn girl who refused to abide inaction in the face of suffering. Kamil pegged that about her from the start. She was like most parahumans. Her trauma defined her. It wasn't negative, per se. Parahumans came in many shapes and sizes. Some were hardened by their pain. Others were the most compassionate people Kamil knew, because they knew despair.

Because of her own pain, and probably her personal connection to Dragon, Newtype could not abide this injustice.

It seemed her AI took after her.

A Side MM

Hannah killed the connection after Ben gave her her orders and sighed.

"Well." Neil leaned forward from atop her desk. "That was heavy."

"Taylor can't take a break for less than a week," Hannah lamented. "One crisis straight to another."

Neil grinned. "Well, it is a little romantic. In the classical way."

Hannah chuckled. He wasn't wrong. Hannah just wished things could go back to the relative calm they were before.

An easy way out of difficult questions, was it?

They had a way with words, those two.

Changing the subject briefly, Hannah asked, "Did you tell Dauntless?"

Neil's smile faded. "Yeah. He thinks he's being punished for disobeying orders."

Hannah smiled weakly. "That would be us, not him."

"I tried explaining that. I think he'll figure it out."

Hannah still had the stack of papers on the desk to her left.

Dauntless and Prism were being transferred within the week. No replacements would fill their places on the team. Due to a lack of significant criminal activity, and the presence of a 'capable' cadre of Independent heroes, the Protectorate ENE was being downgraded from a team to a simple station.

By the end of the month, only Hannah and Neil would remain.

While the orders didn't make any overt accusations or condemnations, it was clear they weren't being left because they were trusted. Orders were orders. No one was being punished in Brockton Bay, but Hannah saw the writing on the wall.

Vista and Mockshow turned on members of the Protectorate. Dauntless made up his own orders. Hannah and Neil completely ignored Breakback protocols. Chris and Weld took Newtype's side without question and now Case-53s were following Weld out the door. Armsmaster had taken out an entire Protectorate team.

Considering the circumstances, most of those choices were the right choices, Hannah thought.

But being in a command structure wasn't always about the right choices. Having so many members of one city acting out of line wasn't acceptable. It was bad for morale. Bad for cohesion. These were things Hannah understood instinctively.

Breaking up as much of Brockton Bay as was possible only made sense, and if the Directors were prepared to do that, why not downgrade the entire Protectorate ENE? Since Lung's arrest, the city had simply become too quiet.

Ben—Chevalier—sent them both written apologies.

He'd tried to get them something, but someone was going to be punished for the apparent disciplinary issues present in Brockton Bay. Issues like siding with an independent of 'unknown disposition' without question. It was oxymoronic with how well known Celestial Being was now, but the PRT loved to overemphasize trivialities. Lives were on the line. They had to.

Dauntless and Prism were still young, and the Wards too. They'd be sent away and reevaluated.

But the Protectorate was done with Miss Militia and Stratos. Their careers were over.

"They'll become more afraid now," Hannah commented. "The Directors. Newtype worried several of the directors before, when she was simply ambitious. Now this thing about StarGazer being an AI and the Birdcage."

"Look on the bright side." Resting his cheek in a palm, Neil smiled. "Clearly, we're being left to our own devices."

Lazily, her eyes moved over to the notice Renick sent her hours ago.

It wouldn't be formal until Collin was released, but he wasn't the type of man to change his mind once he'd decided.

Armsmaster would be resigning from the Protectorate immediately.

Hannah couldn't help but feel a little bitter about that. He was the one who made a big speech about how they needed to be ready. How the three of them were the ones who could make the right choices. It seemed very all for one, one for all, then.

Now he was just leaving, and it would only be Neil and her.

"What about the Wards?" Neil asked. "What do we tell them?"

"The truth," Hannah supposed. And Weld was gone too. She might start wrinkling at this rate. "Lily should be prepared to move when her new team is selected. Mockshow too."

"It'll just be Chris, Missy, Alec, and Elle."

"Chris and Missy's parents won't let them move to another city." No one was particularly invested in Alec's future one way or the other, so nothing would change there. Everyone expected Elle to walk away as soon as she turned eighteen to rejoin Faultline. No point moving her. "Tell Chris he should start preparing himself. He's going to be team leader as soon as Flechette transfers."

Neil nodded and looked ahead.

Silence filled the room, and Hannah checked her watch. "I should go meet Taylor. Can you get HR to throw a few people together? We're going to have to make some calls and probably feed the prisoners when they're released. Get some paperwork processed."

"I'll take care of it," Neil promised. He slid off the desk and gave her a mock salute. "Well, at least we'll get to spend some real quality time together in the future."

Hannah scoffed. "Don't start getting full of yourself now, Dylandy."

"I'll be the perfect gentleman! Boy scout's honor!"

He started toward the door and Hannah rose from her seat. The desk phone started ringing and she waved him on as he turned. Nodding, Neil pulled his visor over his eyes and walked out the door.

Pulling up her scarf over her nose, Hannah answered the call with only a look of resignation at the caller ID.

"M&M!" Mouse Protector cheered before Hannah could say hello. "How's my favorite girlfriend handling the chaos of life?"

With a sigh, Hannah answered, "Fine, Mouse. Please tell me this isn't a prank."

"A prank? Why on Earth would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Because you haven't called me in years."

"I call you every Christmas!"

"You send me a video recording of you making a call to me every Christmas."

"It still counts!"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "What do you need, Mouse?"

"Other than my own theme park with a ride titled 'It's a Gouda World After all?' Nothing, I guess. Life's pretty good. I hear it's maybe not going so great on your end."

Great. "You've heard?"

"Myrddin let it slip. The old coot likes playing the wise guy."

Hannah refrained from pointing out the term usually referenced a disposition very different from the one Mouse was implying. Such simple traps were old hat. A way to joke and gag rather than talk about something embarrassing.

"Thank you for the condolence."

"Condolence? Why would I be offering that?"

Hannah blinked. "Then why—"

"Oh right. How do I use a fax machine?"

"...Why are you using a fax machine?"

"I'm a fan of the classics, but I have no idea what all these buttons do."

Hannah was too young to start wrinkling. She simply wasn't that old yet. And when did she even start caring about that? "Again, why do you need a fax machine?"

"To send you my transfer request of course!"

Hannah stared. "Transfer request?"

"Of course! I hear there's some sweet new job openings in Brockton Bay and I honestly can't figure why. You guys don't have any big villains anymore! It's all fun and games all the time with simple crooks! The stakes couldn't be lower! It's a veritable playground!"

"You—You want to transfer to Brockton Bay?"

"Are you ignoring me M&M? I just said that!"

Hannah grimaced. "I'm not sure—"

She really wasn't sure. On the one hand, it was kind of touching. Abrasive tendencies aside, Kate was a good person. An unconventional one perhaps, but good. At the same time, she was utterly infuriating to deal with on a daily basis.

"That's—"

"Oh!" Mouse whistled. "And get this, I hear Colossus wants to jump over too. Apparently he really hit it off with Newtype's PR lady and he seriously wants that poon—"

Hannah ended the call right there and groaned.

Glaring out her office window toward the city, she resolved to find some way to make Colin pay for this. Understandable reasons aside, it simply couldn't stand. Mouse Protector and Colossus? Fuck. They were both headaches in their own ways, so their local Directors might be happy to ship them off somewhere on the other side of the country.

She tried to repress her groan and failed. "This is going to be such a headache."