I fall to my knees, open up my mask as fast as I can, and vomit.

After a few seconds of retching, my faculties return to me and what the FUCK? Why is Hookwolf here, and why did he have to turn the place into a charnel house?

"You alright over there?" he asks, the sound of metal on metal getting closer. Fuck. No. I raise an arm towards him and make the most painful-looking barbed spike of bone I can imagine.

"No!" I shout. "I am not. Fucking. Okay!" Like, fuck. I start snapping bones freely and try to drown as much disgust and fear in the pain as I can while I push myself up with no small assistance from my shell.

"Listen, calm down," Hookwolf says, the grinding sound getting quieter.

"Why should I calm down?" I say, a note of hysteria creeping into my voice. I finally manage to turn and look at him. "How many people did you just kill?"

"It's a fuckin' gang war," he deadpans, now just a humanoid mass of blades as tall as I am. "What, you think we fuckin' politely disagree over drinks?"

"No!" I shout back. "I just..." Words escape me.

"Didn't picture the red dead end of it?" he asks, and swear I can see a raised eyebrow through the metal on his face.

"Fuck you," I say for lack of any better response, embarrassment and shame temporarily cutting through the pain. I can't try to kill him. Mr. Doe would lose it. That, and starting a fight with another gang would definitely kill my hopes of ever being seen as neutral.

"Thought so," he nods. "People are always ready to say war, but when you get down to the business of killin' folk, suddenly," he raises his hands in mock surprise, "They don't want to fight anymore." He snorts. "Fuckin' idiots." The metal recedes further under his skin but he stays blades from the waist down.

That was a mental image I didn't need.

"Anyway, I figured you'd be a little more in the know about the bloodier side of things, what with killin' Lung and how you look like you crawled out of the Black Lagoon after Shark Week," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "Guess I was wrong. Anyway," he stifles a yawn, "It's gettin' late. If you want to do a real team up, offer's still open. Just walk into an Empire bar and drop a time and place and tell them it's for Hooky. I'll get the message."

He walks out of the room through a massive hole in the wall, treading through puddles of blood without a care in the world. I follow behind him more carefully, using strategically placed bone stilts to avoid covering my feet in gore.

By the time I'm outside, he's put on a metal wolf mask and a pair of ragged work jeans (thankfully) and is closing the storage compartment on a shiny and rather expensive-looking motorcycle, the headlamp clamped between the jaws of an intricate wolfshead. He settles down on it, the bike sinking alarmingly beneath him. He shoots me one last grin.

"See ya later, Rosie!"

He peels off with a growl of the engine and a plume of exhaust, leaving me at the crime scene.

I snap a few bones in frustration at seeing the murderous Nazi escape justice before heading back into the building. I grab a phone from one of the unconscious ABB goons, dial up the PRT hotline, and tell them that Hookwolf and White Rose raided the same ABB storehouse at the same time. I then explain that it was not intentional, that I am not a Nazi, that all the fatalities are Hookwolf's, and that I will be going home to sleep and to please keep my name out of the papers. I hang up after the responder says something to the effect of "you'd sound less like a Nazi if you stayed to answer our questions" and start heading home, mind whirling with possibilities that all end with Godwin's Law being applied to me.

Before I stilt my way up to the rooftops, I look into a nearby display window to check out my reflection. Hookwolf had said "Black Lagoon after Shark Week." I don't think he meant to make a period joke, so what does that actually mean?

I end up looking at myself for a long time.

It apparently means spined frills I don't remember adding tipped with red. It means blood spatters criss-crossing my armor, contrasting with the white bone.

I extend a baton and watch it in the mirror as I swing. Blades form along it, warping it into something much more aerodynamic. The frills on my armor twist with the motion, lacerating the air.

I pull the frills and baton back in and head home, quietly wondering whether I hurt anyone too badly again.


It takes a few days for the next catastrophe to happen. I'm too confused and horrified by what happened at the docks to go out again so I fill my days by throwing myself into the prep work for my flower shop, meeting employees hired by Mr. Doe (I'm a little miffed that I was left out of the decision making process, but I understand why seeing a random fifteen-year-old in the room during interviews might be seen as weird) who have no experience working with capes. It's not a small gap to bridge, but I try to get on a first-name basis with everyone who will be on the floor of the store. I think I have a conversation with maybe half of them before giving up and resigning myself to the awkwardness of barely knowing most of my underlings. That's what the floor manager is for, right?

The next day I spend talking to the painters, sculptors and botanists who picked up shares in my store and start brainstorming ideas for products with them. A painter asks for a bouquet to color, and when I grow him a dozen roses in a few seconds he revises his request to as many as will fit in his Civic. A sculptor toys with the idea of furniture before dismissing bone as too brittle, finally settling on trying to design a tower that whistles in the wind. She claims that she'll have some plans to send to my lawyer by the end of the week. A gardner who looks old as the Bay itself helps me make flower pots, bird feeders and bonsai trees. They turn out small, delicate and somehow natural-feeling when filled with rich black earth. I let her take the prototypes after photographing them for future reproduction. When I go to bed my dreams are filled with art, twisting branches, and roses without thorns.

On the third day I visit the location itself, set between a coffee shop and a nicer-looking tattoo parlor in the contested zone between Empire territory and Coil's area of operation. Floor to ceiling windows at the front with empty displays behind them waiting to be filled with product. The interior is maybe twenty feet wide and fifteen deep, with three shelves running parallel from the front to the back counter where a cash register has already been installed.

It's empty, colorless, and doesn't have a name yet. I can't wait to see it opened.

Step one is stocking up, for now with just flowers. Roses and Tulips in different states of bloom, bundles of Narcissus, poofy Chrysanthemums, drooping Lilies, and half a dozen more I only vaguely recognize from Mom's book. A pair of professional florists check my work, comparing them against fresh specimens and tossing away the creations that are too deep into the Uncanny Valley. Eventually, I make a sufficiently perfect specimen of each type and they bid their farewells, shaking my hand with professional firmness. Then I turn to the empty buckets at the front and get to work.

Maybe a third of the way through the second display, a green-robed blond drops out of the sky carrying a brunette in jeans and a violently prismatic tee shirt that says "Number One Healer NA" across the front in white letters. I stop pushing up daisies (heh) and walk out the front door to meet them, smiling behind my mask.

"What's up Bones?" Amy says, looking past me at the shop. "Victoria heard some crazy girl decked out in white armor decided to open up a shop selling biohazards. I wanted to come over and make sure she knew that's my schtick. Have you seen her?" Her face stays deadpan throughout the little speech but I can hear her sister cracking up behind her, light little laughs that must carry across the street. I only manage to avoid doing the same through judicious use of bone around my lungs.

"No, but if you came to purchase something I'm afraid I'll have to turn you away. We're not actually open yet," I say. Officially, it wouldn't take long to get the shop into working order. Unofficially, I need to get Bakuda first, lest my storefront be graced with explosives. Her capture is looking more and more likely though, especially with the recent arrest of Oni Lee by the Travelers. While I would still like to see the ashes of his final corpse spread across the seas with a plaque left on the shore to remind everyone of exactly what happens to murdering sociopaths, I'll have to settle for the Birdcage.

"Actually, we were coming by to see if you wanted to get a verified PHO account," Victoria says, shaking her head but still grinning. "We figure that it would help get your name out there as well as 'give potential investors a convenient method for contact,'" she finishes, putting on a nasally voice and pushing up non-existent glasses before rolling her eyes and jerking a thumb at Amy. "Her words, not mine."

"You eat, drink and breath PR skills but laugh at the idea of investors," Amy mutters darkly under her breath before turning to me and pulling out a phone. Something wide that doesn't flip open, with a matte dragon head on the back. "Anyway, photo shoot?"

I hesitate for a moment, considering. "Will I be spammed?"

"Nope, the mods are really good about keeping the verified capes free of extraneous chatter," Victoria answers. "I think I got a creeper message maybe once," she says, her tone making it almost a question. "After they banned the person who sent it I haven't had any more issues with it. Ames might be a better person to talk to actually," she says, perking up. "She's all sorts of famous internationally."

Amy nods. "Yeah, I did an ask-me-anything and the mods were able to keep the creepers down. I don't have any major complaints either." She nods towards the shop. "Getting verified made getting people to sign waivers a lot easier. It might help you too."

Lacking any logical reason to avoid agreeing, I nod. "So..." I try, trailing off. "How do we do this?" It's not like I've ever really done anything like this, with the exception of that one time Emma and I played around in a photo booth.

I flex a rib at the memory, and check my armor for new spikes. You're among friends, White Rose. Relax.

"Well, we could take a selfie," Victoria says, grabbing Amy's phone out of her hand and posing, extending her arm and putting a brilliant smile on her face before motioning with her free arm for me to join her. "Come on, it'll be great."

I walk over slowly, not quite sure how to respond to this. As soon as I'm within grabbing distance she latches onto my arm, pulls me close and says "Cheese!" I freeze, something goes click, and she lets go. I stare at her for a moment as she fiddles with the phone. "And, there. I think it turned out alright," she says, presenting the phone to me. I look at the picture. Victoria smiling wide, blonde and bright. My face is next to hers, a mask of thorny vines with two black chips where the eyes should be.

"I'll have to pass," I say. It's a nice photo, but it's not me. That, and people may get the wrong idea if I'm around New Wave all the time.

"Boring and professional it is then," she says with an exaggerated hair flip before pointing towards the roof of my shop. "Skyline pictures look the best if you can get them."

We spend a few minutes up there playing. It sounds undignified, but I can't think of a better word for it. I flex my power, trying to come up with something appropriately elaborate and beautiful to serve as the backdrop to the shot that doesn't overshadow the focus of the photo. Vicky takes various shots, we debate the merit of each one, and reject them in turn. Amy provides color commentary and the occasional idea, and we burn an hour just messing around.

It's... nice.

Eventually, we settle on a photo of me standing in a field of roses that come up to my knees set against the cloudless backdrop of the noontime sky. A little bit of cropping later and I have a verified account. I don't feel any more legitimate now that I have it, but maybe that's something that will change over time.

Then I check out the top thread in the Brockton Bay subforum.


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Topic: E88 & Medhall Connection
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay
Bagrat
(Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted On May 4th 2011:
So who remembers the Undersiders? You know, those small time crooks that went big time when they broke into Medhall on April 14th, grabbed something, fought the Wards and several members of the E88 to a standstill, then escaped? [link]

Well, guess what? We know what they stole now.

Turns out, Medhall has been laundering the Empire's money for a while now. Links are [here], [here] and [here], outlining where the money went, how it was distributed, which backs it went through...

Everything.

I had a friend with a background in legal forensics look it over, and he thinks it's legit. For whatever reason, it looks like the Undersiders decided to make the info public.

This is weird, guys.

Edit: Okay, so the Undersiders also released a statement [here] about why they did it. TL;DR: they want to turn over a new leaf and figure that helping out with Brockton's literal Nazi problem is a good way to start.

Edit 2: The Protectorate released a counter-statement about what they intend to do. TL;DR: they're not prepared to offer amnesty, but if the Undersiders want to turn themselves in they'll get some special considerations.

(Showing page 1 of 45)

►KingOfFoxes
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Um... what? Medhall are the guys that make my asthma medicine...

HAVE MY SHITTY GENETICS BEEN FUNDING NAZIS?

►Crush_Oranges (Actually a Juicer)
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Apparently. That's actually pretty funny.

►AesirGamer
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Ironic is the word you're looking for, orange.

Also... it could be worse? Maybe some of the money that was laundered got turned into discounted medicine. I don't much about how this stuff works, so if someone who knows anything about illegal exchanges of cash could fill everyone here in on the details...

►Anthony_James (Cog in the IRS)
Replied On May 4th 2011:
I have waited my whole life for this moment. Let me tell you about why letting criminals spend their money is bad.

First: You encourage people to steal impractical amounts of money. By impractical, I mean more than about seven thousand dollars, which is when people like me actually start paying attention. If people can actually spend a bunch of stolen money at once easily, that means that stealing is suddenly more profitable than being an honest citizen.

That's a bad thing.

Second: That money's untaxed. That means that the criminals spending the money are effectively making up to fifty percent more than an honest citizen. Which makes it more profitable to steal, which we established is a bad thing. That, and someone has to make up the lost tax revenue. Typically that's done by raising local taxes, or instituting a sales tax to try and get back some of the stolen money.

General sales taxes are bad.

Third: A money laundering business is always more profitable than a regular one. Why? They don't have to make a profit. Becuase the primary purpose of a money laundering business is to provide a legitimate front for random sums of cash, they can afford to not have any customers, or provide a substandard service, or charge too little, or any other number of things. That kills small businesses like nothing else.

Illegal money is bad, y'all. That's all.

►Jack_High
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Well thanks for that block of text, James. What I want to know is what the PRT and Protectorate are going to do about this. I mean, this falls under their jurisdiction, right? Or Watchdogs, right?

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On May 4th 2011:
WEDGDG (Watchdog) will be taking over the investigation. That is all the PRT can share at this juncture of the investigation.

►Size 9 Bowler
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Okay. Now my life gets difficult.

So, the pharmacy by my house is run by Medhall. My mom is very sick and our insurance is a joke, but Medhall still fills her prescriptions, even though we haven't been able to afford them for weeks.

And now I learned that those drugs might be payed for with drug money...

What do I do?

►RazerRider
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Don't cancel your prescriptions. Family morals. That, and if it's costing Nazis money, it can't be a bad thing.

►Rawhead (Unverified Cape)
Replied On May 4th 2011:
So, no one's going to talk about the Undersiders suddenly switching sides? Becuase while this Medhall stuff sounds shitty (don't know how wide-spread the effects going to be, don't live in BB), big pharma gonna big pharma. Working with assholes is kinda the SOP for companies that big.

On the other hand, I can count on one hand the number of villain groups that have pulled a total 180 on the alignment axis like this (and I only have three fingers!).

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 43, 44, 45

XXX

Topic: E88 & Medhall Connection
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay

Posted On May 4th 2011:

(Showing page 43 of 46)

►Dandy Lion
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Okay, to summarize that massive morality debate:

1) The Undersiders are not confirmed heroes. They have a Thinker of some sort on the team and there are villainous reasons to release the information.

2) They aren't necessarily villains. The more valuable uses of the information require keeping it hidden/blackmailing E88. So maybe listen to them.

3) Max Anders and every person currently in a position of leadership at Medhall needs to step down. Now. Doesn't matter if it's their fault, the public needs someone to blame and they're convenient.

Does this satisfy people?

►Tall, Dark and Happy
Replied On May 4th 2011:
No, not really. I don't think that stepping down is enough. I think it's time for NEPEA-5 to come down on their asses.

►Buried Hatchet
Replied On Apr 5th 2011:
Do you even know what that law refers to? Do your homework.

I do agree that a change of company heads seems a little light. Maybe throw in a fine or seven?

►Vore_Daddy
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Do you think the reason E88 doesn't have any tinkers is becuase they all went to Medhall and worked there?

►JoeLoeMoe
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Vore that is the second stupidest thing I have ever heard from you. Worse than "Hookwolf doesn't have a human form," but better than "I ship Oni Lee X the Valkyries as the ultimate Brockton Bay OT3 hatefuck."

What I want to know is how much the Empire affected hiring practices. There are federal laws that demand equal representation, and I have to wonder if they obeyed them.

►Mermaid Snow Princess
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Well, I'd like to talk more about the Undersiders. Do we have any more information about them? Their statement seems to be legit (ran it by a Marketing Prof, they said it looked professionally done) but it really doesn't tell us much about the capes themselves.

►Sorry Not-So-Little Fluff (Verified Cape)
Replied On May 4th 2011:
Aye. Looked up Hellhound with a Tinker pal o' mine to get the details, and she looks like she's had some rough shit. Not sure what the story is with the rest of her mates, but getting shuffled around by the foster system seems like a bastard of a kiddie life.

►New Car Smell
Replied On May 4th 2011:
I'm all for more capes joining the good guys! Like, how frequently do people get burned by letting new parahumans onto the Protectorate?

►Most Bitter Waifu
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:
[link]
[link]
[link]

ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

►MortisBoris
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:
[link]

A counter example. Just to make sure that people know it is possible, if not probable. Miracles do happen though, and Brockton Bay is bad enough that it might be worth it to try and recruit whoever they can.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46


"Hey, you've been reading that for like, five minutes. What's up?" Amy's voice shocks me out of my stupor and I hand her phone back wordlessly. Then I head to the edge of the roof, drop down to the ground floor, and get back to stocking the shelves, mind whirling with possibility. What was Tattletale thinking?

Amy and Victoria join me in the shop a few minutes later to blurt out a hasty goodbye. This is big news apparently, and Carol wants to call a meeting to discuss how to handle the inevitable questions about their opinions on Medhall. I give them an understanding nod and bid them farewell.

I manage to fill the rest of the shop before the property manager comes by to lock it up, then head home early.

Medhall, a front for the Empire. Who'd have guessed? Maybe it's not a front. Maybe it's just a way for the E88 to launder money. Maybe it's a way for Medhall to get the financing they need to make better drugs. I'm turning the idea over in my head as move, trying to figure out a way to fit this into my worldview. Hookwolf, on the same side as the people who provide reduced-rate penicillin for half the city. The thought doesn't quite click, but it's also not completely unbelievable.

That, and I'm re-evaluating the Undersiders. Tattletale is still a bitch, but this...

This was almost heroic.