Origin 1.41 - Interlude
"You lied to him."
Miss Militia looked up, mouth quirking into a small smile. Armsmaster's eyes were open, though cloudy; he was obviously on heavy painkilllers. "You were awake?"
"Until you left," he affirmed, eyes closing again. "I heard the whole conversation. You didn't tell him why there were so few heroes here, why Jack didn't think there was enough fun to keep going."
Miss Militia grimaced, looking down at her hands. "If I told him the Simurgh was hitting Sphere's habitat he would have tried to go. I couldn't risk it; you know how headstrong Josh is when he thinks he's being heroic."
Armsmaster made a low noise of agreement, eyes still closed. For a moment, things were silent. "You're doing a good job with him."
"I can't claim total credit," she said, smiling. "He's a good kid. He's got so much power; I'm not sure I'd have been half as responsible with it at his age."
Armsmaster didn't respond. She waited a moment, then noted the steady rise and fall of his chest; he was sleeping. For a long minute, she was content to watch him.
Her pager went off silently, vibrating against her hip. She turned it off and glanced at the display; it was the Director. Apparently someone from the Youth Guard was here, and they wouldn't leave without talking to her.
This wasn't going to be fun. Miss Militia pulled the thin hospital sheets up over Armsmaster, brushing his hair out of his face with one hand. He mumbled sleepily, but didn't wake up. She left as silently as she could.
Walking past the now empty cots, she paused at Bone-Riley'sbed. Josh was there again, leaning on the mattress with his eyes closed. Lying underneath the cot was the destroyed rail, warped in the shape of a small hand and forgotten in the chaos. It was easy to forget, when they were like this, that they were parahumans.
She doubted, deep inside, that the PRT would really kill a child - yet, that didn't matter. What mattered was that Josh thought they would, and if they tried to take Riley from him - even just to put her on trial - Hannah knew exactly what he would do.
He'd lost so much already; he wouldn't risk losing any more. He would fight, and there was no one who could stand in his way - outside of the Triumvirate. Josh would become a one man Endbringer fight, an S-class threat of his own. Whatever the result, there would be no winners, and she would be damned if she saw the child she consideredherchild become a monster.
The situation would have to be handled with care. Keeping it a secret wasn't viable in the long run. She would have to come up with a plan, andwhatevershe did conflict with Josh was inevitable.
But then, she was the one meant to take care of him; conflict wasalwaysinevitable.
Resolve firming, she let the curtain dropped and continued on. The Director's office was a floor up on an administrative level; the hallway outside was pandemonium, power tools and running feet making the floor reverberate with sound, but the inside of the office was a bastion of order.
Director Howard had been lightly injured in the battle from a stray explosive. Still, judging by the way he was administrating, the bandaged head wound hadn't slowed him in the slightest. He'd been Director of arguably the most hostile city in the Northeast for more than eight long years, and it showed.
"Director," Miss Militia called. "You wanted to see me?"
Howard opened his mouth to reply, but the other person in the room beat him to it.
"No, I wanted to see you," the stranger said, turning to face her. He was a portly man, about 5'1, face red with either anger or the exertion of using the stairs; Miss Militia towered over him. "I've heard some disturbing things, and I've come to find the truth of the matter."
"I'll be happy to assist," she said politely. She hadn't seen him during the scheduled Guard visits, but judging from the stains on his pants he wasn't having a very good day. "What kind of questions did you have?"
"For one, the whereabouts of Cognit," he said, slamming a folder down on the desk. "I've been getting a distinct lack of cooperation from this branch, and that endsnow."
"Cognit has been deployed for Thinker support," Miss Militia said smoothly, hiding her irritation behind the mask of her scarf. Despite her best efforts, her eyes tightened. "It was a volunteer only operation, and he was not coerced in any way. His parents signed the waiver, he is in very little danger, and the rest is classified."
Simurgh battles usually were, after all. The Director sighed, cracking open a suspicious brown bottle; from the looks of it, it wasn't the first time today. "If it's classified, John, it's classified."
"Classified." John snorted disbelievingly. "Fine. Let's talk about Landscape's injuries fighting the goddamn Slaughterhouse Nine."
Howard took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. They didn't seem to notice.
"Landscape was injured as a result of the initial assault," Miss Militia countered, scowling. "As soon as we realized the Nine were attacking, we prioritized the Ward's removal from the combat zone; his injuries were light, unavoidable, and he will soon recover."
He opened his mouth again, but she rode right over whatever he was about to say. "As for Maledict, she is not, in fact, on the Ward's roster; technically, she is a Ward Associate until sixteen, as her power is too dangerous to be used in the pursuit of capturing non-parahuman threats and we do not use Wards in higher threat scenarios. The extent of her involvement was a single use of her power to shut down the Siberian, and the consequences were. . . expensive. I can assure you that it was not PRT sanctioned."
"Oh?" He sneered, stepping closer and raising his voice. "I see what's going on here. Not on the roster, is she? That's convenient - means you don't have to obey any regulations. I heard about the other kid; I knowexactlywhat you're doing."
Miss Militia raised her eyebrows, trying to still the roiling anger she was feeling. Director Howard had the face of a man watching a train slam into a stalled fuel tanker - horrified, and yet fascinated. "Please, enlighten me."
"Even I can tell that's a trap." Howard muttered, putting the bottle away. The other two ignored him.
John pointed one finger at her triumphantly. "You're trying to minimize the influence the Youth Guard have over your charges! I've heard what that kid's like - the soldiers call him Tyrant andbragabout his body count! The Protectorate is trying to wear these kids down, mold them before they get into the Wards, turn them into your own personalchild soldiers-"
The gun at her side morphed; it's new form was a PSS silent pistol, fielded by the KGB and complete with its own brand of ammunition. She could fire it as many times as she wanted and no one would hear a thing. She very pointedly did not aim it at him.
"Ah, Ha- ah, Miss Militia," Director Howard stammered, as the Youth Guard associate went completely white.
She dropped all pretense of politeness. Her voice went deadly cold. "He isnota child soldier. We do not, nor have weevertried to 'wear our Wards down.' The one you're calling Tyrant is my son and if you think you can get away with advancing your agenda bypigeonholinghim as some sort ofpsychopathyou'redead wrong."
With every cutting word, the Youth Guard representative flinched backwards until she was basically looming over him; at the last sentence, he tripped over the chair behind him and landed on his back. He scooted backwards until he was against the wall, staring at the gun in her hand with terrified eyes.
"Miss Militia," Director Howard said, voice firm. "Please holster your gun. John, I'm going to have to insist you leave. We have answered your questions as best as we can, and we have complied with existing Youth Guard policies. If you have any questions about non-Ward personnel, please forward them to Child Protective Services."
John stood, brushing himself off. The fear on his expression faded, replaced by a belligerent scowl. "You should keep your attack dog on a shorter leash, Director. You haven't heard the last of this - I'll have sanctions brought against every last one of you!"
With that, he fled. There was silence in the office for a moment.
Director Howard rubbed his forehead. "That wasn't very productive Hannah. I know John can be a real ass, but he does good - well, he - in any case, there's no need to shoot him," he finished lamely.
"If I don't direct it my gun changes based on the current situation," she said coolly. "It's well documented, and he was obviously hostile enough to pass the threshold; he won't have a leg to stand on if he reports it."
He visibly considered the merits of pressing the issue, but the glint in her eyes told him not to push his luck.
"Regardless of your justification, I think I see a court case in our future." Director Howard tapped the keyboard, sighing again when it didn't turn on. "Now, I want your report, since nothing seems to be working today."
"Yes sir. We believe we have foiled the Nine's plan in this area. Preliminary briefing suggested they were after at least two targets for recruitment; the first target being Butcher, who we know escaped. The second probable target was Maledict, who we still have under observation. Afterwards, I suspect a third target -" She hesitated, then continued. "From my observations, the third target was likely Josh. He's in the infirmary with his friend now, and I seriously doubt the effectiveness of any plan attempting to target him directly."
"ThankGodthey failed to capture Maledict," Director Howard uttered fervently, then he grimaced. "We believe there may be a fourth target. We realized it only after they left, but the whereabouts of Darkhorse are currently unknown, and the remnants of the Nine appear to be following his trail."
Miss Militia stiffened. Darkhorse was an S-class threat for a reason - he left a clear trail of devastation whenever he used his abilities, yet despite everything they had no pictures, eyewitness accounts, or even blurry camera footage. They only knew his name because he took the time to carve it in the walls before he left.
"That would be -"cataclysmic"-bad."
"Whatever the case," Director Howard said, settling back in his chair with a groan of relief, "the Nine appear to be retreating from Brockton Bay, and thus aren't our problem anymore. They took serious casualties here, and more importantly a massive blow to their reputation. Due to his age and lack of a, ah,realcape name we won't publish Josh's involvement, but we can definitely say the Siberian was defeated by a new trigger. It's close enough to the truth that no one will cry foul."
"About Maledict," Miss Militia began delicately, "I realize she violated the terms of her parole, but -"
"In this case, I'd say it was justified," Director Howard promised her. "In fact, if it didn't set a bad example I'd commend her for her quick thinking. The information recovered from that battle with the Siberian puts us closer to defeating the Nine than we've been since she joined. I hear we'll also have to modify Josh's power ratings?"
It was Miss Militia's turn to grimace. Higher ratings meant higher expectations; higher expectations meant more danger. "Yeah. He cut right through the Siberian's projection. Didn't help much, she just reformed, but his only injury was a burned hand. Seeing as how Alexandria lost an eye, comparatively -"
"Alexandria's only a 9. He's Brute 10 at least," Director Howard agreed, looking marginally more cheerful. "I'll have to tell Costa Brown. He's going to be a right terror when he hits puberty; think I'll retire when he enters the Wards. Needs a good cape name though - something serious but inspiring."
"If he could fly we'd call him Alexander," Miss Militia responded, grinning. They shared a laugh;they both remembered that week. A thought seemed to strike him; his smile turned malicious.
"On a more serious note," Howard said slyly, opening a folder and handing her a stack of papers. "I got these in the mail, apparently at his request."
"These are - but heknowshe can't transfer out, so why would he -?" Miss Militia said, at a loss for words as she scanned the documents. "College?"
"I asked a couple days ago, and according to him he wants to take night classes since he doesn't sleep much," the Director said, smiling. "He's industrious, I'll give him that; his Thinker rating might get a bump too if he keeps performing like he did on the placement exam. He doesn't care if he has to be in two schools at once, long as he gets to meet with his friends occasionally."
She narrowed her eyes at the offending acceptance letter.
They were going to have atalkwhen she saw him again - along,drawn outlecture about warning your guardian ahead of time before making life changing decisions.
--
Origin 1.42 - Interlude 2, Jack Slash
Jack grimaced at his ankle's persistent throbbing. The commandeered boat had a well stocked first aid kit, but without a doctor on board the duty of setting the bone had fallen to Screamer. Supposedly, she had prior medical experience.
He seriously doubted that. Her bedside manner was. . .lacking.
Still, nothing hurt quite so much as the pain of losing.
Skinslip and Winter were acceptable losses; Bonesaw was definitelynot.
Unfortunately, there was literally nothing they could do to get her back; they simply didn't have the firepower to stop that ridiculously powerfulchild. Jack had searched the local news for his cape name, but there was no one nearby with that sort of sheer durability.
Siberian had returned with an unconscious PRT soldier - presumably for a snack, or maybe interrogation - and a coffin-shaped crate with air holes. When asked, she bared her teeth and indicated 'personal.'
No one pressed the issue.
As if Jack didn't know who was inside.
They were leaving for now, a shameful retreat after being bloodied. The hit to their reputation would be massive, yet they were not defeated. They'd be back.
Oh yes, Jack thought, watching the shrinking lights of Brockton Bay from the sailing ship's deck. Chuckles laughed from below, an odd, not-quite-human noise.We'll be back. But for now - well, Canada sounds nice this time of year.
--
Origin 1.43 - Interlude 3, Rebecca Costa-Brown
"You're sure this is correct?" Director Costa-Brown asked, staring at the report in her hands.
"Absolutely," Howard told her, voice crackling. They were still replacing damaged phone lines. "Miss Militia witnessed it herself - he went right through her arm. The Siberian's a projection. We're working on a blood sample recovered from the Master now."
She nodded slowly. "I'm tentatively approving his upgrade to Brute 10. For now, work on keeping his involvement a secret; we do not need the bad publicity if its found out an eight year old slipped out on our watch to fight the Slaughterhouse Nine."
"It might be a bit late for that," Howard admitted. "The Youth Guard has been-"
"Let me handle the Youth Guard," Rebecca interjected, "you just focus on Mr. Daniels and rebuilding the tower. Also - get him a new cape name. I'll have a planner call you within the week."
"Yes ma'am," he said, recognizing the dismissal in her voice.
For a long minute Rebecca sat there in her dark office, thoughts whirling rapidly through hypothesis after hypothesis as her fingers drummed violently on her desk.
She knew Cauldron's plans for Manton; it had taken Contessa to convince her not to tell the world his secrets, and if Contessa was involved -
Her thoughts cut short. If Contessa was involved, then she'd either been lied to, or. . .
Rebecca pressed a button underneath her desk. The blinds closed, steel shutters lowering behind them even as the door locked and a signal jammer spread across the office. She dressed quickly, pulling on her iconic costume. No one would enter while she had the privacy beacon lit, especially not so soon after an Endbringer attack.
She finished, pushing the mask into place.
"Door me," Alexandria told the dark office, her quiet voice going almost entirely unobserved.
Almost.
A moment later, the room was empty, privacy screen still humming faintly. It would be hours before she was back to turn it off.