It is, perhaps, the greatest irony of all that most people from my previous life - myself included - can detest the PRT for being so shockingly incompetent at protecting information, or doing anything at all really, while simultaneously resenting them for being so good at manipulating information and the media.
In other words, hating them for being incompetent while also hating them for being competent.
I was backstage at Shadow Stalkers introduction to the public, and for the most part things had gone absolutely swimmingly. The agent working the crowd for her brought up her arrest record as an independent, while simultaneously avoiding any mention of the Empire - likely to avoid making it seem like the PRT was publicly insulting them, inviting retaliation.
Sophia, for all she wasn't an exceptional actor or conversationalist had managed to answer all the soft ball questions the nearby reporters in the large auditorium had thrown her way, and had even managed to do so without growling or otherwise sounding threatening.
But she still felt threatening, in a very batman-esque way. Perhaps it was because of the slight changes in costume having access to my tech gave her, but the sheer black substance of her suit and cloak made her look like a looming shadow standing on stage with Armsmaster and Director Piggot - who I still hadn't spoken directly to.
Her Mercy Pistol was strapped to her leg and hidden by her cloak, likely intentionally, and my new addition to her arsenal - which was an Extrusion Sniper Rifle - was nowhere in evidence, possibly because parading around a teen with that kind of hardware would send the wrong message about the Wards program.
Or the right message, given that this was Brockton Bay.
The entire time, I was backstage in the Odinson, tensely waiting for something bad to happen. Because that was always the running theme with Wards introductions, at least in my head. Any minute now, I expected one of the reporters to ask a hard hitting, extremely revealing question that would either set Sophia off or cause Armsmaster and Piggot to intervene. Or for Uber and Leet to attack the conference, or the Empire to take the opportunity to break a bunch of their mooks out of prison or - well you get the idea.
But… none of that happened. So I just ended up observing the entire conference with steadily increasing anxiety levels all the way up until it ended.
"How was it?"I asked her with the Mindlink Circlet - one thing I actually hadn't disclosed to the PRT - as she was walking off stage. I hadn't wanted to talk to herduringthe conference for fear of fucking something up, but now that it was over I needed an outlet for my anxiety.
"Boring. None of these people know what the fuck they're talking about. Did you hear that one guy ask me if I was a Dog or a Cat person? Fucking stupid."She groused at me.
"They're plants Soph, the get paid to ask those stupid questions. It doesn't mean they actually think they matter."I pointed out.
"Then they should find better fucking jobs."She irately answered me, turning a corner to arrive in the corridors of the PRT headquarters directly behind the auditorium's platform.
"So, what now?" I asked her curiously and, most notably, out loud.
"I have a 'patrol' with Miss Militia." She answered in a disdainful tone that told me she was both aware of, and disapproving, of the fact that said 'Patrol' was probably just going to be hanging out on the boardwalk with the better known adult hero.
"It's because of the-" I started to opine aloud.
"It's because you insist on equipping her with dangerous firearms, yes." a low female voice grunted from behind me. I turned to find Director Piggot and Armsmaster standing nearby, having also walked off stage shortly after Sophia had left.
The Director was… how do I say this… a fat, squat, pitbull of a woman. I don't mean that in an insulting way, it's just the most accurate description of the woman I could conceive of. If she was in better shape I might have described her as 'compact' but since her medical condition made it impossible for her to get much exercise, the result was a woman who was eminently overweight.
Her blond hair was cut into a short, severe looking bob that was anything but flattering on her, and she looked ill at ease with what little makeup had clearly been put on her in preparation for this conference.
"Director, Armsmaster." I greeted them each with a slight twist of my upper torso designed to mimic a nod. As with my previous armor, the Odinson kept my head mostly exposed to view, so I had installed another domed helmet in it in order to keep with my astronaut theming.
"I understand that it's not the best for PR purposes, but unlike myself Shadow Stalker was already pretty well know. People already know she uses a gun to fight, so no one involved is going to earn any points by taking that away from her. Besides that, her power is entirely defensive in nature, even with it she's just a teenage girl - she needs a ranged attack of some kind. Ma'am." I explained, acknowledging the jab to my side Sophia sent my way at 'just a teenage girl' by bumping her with my hip.
Piggot lifted an eyebrow at me, then gestured loosely with a hand for us to follow behind her as she continued forward into the interior of the headquarters.
"I'm aware of that. It's why I let her keep the things. But I don't like surprises, especially surprises I'm responsible for covering up. I get the feeling you're the type of kid who lives by 'better to ask forgiveness than permission' so let me be clear. Don't." She said simply.
"Yes ma'am. If I have an idea should I bring it to Armsmaster first, or would you prefer I speak directly to you?" I asked politely.
Listen, I don't like Emily Piggot, but I still kind of respect her. She didn't ask for this shit, and was explicitly positioned to fail from the start. More importantly, I wasveryaware that being an impudent little shit towards her was going to do more harm than good for my ability to get things done in the near term.
So I agreed with her, asked questions that implied I cared about her directives, and just generally made like a good little Ward.
You know, this wasn't honestly any different from any other job I'd held in my life. The stakes were just slightly higher. And much like every job I'd had prior to this, I fully intended to ignore directives from above if they were going to stop me from getting shit done.
I was just being smart about it.
"CC me on any requests you make to Armsmaster. I'll let you know if I take issue with anything." She responded. I got the impression that I wasn't actually very high on her priority list, which made sense. To her I was just another cape. Ausefulone, and one with the potential to be of extreme importance - but until my Healing Ampoules started showing tangible results, I suspected I would continue to be beneath the Directors notice.
Which worked just fine for me.
"Yes ma'am. Actually, since I have you here, I wanted to know if there's been any new developments on one my original requests." I piped up just as the elevator door we had been waiting in front of opened.
"Your contract has been fulfilled to the letter. Was something missed?" Piggot asked me, suddenly much more interested in me. I got the impression that she was mostly just annoyed that someone else might have fucked up my contract, which meant what I was about to ask next probably wouldn't go over well - but you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take.
"Well it's about my request to refurbish the Ferry…" I said sheepishly, trailing off when that eyebrow went up again and Piggot stepped onto the elevator.
"You will be contacted when there is something new to add. Enjoy your day Star Finder." She saidly promptly, hitting a button on the elevator that closed the door in my face.
Well. I tried.
--
"Don't touch that." I said for the third time in the last hour, bending over the complex apparatus on the table at the center of my brand new workshop and gently connecting a wire that sparked and hissed at me until I pulled it out again.
"What is it?" Missy Byron asked me in obvious curiosity.
"High pressure water cutter. You'll lose a finger. Don't touch it." I explained in a clipped voice.
Missy Byron, otherwise known as the Ward Vista, had been in my Workshop for a while now. Not because she particularly cared for me - I suspected I had offended her by instantly dubbing her Vista, Destroyer of Worlds upon first meeting her - but because we were the only people scheduled to be here today.
Usually, she would have been out on patrol, possibly with at least one adult Protectorate member, but Sophia had handily taken over that slot for the day with her debut - leaving Vista out in the cold.
We could in theory, go out on a patrol with just the two of us, which was something she had been trying to convince me to do since coming in here, but there were a couple of problems with that.
First, while yes, Ward regulations indicated that we could run patrols along pre designated routes so long as at least two Wards were present, I personally held no interest in running around the safe parts of the city effectively doing nothing but showing off.
Second, even if I was inclined to do so, if only to make peace with the youngest Ward, I hadn't been officially announced yet. Curiously, there were no rules saying I had to wait for my announcement to go on patrol, I just knew better than to piss Piggot off by going off script for no real reason.
I didn't dislike Missy. I had nothing against her, and honestly felt some sympathy for her situation. Her life from now until the literal end of the world was basically one elongated cavalcade of deeply unpleasant circumstances that got worse over time. She never really got what she wanted, she never really 'won'.
But I was currently busy building my first Drone, and the idea of her accidentally dismembering herself in my lab was causing me so much anxiety that I was working noticeably slower than I could have been. If she was older I might not have been so bothered - reasonable adults can be told not to touch anythingonceand it will usually stick - but Vista was eleven going on twelve, and got boredveryeasily.
"You suck John." Vista complained, grumpily wandering over to sit next to me at the central table of the workshop.
"I've been hearing that a lot lately. It's kind of hurtful, actually." I answered distractedly.
"You don't seem very hurt." She responded dryly.
"That's because I'm too busy for it." I shot back.
There was a short period of silence then, and while usually I'd just ignore it - not being social enough to enjoy small talk in the first place - I found the fact that Vista, the nominal mascot of the Wards and in truth, one of my favourite people,didn't like me so off putting that I eventually put my tools down and stopped trying to make what I was working on well... work.
"I'm sorry." I blurted out, turning to look at her. She was wearing a sweater that was one size too large for her - because my lab was cooled to a standard temperature no matter what time of year it was - and looked taken aback at my declaration.
"For what?" She asked shrewdly, eyes immediately narrowing as she now doubt conjured a thousand and one reasons I might be apologizing.
"Calling you a walking non euclidean death machine." I said bluntly.
"I don't even know what yoo-klidd-ian means." She responded tersely.
"It means- actually I dunno what it means. I just know it gets used to describe fu-messed up space alot." I answered with a shrug. Missy just continued to stare at me, so I sighed and continued.
"Look, I- a lot of people are going to underestimate you. Someday you'll stop wanting to be the 'cute one' and nobody is going to let you. I guess I just thought you were already in that phase and leaned into it too hard. I thought I was complimenting you, if you can believe it." I explained.
Missy Byron stared at me for a couple more seconds before snorting at me, and leaning one elbow on my workbench.
"I don't see why Dean is so mad at you. You clearly don't understand women." She noted with some amusement.
"Missy your eleven, I don't think you count as - ow!" I hissed when something slapped me upside the head. I turned to glare at Missy for that one but she just looked innocently at me as though she had done nothing wrong.
"Okay well I was thinking of building you a robot unicorn to ride around but if this is how you're going to be- ow! Jesus christ woman!" I complained when I was swatted again.
Yeah, me and Missy were probably going to get along fine.
--
It was eleven at night. I was tired. I was hungry. And I just had to get this one last thing done before I could go home and crawl into bed after a long day of being forced to socially interact with people and build 'socially acceptable' weapons.
I didn't mind altogether too much, since building an Engineer Drone was on my bucket list anyway, and was most certainly one of the things I could never have possibly achieved using scrap metal and copper wire. But still.
At present, I was - having learned from the first time - making my way by rooftop towards the talent agency Emma worked at. The thunderstrike weaponry on my shoulders was pointed behind me, pulsing periodically to assist my jumps from rooftop to rooftop.
The Launching Seal was really weird.
Most Fusion Seals were just simple changes to how a weapon functioned - they didn't actually provide an ability that wasn't violence oriented.
The Launching Seal was different.
Anything a Launching Seal was on could serve as a Jump Jet, completely overtaking whatever the normal use of the weapon was. It was why I'd had to build two of the things - I would probably need at leastonefor maneuvering during combat.
I was also testing one of the new level two spells stored in the onboard Spell Core of the armor. It was called 'Personal Gravity' and functioned about how you expected. For a duration of - currently - four hours, I could be heavier, lighter, or neither at will. Mostly, I was just using it to stop the massive bulk of my power armor from destroying every rooftop I landed on.
It wasn't the most efficient mobility system I could have possibly come up with, but I didn't really get access to the ability to truly fly until later down the line, and in truth, I didn't think a half a tonne of flying metal zipping down the middle of the road would go over well with much of anyone before my debut anyway. So I kept to the rooftops.
When I was about half to the agency - this was my… fourth? Fourth visit - it was to a scene I was both familiar with, and not.
Everyone who has ever read Worm is at least passingly familiar with the nature of Emma Barnes descent into psychopathy. The story was pretty straight forward. She was out with her Dad late at night, when some ABB gangsters used a dumpster to block their ability to exit an alleyway he had been cutting through with his car.
You would think my initial warning explicitly not to do that would have gotten through Alan's thick fucking skull, but as I gently came to a stop at the edge of a rooftop overlooking an older looking green car blocked into an alley by a fucking dumpster, my confidence in the mans intelligence dropped precipitously.
Below me, several asian men and women were surrounding the Barnes pair, with one of them saying… I dunno, probably something cringey and villainous to the red head while waving a knife in front of her face. It was so perfectly stupid looking and improbably that these people were just… waiting out here in the middle of the night, that I actually froze up for a second upon seeing them.
It was one thing to know it happened, and another thing entirely to rationalize it. I mean, was this common?Did it happen a lot?I'd never really heard of it happening to anyone else.
Regardless, my opportunity to finally, truly derail canon in a positive way had presented itself, and I was actually kind of excited for it. At least with this out of the way I could focus on other things right?
"Merlin, play Big Gun." I requested of my AI as my rifles came up, one targeting the gangster holding Emma at knife point, and the other, the driver of the gangster's vehicle which had pulled up to block the other end of the alley.
"Yes, sir." He acquiesced, though to my mild embarrassment he piped the classic AC/DC song over the speakers of my suit instead of privately. Everyone present thus turned to stare at me on the rooftop I was standing on, in all eight feet of my white and orange mech suit.
Was I being a bit over dramatic? Yes. Absolutely. But I hadn't actually gotten to use the Odinson for anything yet - and I was excited to see the difference in performance.
So, with all the grace it was possible to muster, I hurled my sledgehammer at the motor of the gangster's vehicle, and fire both my rifles.
There was a thunderous cacophony of sound as my weapons went off, throwing one gangster against a nearby wall and shattering the glass window of the car protecting the other and then I stepped off the edge of the building and into the alley.