February 13th, 2011 - Sunday
Early Morning
"Ma'am?"
"Fredericson. I'll need the PRT's files on every rogue and villain that's not a part of my team or the two major gangs. Get everything that won't blow your cover, and send it over."
"Yes, ma'am. How soon do you need it?"
"You have a few days. I'll send you the address once we're done."
"And my payment?"
"Two weeks' supply."
"Understood. Will that be all?"
"Yes." Jennifer hung up and pulled out her phone's battery.
Sergeant Fredericson was a blessing and a curse. Transferred in from Chicago not long before she started making plans to move into the city, he was clever enough to hide his addiction to designer drugs brewed by one of Webweaver's former teammates a secret from the PRT, yet dumb enough to get himself in the situation to begin with. Jennifer couldn't quite figure out why he didn't refuse the transfer - paranoia about inviting investigation, perhaps? - but being separated from his dealers left a perfect gap for her to step into. Acting as an intermediary between dealer and customer in exchange for information was an acceptable stopgap measure while the genuinely loyal Elite plants worked their way up the ranks. Jennifer had no delusions about a drug addict's ability to stay out of trouble in the long-term, however.
The files he could get would be more detailed than what the Elite could get before moving into the city themselves, and certainly more detailed than the PHO threads and wiki entries she'd sent her team to trawl - she'd be very surprised if any of them dug up something new, but only Lim had bothered to research the local capes without her say-so, and Taylor had some knowledge thanks to being a Brockton native. Maybe the rest will do their research this time. One can only hope.
Phone call taken care of, she had to prepare for a meeting. Getting out of bed, she gathered her clothes and headed for the bathroom while she ran her spiders over the cupboards in the kitchen, picking out breakfast. Nothing particularly interesting appeared in the cupboards overnight, so thirty minutes later she was shaking crumbs of toast into the garbage bin while wondering if she could find a toaster spiders could operate.
The ride to the team's base was uneventful until she got close enough to start checking in on her projects.
The gold widows weren't being modified, and the bodysuit they'd been ordered to weave was complete. She ordered assorted insects from one of the nearby crates to flood inside, animating the female mannequin the suit was wowen around and walking it out of the crate. The excess insects would be the spiders' breakfast, while the mannequin continued to the room she'd set aside for cleaning.
The second project would've looked disastrous at first glance. The three surviving tarantulas among the corpses of hundreds of their siblings were breathing through their brand new lungs - the first step in reworking their respiratory system to something that could let her match the giant insects of prehistoric times in a modern, less oxygenated atmosphere.
Don't get ahead of yourself, Jen. See how big these grow first, remember that scaling smaller insects to tarantula size had a dozen problems in the first generations.
Despite the rational part of her mind telling her not to get too excited yet, her imagination was already painting a picture of her riding into battle on a giant spider. One day, Jennifer. One day.
She turned her attention to the last project, and found none of the insects that were supposed to be there, only a few strays that had gotten in while she was away.
The last project was contained in a metal crate, unlike the rest. Looking inside through the airholes while sending fireflies inside for illumination, Jennifer saw a scorched interior and a few chunks of ichor. Well, at least I know the bombardier beetles worked. Now, how to make them not explode off-schedule?
Jennifer reached towards the beetle eggs in one of the nearby crates with her power, their biology taking shape in her mind before she caught herself. She didn't have that much time before her meeting - even using mere handfuls of bugs each generation instead of the hundreds she normally used when creating new breeds, it would still take her hours to design them all, and she still had to clean up the suit. Wouldn't do to offer a dirty gift. Casting one last forlorn look at the bombed-out crate, she headed upstairs.
~o~o~o~
February 13th, 2011 - Sunday
Afternoon
Jennifer parked her car behind the building. Normally, she'd conduct her meetings from a slightly safer distance, but this time a longer distance meant more risk of someone else seeing what they shouldn't.
As she walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk, keeping an eye out for any observers, her bugs moved the inner workings of the mannequin that once again wore the bodysuit she'd wowen, hidden under jeans, boots and hoodie. As it stood, Jennifer wondered about the possibilities of using them as decoys or to play off some people's phobias. If only it didn't take so much of her attention to control each one... and Clockwork didn't charge more for each of these than an actual human body's market price, she thought grimly.
Once the mannequin was standing properly, she locked its leg joints, pulled a backpack out of the trunk, and put it on the mannequin. It carried more silk fabric and spooled thread to sweeten the deal. Then she sent it marching off towards the workshop where her bugs sensed a lot of cloth, a woman in a mask and a giant plushie bear.
The woman looked up from her notepad when she heard a knock on the door, checked her mask and went to open it. Only to freeze when she came face to face with the mannequin. Webweaver took that as her cue to speak up.
"Hello, Parian. I'm Webweaver, if you haven't guessed already. I have an offer for you," the swarm vocalised all around Parian.
Webweaver saw Parian tense as if preparing to run, before she seemed to come to the correct conclusion that picking a fight or trying to kick the swarm out will not go far. The designer walked back to her table and took a seat, and Jennifer had the mannequin close the door behind itself before taking a seat next to her.
"I was worried something like this will happen when I heard you people were in town," Parian spoke, voice halfway between anger and resignation. "No independents in an Elite town, are there?" she added bitterly.
"Only those who have no use. But you, Parian? You're the kind of parahuman the Elite are for. There's a lot of profit to be made if you join - and your share would be well beyond what you can make on your own."
Parian shook her head.
"And in return, I have to publicly associate with villains and join your fights? Money's not that valuable."
"We can handle our own fights. The association doesn't need to be shouted to the world, but I won't deny anyone who cares to look will see it. You won't need to lay a finger on another person on our orders, this I can promise."
"So you only want me to make clothes for you? That's it?" was the incredulous answer.
"Not just any clothes. Have a look."
Webweaver made the mannequin work its arms out of the backpack's straps and hand it to Parian. The latter unzipped it, and looked inside.
"Web from my best spiders. More bulletproof than the people who'll wear it. You'd use this to make costumes for our capes on request, and assist with mass-producing undersuits if you're able. All for a share of the profits, of course, and a significant discount should you wish to purchase the silk for any of your personal use - as long as you carry out your obligations to us, you're free to pursue your own projects. This silk, the mannequin and everything it's wearing is yours whether you accept the deal or not - call it a taste of the benefits, if you wish."
She could tell Parian was impressed, but her caution was still winning out.
"Impressive carrot, I'll admit. What's the stick?"
"Three of them, actually. One, you knew we'll come to recruit you. Others will figure it out as well, if they haven't already. I've heard the Empire has already attempted to recruit you? They'll only get worse as we get more established. You can't hold out on your own forever, and we can offer protection. Two, even if you don't join us... as you said, not many independents in Elite territories. People will still treat you as if you were with us - if you're with us, at least you're getting the benefits as well. The last reason's the most important, I think."
"What's that?" Parian asked warily.
"Most of the Elite will be keeping their heads down for the next few weeks. An Endbringer attack is due, and nobody wants to commit themselves to major moves yet, and even after that there will be a short break out of respect for the Truce. But once business is back to normal... There are several cities the Elite have sent teams to lay the groundwork. One of them will be the target of the next campaign. If it's Brockton's turn... you've heard of what happens when the Elite move in force. Somebody less gentle than myself will make a pass at recruiting you if you're still independent then - it'll be more unpleasant for you and less profitable for me if that happens. You have time to decide, Parian. But not forever." With that, Webweaver withdrew her swarm, including the bugs animating the mannequin, and waited for the few good ones she picked up to make their way into the car's trunk before driving off.
~o~o~o~
February 14th, 2011 - Monday
Evening
Webweaver's swarm deposited a small bag of white crystal in Fredericson's hand. The man placed the manilla folders in his other hand inside the swarm, where they were wrapped up and carried away. He withdrew his hand and shivered.
"That will be all, Sergeant. You may go."
He took the dismissal for what it was and left with haste. Jennifer had her bugs examine the folder for the other kind of bugs before delivering it to her. The folders were thick - one concerning independents, the other three were far thicker and concerned the Bay's many villains. Seems Freddy went above and beyond. She fired up the engine, and decided to check on the Hebert house while she was at it anyway. Nobody had come threatening Danny, at least to her knowledge, but she didn't trust that to last.
Thirty minutes later, she pulled over just out of sight of the house, and started examining everything in her range with her insects.
The first thing she noticed was that the people in her range were somewhat busier than usual. While spying on people naturally resulted in seeing more than she wanted to from time to time, it was still odd until she remembered the day. Jennifer chuckled and pulled her insects away from couples, singles, and a trio, checking through people who weren't celebrating the day. Nothing interesting in any apartments, and the cars in her range were all empty. She put the key back in the ignition while sweeping the rooftops with flies, and froze.
Bodysuit, heavy cloak, crossbows. That was the edgy vigilante-turned-hero Shadow Stalker, no doubt. So the heroes are keeping an eye on him again now that we've made more waves? Interesting, and might even discourage the rest from doing something stupid.
Shadow Stalker didn't have a line of sight to the car and the bugs didn't find anything or anyone else suspicious, so once the Ward seemed to get bored and left Jennifer started up the engine and headed back to her place. She idly wondered why they'd assign a Ward for a stakeout, but that wouldn't be strangest punishment duty she'd seen the PRT assign.
~o~o~o~
February 14th, 2011 - Monday
Late Evening
Jennifer sat at her table and set Fredericson's folders down in front of her, steaming mug of coffee in her other hand. While going over them in detail was best done with her team, picking out key points now would be a good start. She went for the "independent" one first, just to get it out of the way. Two capes. Parian's file had nothing she hadn't researched before coming to the Bay, besides a few finer details on the Empire's attempts to recruit her. The other was of a yet-unnamed Brute vigilante potentially linked to a mysterious recovery in a hospital. A recruitment opportunity for the future, perhaps.
The first of the three villain folders covered the Undersiders. Robbers, escape artists, a Thinker with an unknown power, they had the makings of a great future career if they didn't get in over their heads. Potential allies, but Jennifer was wary of hiring a team that almost outnumbered her own people. On the other hand, they'll be prime recruits once the takeover begins. She raised her mug to her lips.
The second folder had five more files. Circus, Coil, Uber and L33t, Whirlygig. Circus's file was a laundry list of minor crimes, Uber and L33t's was barely more informative than what they published on their own. Whirlygig was a newcomer - first sighting was after Jennifer arrived in the Bay - and the file had her involved in a few cases of robbery and vandalism. Coil's folder was disappointingly thin - she'd have expected the PRT to have more information on him. Unless the absence of information is itself information. Could his insiders have enough reach to tamper with his own files?
Shaking her head, Jennifer set his file apart from the others, while placing Circus's and Whirlygig's next to the Brute's. Thinkers inducing paranoia, as usual. She reached out to the last file while taking another sip of her coffee.
It ended up all over said file.
Shadow Stalker. If Fredericson is playing tricks on me, I swear...
She wiped some of the coffee off the file with her sleeve and started reading. Recruitment after getting too violent on a criminal, check. Unsanctioned patrols, check, toxic attitude towards fellow Wards, check. The story seemed similar to some other recruited vigilantes Jennifer had heard of, and nothing explained her ending up as an "independent villain" despite the presumed threat of prison until she came close to the end of the file.
"Shadow Stalker was implicated in the Winslow trigger on 2011-01-03. The journal recovered from the house of the triggered parahuman, Taylor Hebert (cape name 'Eris') named her civilian identity as one of the primary perpetrators of an ongoing bullying campaign which resulted in the trigger. Shadow Stalker fled before she could be questioned."
The rest were sightings of the girl since then. Jennifer went over to her computer to type out a fresh copy of the Shadow Stalker file. So Shadow Stalker in her civilian identity triggered Taylor, and is now spying on her father. Seems like we'll have to have a talk.