Chapter 9-6

Soft linen. Pain. A bed. I was in a bed, still in armor. I don't remember going to bed. I wouldn't have gone to bed wearing armor. Where was I? Did I get hurt?

I jumped up, or tried to, anyway. Pain shot up in my limbs, like someone replaced my bones with rusty nails. I looked around, trying to find an exit. The bed was surrounded by cloth, like you'd find in a hospital…

A hospital. I was in a hospital and Vista was sitting in a corner, half asleep. I was okay. God, I was tightly wound. One of these days, I'd probably decapitate someone by accident. Then again, I just came out of a warzone. The people in charge would probably cut me some slack.

"You're awake." Vista said, sounding groggy. How long had she been there? Poor thing. "Good. That's good. When Dragon brought you here, you were a mess and Panacea didn't know what to do. I thought we'd lost you too…"

I tilted my head until I understood what she meant. "Who?" Who didn't make it.

"Gallant." She said, so softly that even I could barely hear it. The girl could barely hold in her tears.

Gallant was dead. I let that sink in for a minute. Gallant, one of my teammates, was dead. Logically, I knew this was going to happen. With S-class threats, casualties are inevitable, but still…

Gallant was dead. We weren't particularly close, but I liked him regardless. He was legitimately a good guy. Someone who actually lived up to the propaganda surrounding him. He was honest, caring, and worked his ass off trying to hold the team together. Always trying to be the older brother, looking out for his siblings. He made me feel welcomed in a new team…no, a new life.

And now he's gone.

I heard Vista push down a whimper and scolded myself. I was being selfish. It was a public secret that Vista had a crush on Gallant, even though the feeling wasn't mutual. It was also a public secret that Vista's had a lousy home life and that she saw us as her family. Whatever I might have felt, it must have been a thousand times worse for her. I lost a friend, but she lost one of the few people that really cared about her.

"Vista, are you okay?" I asked. Stupid question.

"Y-Yeah, fine. Look, Armsmaster wanted to know if you're alright, so I'll go and…"

No. This wouldn't do. I remember what it's like to lose a loved one. There's no way in hell I'd let her go through that alone. I grabbed Vista's hand, ignored the stab of pain, and turned on my power. "Stop." I said, looking her square in the eye. "It's okay to grieve."

"I'm fine." She snapped back. "I just need to…"

I pulled her into a hug and the tears started flowing. I held her tight and let the girl cry on my shoulder. She needed it, I could tell. Morosely, I remembered that I was her age when Mom died. If Emma hadn't been there…

I pushed that line of thought from my mind.

"He won't tell me what happened." Vista…no Missy sobbed. "Carlos, he was there and he won't say anything. Why? I can take it, I just need to know…"

I shushed her. "I'm sure he has his reasons. We can ask him later, okay?"

Heavy footfalls came through the hallway. Armsmaster. I let go of my power so we could talk.

"Armsmaster, sir." Vista said, pulling her visor back in place.

"Banshee's alive. Good." He replied, smiling softly. "You're dismissed."

"Of course, sir." She nodded and sped off. Part of me wanted to scold him for his lack of courtesy, but it probably wouldn't be of any use. Everyone dealt with losses differently and I guess Armsmaster grieved by going into robot mode.

Well, at least more so than usual.

"It's good to have you back, Banshee. We weren't sure you were going to make it."

"Thank you, sir." I replied. "Vista told me about Gallant."

The smile on Armsmaster's face faded. "I see. Vista is taking it harder than most. Understandable, considering the situation, but still, unfortunate."

"We just lost a friend, sir. Cut us some slack."

His head lowered for just a moment. I guess he realized his mistake. "Of course. My apologies. Anyway, that's not why I'm here. Those assassins, what do you know about them? Goals and personalities, if possible."

Always straight to business, huh? I used my power and silenced the area around us again before answering. "Only that I've never seen them before and that they were really good at what they did. Limbo: British accent, kind of like Clockblocker with the stupid beaten out of him. He had some sort of phasing power that he could cast over an area or on individual targets. He used it to kill a lot of monsters all in one go. The other, Vauban, was quiet, reserved. He used a bunch of Tinkertech grenades. Both had Tinkertech weapons and armor that kind of looked like mine. They mentioned two others, Nyx and Nekros, but I never saw them. Nekros is apparently easily distracted by shiny objects. Oh, and they call themselves 'independent contractors' and don't like the Protectorate, though they wouldn't tell me why. They also didn't tell me why they were here and I didn't bother to ask."

"I suppose the army of monsters is a more pressing concern." The Tinker said. "So, the armor?"

"It looked too similar and, well, they freaked when I mentioned it. Apparently, the rabbit hole's a lot deeper than we thought and they're afraid we're going to catch the attention of something bad if we keep looking."

"That is…disturbing."

"It gets worse." I added. "The way they talked about Outbreak, it's like they've done this before. A lot of times, in fact. They sounded like two big game hunters, discussing the size of the 'Phorid' creature like it's Tuesday." I took a breath and continued. "Unless those two are world-class actors, this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened."

"A sensible conclusion. There's only one problem with it."

"Which is?"

"There's no record of anything like this happening." He explained. "I've consulted with every source I have access to and no one has ever heard of a plague of nanites-derived superzombies before, which raises the question of where and when these hypothetical outbreaks have occurred. That, along with those super-powered assassins suddenly materializing out of thin air…Something's happening in this city and I don't like it."

"Can't you just ask the assassins? They probably don't want to talk, but it can't hurt to try."

He frowned. "No. The assassins disappeared soon after that monster was taken down, which is why I need all information you can give me. I don't like being in the dark. Not with something like this. People like that are trouble, Banshee, in more ways than one. We need to track them down soon, before they make things worse. With their willingness to fight and their obvious ability to do so effectively, there's no telling what might happen."

I had a sense of déjà vu. "I remember Piggot saying something like that about me, once."

Armsmaster's face remained level. "I…cannot deny that their mindset feels familiar."

"But that's not the only thing, is it? They're like me and Red, aren't they? Not just their armor but other things too." My heart was racing in my chest. This was it, wasn't it? The moment of truth, where I was finally going to get some answers and learn what the hell's going on inside of me.

Armsmaster scowled. "That's classified." Was his curt response. "I'm sorry, but you don't have the necessary clearance and I've probably said too much already."

Then, just like that, my heart stopped.

I shook my head. After everything… This couldn't be happening. "Armsmaster, I've put up with a lot of your shit lately. I think you owe me that much."

"It doesn't work that way, Banshee. This is strictly need to know."

"Well, I need to fucking know!" I all but screamed. "I signed up with you guys because I wanted to be a hero and because I was scared I'd hurt someone with my powers like I did with Lung. Now, I've murdered dozens of people and felt nothing. Is my power messing with my head, or is this selective sociopathy thing all me?"

"That's not…"

"And then, there's Outbreak and the Corpus and those assassins. How do I fit in all of that? How am I connected to all of that? It's like there's this puzzle in front of me and I'm missing all the critical pieces. Now you, and the others, you have the answers I need to make sense of all of this, but when you're not talking in riddles or dancing around the issue, you're fucking stonewalling me!"

"Look, I'm not going to pretend to like it either, but classified is classified. I tell you this and we both go to jail. There's nothing I can do."

"Bullshit. You're fucking Armsmaster. You're the head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, I'm one of your Wards, and you've bent the rules more times than I can count. I need this. I need to know what's happening to me so that I can maybe make peace with what I've become. If you won't stop keeping secrets from me…if I can't trust you…I'm not even sure why I'm staying anymore."

Armsmaster took a step back. "What exactly do you mean?"

What did I mean? That I was fed up with the Protectorate? That this whole superhero gig was feeling more hollow as time went on? That after everything I've been through, I can't justify working for them anymore? Maybe…Maybe some part of me was just fed up with all the lies. "I don't like the organization I work for, sir. I don't like what it's turning me into and how you're lying to everyone about everything. If this…if this is going to be the norm, I don't…I don't know what to do."

He looked at me, his face having turned to stone. Eventually, he sighed and said: "I can talk to the man in charge, see if I can get you read in. They guy who runs the project, Calvert, I think, he's a slimeball but he still owes me a favor. I'm not making any promises, but I'll see what I can do."

"Which will end up amounting to nothing but a half-assed excuse." I muttered in response.

"I'm trying to help you, Banshee. We're on the same side."

"That's what principal Blackwell always said…"

Armsmaster had no response to that. He simply turned around and walked away. I looked down and saw that my hands were shaking. I shook my head and headed for the roof. I needed space and a moment to breathe before I did something rash.

I was being stupid again, the rational part of my brain chided me. It wasn't Armsmaster's fault. He couldn't help it either and by the looks on his face, he hated it as much as I did. I shouldn't blame him for my mental problems and I couldn't just ask him to break the law for my sake. I was just…angry. At Outbreak, at my teammates, at myself…

But also at the system. The bureaucracy. If there was one thing I could truly agree on, it's that the system itself had a hand in just about everything that had gone wrong in my life the past year. Even if I couldn't pin the blame on one organization directly, the PRT and the Protectorate could have put an end to my problems, if only they'd bothered to do their jobs properly. And yet, I was still working for them.

Was it worth it, in the end? My life sucked a lot less now than it did two months ago, but I still get the feeling that the other shoe's going to drop soon. How much more could I ignore before I couldn't seriously call myself a hero anymore?

A stranger climbed onto the roof. A woman, armed to the teeth and wearing grey and cyan colored armor. In spite of the Truce, my body still tensed.

"Who are you?" I asked. Not that I really needed to: the stranger's armor was a dead giveaway. "You're one of those assassins, aren't you?"

She tilted her head and I could practically feel her looking right through me. It reminded me of Lisa when she's about to verbally flay someone alive. The woman was a Thinker. Had to be. "I'm Nyx, and yes, I'm one of those assassins, as you put it." She stepped around me, like a predator eying her prey. To call it unnerving would be an understatement.

"I'm Banshee. Now what do you want?" Part of me wanted to tone down the venom a little, but to be honest, I really wasn't feeling like it.

"A girl can't simply go for a walk?"

"We're on a rooftop, in the middle of a warzone." I deadpanned.

"A very enthusiastic walk, then."

I sighed in frustration. "Just stop, alright? I'm not in the mood."

"Very well. Truth is, you've made quite an impression. Limbo described your form as an unpolished diamond: flawed, but a thing of beauty once it has been shaped properly. Believe me, that means a lot, coming from someone like him." She sat herself down beside me. Far enough to be outside my comfort zone, but still close enough to demand my full attention. "What I cannot understand is why someone so talented would hamstring herself by working for the Protectorate."

Ah, so that's what this is all about. "Not like I have anything better to choose from..."

"You always have a choice, little sister, even if it's not the one you want. People like to make you think there's only one way ahead, when in reality they're just trying to manipulate you into doing what they want."

"And what about you, Nyx? Are you trying to manipulate me? Is this some sort of recruitment attempt?"

Nyx laughed in response. "We all manipulate each other, little sister, whether we realize it or not. But, to answer your question, I can't deny that I'd like to have you on our side. Limbo and Vauban were impressed by your performance, which isn't something that happens often. Unfortunately, your...affiliations make recruitment somewhat difficult."

"The Protectorate. What's your problem with them anyway? Your friends wouldn't tell me."

"Philosophical differences."

"What kind of 'philosophical differences'? The kind where you argue on the meaning of 'due process' or where you treat the sixth commandment as a vague guideline?"

"Both, if I understand you correctly."

I didn't get the impression that was all there is to it. Yes, they were assassins, but they didn't strike me as particularly villainous. "But…"

"Look around you. Look at the state of the city and ask yourself how things could have gone so far."

"Economic downturn due to the Endbringers, followed by people being miserable and the gangs taking advantage of the situation."

"True, but that is only part of the problem. The real problem, I feel, is that people are afraid. When frightened, the weak and powerless will turn to anyone that can promise them safety, only to find out after the fact that their guardians can't live up to the hype. That is what the Protectorate is, really: an empty promise made by politicians to appease a terrified public. Unfortunately, no one really knows how to keep that promise while placating the countless factions vying for power and influence. The result is a cart pulled by a dozen horses all running in different directions. A compromise so hamstrung by its own birth defects that it ends up doing little to stop the real problems."

"It's not that simple. Things can still change." But would they, I wondered, and if they would, would they change for the better. Looking at Brockton Bay, I honestly couldn't say they would.

"Not without implying that the politicians are as scared and clueless as the people they're supposed to be leading and we both know that they'll never openly admit to that. Not without losing their voter base and driving the people into the hands of the next fool who promises the universe and ends up being crushed by their own ambition."

"We're still doing good." I argued, even as the words felt like ash in my mouth. Why was I even defending these people?

"But are you doing enough good? When you take into account all the suffering that the Protectorate couldn't stop but should have, does it all add up?"

"We can't just run around and murder people we don't like. What right do we have to kill them?"

"Perhaps a better question is: what right do we have to let them live?" She replied in an almost casual tone. "Normally, law enforcement can afford to limit itself with regulations because the law has a monopoly on overwhelming force. In Brockton Bay, that is obviously no longer the case. When individual gangs are literally powerful enough to take on the entire Protectorate and win, can you really afford to hold anything back, knowing that you will leave the innocent to rot for the sake of following procedure? What use are regulations when they become nothing more than shackles? When people are reduced to little more than masks? How much longer can we continue making the same mistakes before we realize that the world is completely out of balance and beyond help?"

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't. The world was 'out of balance', as Nyx said and we superheroes weren't able to solve the problem. We did what we could, but it just wasn't enough. Not with so many little things holding us back. Even then, I still couldn't think of a better solution. For all its faults, the law kept us from becoming the very evil we were supposed to fight. The PRT can't trust me with its secrets because the PRT can't trust anyone. The system may be fundamentally flawed, but getting rid of it would only replace our current problems with new, more troublesome ones.

And yet, the system kept failing me when I needed it to work. Why? How?

What was I supposed to do? I was just one Ward. A cog in a machine. Little more than a tool in the grand scheme of things. How the hell was I going to fix things if I can't even see the full extent of the problem?

"I see" Nyx suddenly said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"See what?"

"A great many things." She leaned in and whispered. "Don't lose hope, little sister. Remember that you always have a choice, even if it doesn't look like you do. We'll be in touch."

Then, she jumped off the roof, leaving me alone with my thoughts.