Chapter 10-5
May 10, 2011
"…and then, she steps out of the car, just covered in blood. Like, completely. Dripping and stuff too. Oh, and giggling…"
Doctor McGraw sighed. "That doesn't make Taylor a psychopath, Carlos." He knew what was bothering Aegis, and it had nothing to do with his teammate. Aegis had a classic case of what the doctor liked to call 'Chronic Hero Syndrome': the idea that the world was his responsibility, that everything wrong somehow his fault, and that he was the only one who could fix it. It usually led to low self-esteem, depression, a burn-out or, if the hero in question was unlucky, death, either by their own hand or by some villain when they inevitably bite off more than they can chew.
Theoretically, the cure was simple: convince the patient to let others share the burden. In practice, it was a little more complicated than that. At the end of the day, Carlos' problem was the same as that of the other Wards: they were children fighting a war. Until they were allowed to stand down and learn how to be kids again, the best McGraw could do was damage control.
'Damage control', he thought, suppressing a mirthless snicker. That's what they called 'keeping PTSD symptoms under wraps' these days. Sometimes, he wanted to strangle the idiots who decided that the Wards could be used in combat at all.
"I had a bet with Grue from the Undersiders. You know, the gang with a psycho-rapist and a psycho-murderer? Who had the craziest teammate. Guess what? I won! Got ten bucks from the son of a bitch."
"Still doesn't make her a psychopath."
"And now…and now, Missy's doing it too, trying to be a tough, cold-hearted bitch." The boy continued. "She thinks Taylor is a fucking example, now. As if that's what a hero's supposed to be. And the worst part: I'm not sure if she's entirely wrong. It's not like I'm a good role model…"
And there comes the low self-esteem.
"What happened the last few months wasn't your fault." McGraw reassured.
"What part? The part where I didn't notice that a member of my own team had been torturing a girl half to death? The part where I alienate half my team trying to stop Taylor from going down the same road? Or the part where I let Dean…where I let him…Oh god."
The doctor slowly leaned forward. This was the difficult part. The part the patient had to come to terms with the trauma. "Dean's death…"
"Was not my fault? How the fuck wasn't it my fault? I was standing right next to him when that monster ripped him apart! I killed him when his top half started moving again. That was me! It was all me!" Aegis, no, Carlos lowered his head and started sobbing. "Dean…he said he still sensed them. The people that were infected? He could still feel them scream and he wanted to save them, even though we knew they were too far gone. If I'd just told him to shut up and started shooting…"
"But that wouldn't be you, would it?"
"Yeah, well, maybe that's the fucking problem! Me being me. I mean, Taylor would've pulled the trigger and then yelled at Dean for being an idiot. Fuck, even fucking Hess could've saved him. Me? No, I couldn't. Never could, 'cause I'm a shit fucking leader."
The doctor calmly let the boy cry before saying. "I disagree. I don't think you're a bad leader at all. You're actively trying to solve problems and you do that because you legitimately care about your teammates. That's a lot better than most people in your position."
"Fat lot of good that did. My team is still fucked, Dean's still dead, and I've got no idea how to fix it."
"Carlos, you've literally been sent into a warzone. I've met people twice your age who come out of places like that looking worse than you did."
"I should have done better. I should have…"
"There is something you need to understand. Your generation has grown up with the idea that superheroes are perfect and unstoppable. Movies, TV, video games, you name it. Anything to make young parahumans like you sign up. This has a down side." The doctor smiled as Carlos clearly paid attention. Good. He was getting through to the boy. "On some level, you actually believe those things, even if you know they're works of fiction. You want to believe that superheroes are all perfect and that our organization can do no wrong. Sadly, this simply isn't true. Parahumans go through hell to get their powers and it shows."
"Like the part where I'm a terrible leader."
"You're not a terrible leader and I better not hear that again." McGraw chided. "Now, the reason why we let everyone have a turn at being team leader is because we need you to know that you and everyone you work with are flawed. Taylor's casual dismissal of blood, Dean's bleeding heart, Missy trying to be ten years older than she actually is, these are all deep-seeded problems and you can probably think of a few that apply to you. Sometimes, they can be overcome. Sometimes, they can't. You're good people, for the most part, but not perfect and you need to understand that."
The boy lowered his head. "So what should I do?"
"Accept that there are things you can't fix. Trust others to help you fix them and accept that every now and then, there won't be a solution. Some people have scars that run so deep that they can never fully heal. You'll have to learn to deal with the fact that at the end of the day, the people you work for and with are all just human."
"Which is just shrink-speak for saying you're not good enough." Carlos replied, morosely. "That I'll never be good enough."
The doctor sighed. He wasn't going to get through to him. Not now. Maybe if he could convince Director Renick to give the boy (scratch that, the entire team) a week off…
Oh, who was he kidding? The Wards were too valuable for that and they'd probably go after Outbreak on their own if anyone tried to bench them.
"Well, I think that's enough for today. I'll see you next week."
Without a word, Carlos got up and walked away. McGraw sat back in his chair and wondered where it all went wrong. They were just kids, he thought. They weren't supposed to sound like broken war veterans. The Wards were supposed to be a safe place. A place to learn and grow into responsible adults. McGraw wasn't stupid. He knew reality would never match up to his expectation, but this…
Brockton Bay: Putting the 'War' into 'Wards'. That's how one of the online newspapers called it and he couldn't say they were wrong with a straight face.
Should he just stand by and let this happen? Wasn't it his job, as PRT psychologist, to do something about this? Then again, what could he do? He couldn't make Outbreak disappear. He couldn't pull an army of heroes out of a hat. He couldn't change the situation that forced the PRT to use the Wards in the first place.
Maybe he should follow his own advice for a change…
HR
/HR
May 12, 2011
"Doctor, please come in." Director Renick said.
McGraw stepped through. It was just him, the director, and Armsmaster, the latter looking like he really didn't want to be here. He looked around, trying to figure out why he was here. The real reason, of course. The doctor had worked with the PRT long enough to know that the people in the upper echelons rarely told the complete truth to anyone, let alone a relatively low-ranking individual like a psychologist.
In spite of his extensive access to information, psychologists had little real power, McGraw reflected. Most of the time, all he could do was offer a listening ear, but that was rarely enough. Between the usual disdain of psychological aid in law-enforcement agencies, the capes' own issues, and the utter inability for most directors to admit to any wrong-doing, getting capes the help they needed was like herding cats.
Cats that were on fire. And blissfully unaware of the fact. While scratching anyone who tried to convince them they were, in fact, moments away from dying.
Wouldn't stop him from trying, though.
"Have to say, I'm kind of surprised. This isn't one of our regularly scheduled meetings."
"Well, we're not exactly in a regular situation, doctor." The director replied. "I'd like your professional opinion on the state of our Wards team."
"I've already given you my recommendations. It's all in my reports." Extensive reports, the doctor noted. As extensive as he could make them without violating doctor-patient confidentiality.
"And I know the reports don't contain everything and recommendations is not enough right now."
"You're asking me to break doctor-patient confidentiality."
"Doctor, I'm not a stupid man. I know very well that just throwing a shrink at the Wards won't magically solve all their problems. I want to know your thought-process and why you think your recommendations are necessary."
Of course, doctor-patient confidentiality was just a gentleman's agreement in the PRT. Technically, it still existed, but there were over a dozen legal loopholes a director could exploit to force him to spill the beans anyway.
Renick hadn't given him an order, but it was implied that he didn't have a choice anyway.
"Well, then, let's do this alphabetically. First off, team leader Aegis, AKA Carlos Martinez." The doctor took a deep breath. "Survivor's guilt is the most pressing concern. Gallant's death hit him hard, at a time when he was already emotionally vulnerable. In addition, he is taking the hardening of his team as a personal failure. Both of these problems can probably be fixed with time. Once he realizes he can't save everyone, he'll probably be able to accept what happened and move on.
"Next is Banshee, AKA Taylor Hebert. I theorized earlier that her mindset has become more in line with an Army sniper than a normal, teenage girl, and it looks like I was right. She has become colder and more cynical over the past few weeks, with the occasional sociopathic traits slipping through. Unfortunately, while Banshee is still fiercely protective of her teammates, she's losing faith in the organization as a whole. Long story short, you're not heroic enough for her anymore. Her faith in authority figures was next-to-zero, and somehow you still managed to disappoint her. I can't decide if that's funny or tragic."
"Mistakes were made." Armsmaster said, defensively. At least he admitted it. That's progress. "We are doing what we can."
"Which apparently isn't good enough. She came to you, believing you could fix at least some of her problems, and you've only made them worse. Her family life is more strained than it ever was and, from her point of view, you haven't learned a thing from your mistakes. That you're hiding vital information from her is probably going to be the last straw."
"So, you think she'll leave us, then?" The director asked.
"Unless you stop treating her like an asset and start putting your money where your mouth is, yes. Honestly, I don't think convincing her to stay will be all that difficult. Just doing your job properly and openly should be enough."
The director frowned. McGraw did not like that. "And if she were to leave, what are the chances she'll turn villain?"
"Outright villain? Very small. It's not her in her personality. My money's on her becoming a vigilante. The bad kind, that is." McGraw sighed. So that's how it's going to be, huh? "Director, I was of the opinion that the PRT wants to hold on to as many parahumans as it can."
"It does, but Banshee asks for something I can't give. She wants classified data and I'm not at liberty to share that, especially with a potentially unstable teenager."
McGraw sighed again and threw Banshee's file on the director's desk. "This a copy of the personnel file of Taylor Anne Hebert. In it is all the abuse, all the killings, the entire hell that girl's been through. If this file were to be leaked, heads would roll. Best case scenario is that the PRT would blame everything on the two of you, but that's only if no one finds out about the state of the rest of the team. Worst case is congressional hearings, a PR debacle of ungodly proportions, probably followed by the restructuring or dissolution of the Wards program."
"Your point?" Renick replied with a frown.
"You say you don't trust Banshee to keep secrets. I say she already has. What do you think is going to happen if she confesses to killing someone on your orders in front of a camera? She already knows enough to destroy you. How could sharing that classified information possibly make things worse?" The doctor held up his hands and said: "Look, you don't need to tell me the details. I'm here for the children, not for you. That said, trust is a two-way street and if you want to keep Banshee on your team, you're going to have to meet her half-way. If you don't, she'll run the moment she finds someone else worth fighting for."
"We will take your advice under consideration." Renick said, tersely. "Now, the others please."
Translation: The PRT valued its secrets more than Miss Hebert. Again.
"Alright then. Browbeat, AKA John McKenzie. He never wanted to be a Ward to begin and it shows. He's stressed, he's ashamed, he's trying to find the courage to tell his parents what he's really been doing, and he just wants out. Out of the whole hero mess and back to being normal again. Cold feet, pure and simple. I've seen it happen before. He'll still do his job, but his heart won't be into it and he'll quit the moment he thinks he can get away with it. You'll probably lose him unless you can transfer him to someplace peaceful. I honestly don't think there's much we can do about that.
"Clockblocker, AKA Dennis Cook. Loyal and committed to the program, but he's not oblivious. He's grieving for Dean and knows his teammates are hurting. Once the team has had time to recover, his situation should improve on its own. A low priority and one I can handle on my own.
"Sarah Livsey, AKA Insight. Becoming more attached to her team and is actively trying to bond with them. I'm not foreseeing any short-term problems with her. At least, none that require your attention.
"Moving on:, Kid Win, AKA Christopher Wilkinson. Whatever the Corpus did to him, it's getting worse. He's getting so obsessed over Tinkering that he's starting to forget to sleep, eat, or go to the bathroom. Simply put, he can't will himself to stop anymore and is starting to hate himself for it. Classic addiction symptoms and the more he tinkers, the worse it gets."
"In other words," Armsmaster said "he has to stop tinkering before he completely destroys himself."
"Ultimately, yes."
"But if he can't tinker, then he can't really serve as a Ward anymore, can he?"
"He can't, no." The doctor replied, apologetically. "I'm sorry, but you're going to lose him. Either he'll burn himself up, or someone pulls him out of the program. It would be better to let an organization like our own take care of him than for his parents to try and figure it out on their own. His 'drug' being essentially everywhere, which means that he will need to be taken care of round the clock."
"Doctor, Kid Win is finally hitting his stride. He's becoming more productive than I could have ever dreamed…"
"Armsmaster, are you telling me you're willing to let this child suffer for your own personal gain?"
"I didn't say that." The Tinker replied, grinding his teeth. "What I meant is that even once he stops working for us, he'll have to be protected. With his new-found obsessive nature, he won't be able to hide his power and if he falls in the hands of one of the gangs, the damage could be catastrophic. If we can't keep him here, we'll have to place him in an asylum, just to keep him safe."
"His parents would never agree to that." The director chimed in. "They're already one step away from a civil suit. If anyone gets the idea that Kid Win shattered on our watch… As much as I hate to say it, retiring him before he breaks down completely might be our only option. We'll have to convince the parents it was their decision too to avoid and legal blowback. Give me a few days and I'll think of something. Repugnant as it is, the alternatives are worse."
"Better the bomb blows up in someone else's face than ours, right?" The doctor replied, sarcastically.
Renick sighed. "Try looking at this from my perspective. Your job is to help the children. My job is to help everyone. Brockton Bay is a mess. The PRT is overstretched, underfunded, and undermanned. Like Piggot before me, I have to cut corners, push boundaries, and find the limits of what I can legally get away with just to keep the city from descending into anarchy. Neither me nor the city can afford having the PRT stuck in a legal battle right now."
"Which is ignoring the fact that the bomb is going to blow unless we do something."
"This bomb can't be defused, to use your analogy. There is, after all, no such thing as a recovered addict. Considering the severity of Kid Win's situation, a 'relapse' is almost inevitable. As much as I hate to say it, there is no saving that boy. Not with the resources I have at my disposal."
Translation: the PRT is cutting its losses.
Tired of forcing the issue, McGraw continued: "Finally, there is Vista, AKA Missy Biron: thirteen years old and trying to turn herself into a child soldier. Something she's not handling well. A long-term problem that I won't be able to solve so long as you insist on sending prepubescent children into battle."
"Like I said before:" The director insisted. "we don't have a choice. Now I need your opinion on how to fix this mess."
"Director, there's only one way to do that and we both know you won't allow it. If you seriously need me to tell you that sending kids into battle is a bad idea, you've got bigger problems."
"Doctor…"
"You want my professional opinion on your Wards team? A month ago, they were eight smart, committed young children with huge potential and bright futures ahead of them. There was a great sense of camaraderie, friendship, and synergy between them. Now, you're left with a pile of broken wrecks. They've been pushed too hard for too long. God, you've practically destroyed them." Before Renick could interrupt, the doctor held up a hand and said: "Yes, destroyed them. That's not a hyperbole. One of them is dead, another too mentally damaged to continue. Two others have massive body counts and a third is one bad day away from quitting the program. You have only three Wards that I could consider psychologically fit for duty, assuming they don't fall apart any further, and even then I wouldn't dare letting any of them do something more dangerous than a walk through the park. Quite frankly, if it weren't for the Preservation Act tying my hands, I'd have both of you arrested for child abuse and the Brockton Bay Wards program shut down indefinitely. This city is just too damn dangerous to have children running around in spandex."
Silence fell. Renick looked impassively, simply accepting the doctor's judgment. It probably wouldn't have surprised him. It didn't take a professional psychologist to see that the Wards were damaged and what had caused it. Armsmaster's reaction was odd, though. He was as straight-faced as ever, but there was a tension in his jaw that belied something else. Was he shocked? Surprised? Armsmaster wasn't the very empathetic at the best of times and prone to tunnel-vision on top of that, but could he really have missed the signals his Wards had given him?
Finally, Renick asked: "Do you think I like the situation I'm in?"
"Do you?"
The director tapped his fingers on the table before answering. "I called a colleague of mine a couple days ago, asking him about quarantine procedures. James Tagg. He has a lot of experience dealing with Simurgh quarantine zones. Anyway, Banshee just happened to come up in the conversation and I told him about her…unique mindset. His reply: 'Damn, wish all my paras had that attitude. Would have solved my problems in a week.'"
"That's…"
"Sickening, I know. The thing is, while Tagg is a bit of an extremist, he's also a good example of the warhawks in my organization advocating for cape militarization. There are a lot of eyes on Brockton Bay, and not just because they're afraid something will get out. A lot of my colleagues think that the city is a vision for the future and they're seeing us as a test-bed of sorts. Which plans work and which plans won't."
"So that's what all this is: an experiment?"
"No. Let me get one thing straight here, Doctor: I hate what I'm doing. I hate having to send these poor kids into the fight and then go on the news, telling everyone what a great and peaceful place the Wards program is. But the worst part, the part that really scares me, is the fact that it's working. Outbreak is being contained, thanks in no small part to the efforts and sacrifices of the Wards. After just a week, the quarantine has been lifted for most of the city and there is no public outcry about the methods I've used to make it happen. I didn't just save the day, I showed that using children as fighting machines works. Other cities, they're going to copy this, or worse. How long before we can't even pretend we're not creating child soldiers anymore?"
Regret. The first real emotion McGraw could see from the director's face. For once, the man was telling the truth, and the whole truth at that.
"So what do you want from me?"
"In a few days, I'm going to have to appear before the board of directors and give my report on the situation. I'd like you to be there too."
"Director, I don't have a single good word to say about you and I'm not going to lie in front of the big wigs."
"I don't want you to." He said, leaning forward. "In fact, I want you to tell them everything. Tell them just how broken these kids are. Don't spare the details. Yes, we won, but not without cost. Make it clear to every single one of them that this 'victory' has a terrible price."
"That's going to cost you your career."
The Director looked thoughtfully at a picture for a while. "I have a son. Sixteen years old. One of the things I wonder is: if he were to trigger now, would I let him into the Wards? My answer is: I wouldn't. I wouldn't let my son do what I'm forcing other people's children to do. What does that say about me? What does that say about our Wards program? You're right, we are pushing it too far. I'm killing these children and I can't let someone else use our success as an excuse to push even more extreme measures through Congress. I'm already hearing things about a parahuman draft and I'm beginning to dread that people might actually start to listen to the warmongering idiots."
"A draft…yes, that's a terrible idea."
"Glad you agree. My point is…"
Suddenly, Armsmaster's helmet started beeping. The Tinker pressed a button near his ear and his face paled. "Dragon, is this accurate?" He asked, seemingly ignoring everyone else in the room. "Forty-five minutes, I understand. We'll get ready."
"Outbreak?" Renick asked, sounding concerned.
"Worse."