I'll be real with you all, this chapter has been a nightmare in between the time I've had available to write it and my lack of mental energy. Work has been a nightmare, and it's only getting worse, and my health is nothing to brag about either. Basically, I write when I have the opportunity to, and I really don't have a lot of happiness with what I do write. I just write at this point for the sake of you guys cuz honestly, It's either that or no writing at all.
Anyways, returning to the point, I'm pretty unhappy with this chapter, which sounds like a broken record considering, but its the truth. There are things I could have done better, and there are other things I had to toss away simply because it didn't work. And then there is my worry for all of it, I'm unsure if I caught it best. So, yeah, there is that.
I don't have a timeline going forward in regards to when the next chapter is going to be. It could be months, because I do want to go back and try and write at least another chapter of Ice and Fire this year alone. That doesn't mean the story is dead, and if my plans going forward go through, I'm probably going to have a lot more time to write and tend to myself. So there is that.
Anyways, enough about me and my, here you go.
Adjustments 2.02
When Danny Hebert watched as his daughter was escorted out of the PRT building, it was only a small shred of restraint that prevented him from getting out of the car and running up to his daughter and wrapping her in his arms. That and the fact after the last week of trying to be involved in his daughter made it abundantly clear just what her thoughts would be on the matter.
It had been...rather difficult this last week in attempting to reconnect with his daughter, the best he had been able to garner was an air of disinterest, with irritation being the more dominant of reactions. Despite his best efforts, awkward that they may be at times, his daughter seemed more interested in maintaining the previous standard of their relationship.
There had been a few times when he had been ready to give up already. It had only been the knowledge that the reason he was even in this position was because he had originally given up after Annette's death that stopped him from doing so. All he could do was continue trying and make that connection again with his daughter, like any father should have.
And then this evening happened.
It had been like all of the other days when his daughter worked the evening at the bookstore, she'd come home in time for food, rebuff his attempts at anything more than idle, meaningless chat. Once she had finished eating maybe a pittance, she had gone up to her room to do homework and then rest.
It was faced with another failure, this one honestly worse with how much more readily apparent Taylor had made it clear that she didn't want anything to do with him, that led him to open up a beer and lose himself watching tv. It wasn't that he was watching anything as much as using it as a vehicle to think about what he could do to try and make a connection, any connection, with his daughter.
He was still in that state: staring not at as much as through the tv almost three hours later, when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud, harsh knock on the front door. At first, his mind wrote it off as a trick, what sane person would be knocking on his door this late at night. It was only after the second, even harsher what could only now be described as a cop knock in his mind, that Danny placed down the now empty can of beer, rose to his feet, and approached the door, but not before making sure to grab the metal bat nestled in the corner right by the door.
Turning on the outside light, he opened the door to find himself face-to-face with the glaringly red clad figure of Velocity.
"Danny Hebert?"
"Yes," was his response as he placed the bat back where it was. It wouldn't likely be taken well if Velocity realized what he had in hand, even if it was perfectly acceptable considering the time and the fact that this was Brockton Bay.
"We have reason to believe there is a credible parahuman threat against your family. I'm here to provide protection until the PRT arrives. May I come in?"
Opening the door, he allowed the hero in, too many questions on his mind.
"Who made the threat," he demanded.
"Sorry, Mister Hebert, I can't disclose that information," was Velocity's response as he looked around, "where is your daughter?"
"Taylor? She's upstairs in bed."
This seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Velocity frowned, "It would be best if we wake her, Mister Hebert."
For a brief instant he balked at the idea, Taylor needed as much sleep as she could get considering her schedule, but the expression on Velocity's face stopped any protest.
"Right this way," he relented, heading towards the stairs that would lead up to the bedrooms. He idly noted that Velocity had taken a position right behind him. It only ratcheted up his worry that there were things Velocity wasn't telling him that he should know. However, he kept those worries to himself, instead focusing upon the subject matter that drew him upstairs, a member of the Protectorate in tow.
As he opened the door to Taylor's room, he knew something was wrong before the door was fully opened. At first his mind discarded the wrongness that he felt, before it clicked with startling clarity as the door finished opening and caught sight of what lay within was. In hindsight, it was a smell he was intimately familiar with as a Dockworker Union rep, the smell of ozone and blood, but to have it in his own home in this situation was just impossible.
But the impossibility was right before him, as his daughter sat on the floor, with her back against the bed and staring off into the distance, with a body at her feet, a crossbow bolt sticking out of their head.
"Taylor," he moved towards his daughter, his mind already putting the pieces together at what had happened, only to be stopped by Velocity.
"I'm sorry, Mister Hebert, this is now an active crime scene, I need you to step away. Now."
"That is my daughter in there," he snapped, protectiveness welling up, moving forward, only to be stopped again.
"I know that, sir. But I can't let you contaminate the crime scene if you go in there. Please, go back downstairs. I'll bring your daughter down, but this has to be done right."
He had relented, not because Velocity was in the right, but because he wouldn't be helping Taylor if he were to get arrested. So he stood back, choosing not to go back downstairs, but instead watched as Velocity took several pictures with his phone, raising his ire to almost the boiling point, before finally the red-clad hero stepped into the room.
It took another minute or so, but when he finally got Taylor out, he led them both downstairs. Taylor had yet to say anything, not even acknowledging him when he tried to talk to her. All she did was let herself be placed on the couch, even as Velocity kept talking with whoever it was on the other end of his radio, stepping out of the room and into the kitchen.
When Taylor still didn't respond, outside of a simple shifting of her eyes to look at him, yet there was no recognition within those jade orbs. Before he could react and acknowledge the change, they slid back to staring forward.
Frustrated by the state of his daughter, and the lack of answers to questions he had, like who the hell had tried to kill his daughter. He got to his feet and stormed towards the kitchen, reaching to open the door when he stopped as he heard Velocity speaking.
"Yes, Director. I can confirm that it's Shadow Stalker."
He found himself stepping away from the door, despite the urge to storm into the kitchen and demand answers. Because what he had just heard had been enough to answer several of the questions that he had had.
And draw his own conclusions as to what was going to happen.
Shadow Stalker had, for some inexplicable reason, come to his home and had tried to kill his daughter. He may not be completely in the know on how the cape scene worked, but he had enough firsthand experience in dealing with the government to know perfectly well what the course of action they were going to take in the face of a scandal like this.
But he needed to be sure.
Opening the door, while fighting the urge to let the reins off his growing fury, he noted quickly that Velocity had cut off whatever conversation he was having with the Director in the face of his presence.
"Your Ward tried to kill my daughter."
It was probably not the best point to start at, but he was too infuriated to not go for the throat, because he would be damned before he allowed anything happen to his daughter. The grimace made by Velocity only served to confirm his statement for the brief moment it was on there, before his lips reverted to a firm line.
"That's for the forensics team to discover, Mister Hebert" was Velocity's bland response, which only served to further stoke his ire, "we don't know the whole story yet."
The story was damn well obvious, he wanted to snarl at the 'hero', a Ward doesn't show up in your daughter's room in the middle of the night for a simple chat. It all but confirmed what was going to be happening, and Danny glared at him for a few moments, resisting the urge to give into the temptation and further escalating the situation, before he finally spun about and stormed back out the kitchen.
"Mister Hebert," Velocity continued after him, but he strode past his daughter and into an adjoining room, before opening up his desk, extracting a rolodex, and placing it down by the phone. Thumbing through it, he found the contact he wanted, before picking up the phone and punching in the numbers.
"Mister Hebert, what are you doing?"
"I'm calling a lawyer," Danny snarled, finally letting some of that vaunted anger off its reins towards the Protectorate cape. It seemed to cow Velocity, as he stepped back from the doorway, even Danny heard the door to the front open again.
Finally finishing dialing the number, he cradled the phone against his ear as it began ringing, turning so he could at least still see into the living room as uniformed members of the PRT walked into the house. It was as he was about to say something that the phone was picked up.
"Hello Danny."
Under any normal circumstances, he would never have turned to Karl Elias for help. It wasn't that he didn't trust the man, far from it, it was the matter of what Elias represented that was the cause of his reluctance, in spite of their long working relationship over the years.
During the eighties, one of the first organizations, outside of the government, to cotton on to the usage of parahumans had been the criminal underworld. The utility of those with powers, along with the possible force multiplicative benefits that they could provide, made them a prime recruitment target. One of the larger recruiters had been the Mafia, which had been quick on the uptake of the versatility that adding parahumans to their ranks would give their various operations as a whole.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on who you would ask, the rapid induction of any and all parahumans they could get their hands on into their ranks would have long-term deleterious effects upon the Mafia as a whole. No one was still exactly sure when it happened, or how it even happened outside of suspicions, but somewhere in the mid to late eighties, the Mafia, for all intents and purposes, were torn apart from the inside as parahumans that had been previously under their yoke had taken over. It had been a shock to the world.
No one was exactly sure when it exactly happened, or which family was the first to fall, but it seemed almost in the span of a week, most of the mafia families were dead or replaced by parahumans in control. Those that survived were quick to flee New York city, attempting to reorganize and establish themselves elsewhere up and down the eastern seaboard with varying levels of success.
Those that did succeed, for the most part, all shared a common trait in that after what happened in New York, not only adopted a strict no parahuman member policy, but also changed their overall tactics in order to infuse themselves into the local scene in a way that made them indispensable. The way they did this was through various means, though the common trait was usually by having a large portfolio of investments in the local scene, things like providing security to said investments while at the same time advertising it, and through networking in the local scene and providing vital services.
This still didn't take away from the fact that they were a criminal organization, and while they were certainly less brazen and avoided the excesses of their predecessors, they still did venture into criminal enterprises where there wasn't a glut of capes providing significant competition.
In Brockton Bay, the Mafia had chosen to be more of a shadowy entity of white collar crime, backroom deals, blackmail and tax evasion that had its tentacles in various legitimate businesses instead of being directly involved in the local cape scene. From property management, union support, insurance, and all the way down to legal counsel. Which, considering the amount of criminal activity and possibility of property damage in Brockton Bay, was a rather lucrative business.
Where Danny's interactions with Karl Elias came from, was through the Mafia's involvement within the Dockworker's Union, one of many different unions it had its talons firmly latched onto in Brockton Bay. While Danny didn't exactly support the idea of it, he understood the necessity of it, as it provided a level of stability that previously had been unavailable almost eight years ago, when it had been on the verge of dissolution due to poor management.
What he could respect though, was the fact that when Karl Elias had personally become involved, the upper management of the union had found itself replaced with individuals who understand the changing landscape of Brockton Bay and the docks, changing the union in order to service in other sectors. He had been one of the beneficiaries in the change of management, earning his position through it. And while the Dockworker's Union still struggled in ensuring that all of its members had jobs and pay, they remained solvent. Barely.
What Karl Elias had done was make it clear to anyone in the upper management in the union, that if they had any issues or problems, either personal or professional, they could always come to him, though he made it a point to make it understood that he would be displeased if they wasted his time. And while Danny understood the offer, he knew that it was akin to making a deal with the devil, because once you asked a favor, you inevitably had to return it. It was how the Mafia had always operated, and he was not keen to be indebted to anyone, especially the mob.
But for his daughter, Annette's daughter, he would march into hell itself.
And now, with his arms wrapped around his daughter, and her own arms hesitantly wrapping around him, he would gladly do it again.
AND
"I want an explanation and it had better be good."
To say that she was furious would be the understatement of the century. If she had still been the hale and hearty soldier from before Nilbog, she wouldn't be sitting behind her desk inflicting her best death glare upon the armored visage of Armsmaster. Oh no, she would be in his face fighting the urge to strangle the life out of the parahuman.
It had been a simple order, to assist in gathering all of the relevant information necessary to put together a briefing on what the hell happened at the Hebert household that she could provide to whoever she could get ahold of that had any decision-making power in Washington. How Armsmaster and Miss Militia, of all people, interpreted that order as illegally interrogate an underage teenaged victim was the sort of thing that made her wonder just what the hell was going on in both their minds that they would take such a leave of their senses. If it wasn't for the timetable, she would have suspected them of being mastered at such blatantly poor choices.
"Director," he then paused, and she wished he wasn't wearing his helmet so she could get a full read on his expression, though she could still make a guess that he was attempting to choose his words wisely, "ma'am, it is my opinion, along with Miss Militia's, after review of the preliminary crime scene photography and other facets of this situation, that either a third party killed Shadow Stalker, or Taylor Hebert, herself, is a parahuman."
Some of her ire cooled, just slightly, as she processed what Armsmaster had said. While the information was certainly intriguing, it didn't change the relevant problem. Shadow Stalker had invaded an apparent civilian's home, with the intent on either intimidating or silencing a witness. Even if the information he had would change the particulars of the event, it did not have a large enough effect upon the overall situation to change it. That distinction probably escaped Armsmaster, but he had always been one unable to see the forest for the trees.
Still, it would be better, in this situation to hear him out, even if it made little difference in the grand scheme of things. To be armed with that knowledge would likely be boon for later usage, considering the precariousness of the situation.
"Continue."
"Using crime scene photography and a predictive battle algorithm I have been working on alongside Dragon, I rebuilt the struggle. As noted in previous update reports, while the algorithm is currently operating within eighty percent accuracy, it has been field-tested successfully by Dragon in three different cases allowing the capture of the perpetrator with zero failures. Out of the thirty-eight simulations I ran using photographs from the scene, I was unable to successfully build a scenario in which Miss Hebert would have been successful in a struggle against Shadow Stalker, even after factoring in the usage of a taser."
This time she couldn't help but frown, while it still didn't take away from why she had him before her, it added a new wrinkle to the situation. She had read the field reports of the predictive software, which showed a lot of promise, despite Armsmaster's primary focus to use it for combat prediction, in the field of crime scene analysis and reconstruction. While she found it curious that his first personal usage of that software in such a manner would be in this case, that was beside the point outside of what he was suggesting.
"The fact that you chose to interrogate Miss Hebert suggests that you have a theory," she finally, a fine edge of irritation lacing her tone. Even if Armsmaster was right in his theory, it still didn't do away with the illegality of what he done, and she was honestly beginning to wonder if he had willfully ignored it in his pursuit to be right.
From Miss Militia's expression, she had caught on to the danger that lurked in her tone, but unfortunately, it seemed that Armsmaster had not.
"The only way that the data would fit the simulation would be that either Taylor Hebert is a parahuman, or the figure involved in the struggle was not Miss Hebert at all, but quite possibly Tenshi herself using her observed abilities to kill Shadow Stalker."
What, she couldn't help but think as she processed what he had said, only for her silence to spur him on to further explain himself.
"When I came to this conclusion, I approached Miss Militia, sharing my conclusions with her, and while she agreed with my conclusions, she disagreed with my preferred course of action for ascertaining the truth of what happened between Miss Hebert and Shadow Stalker, citing her age and gender. I disagreed with her own read of the situation, but recognizing my own faults, I ordered her to handle the interrogation of Miss Hebert, while I observed. Miss Militia once again cited the age and gender of Miss Hebert, but agreed to my orders after informing me that she would be lodging a formal complaint on this course of action."
Emily snapped her eyes towards Miss Militia, noting from the way her eyes pinched that she realized what Armsmaster had just done, even if he didn't. It still wouldn't fully protect her from what was coming, but the fact that she protested Armsmaster's actions would help. However, it once again highlighted Miss Militia's unhealthy penchant for following orders, even if they were incorrect.
But that was not her current focus, Miss Militia's time would come shortly.
"Armsmaster," she began, her tone as cold as the arctic wind, "you previously stated that your program has an eighty percent accuracy rate as of the last report. Has this improved any since that report?"
"No, ma'am. It is still holding steady at eighty percent accuracy. It is our belief, Dragon and I, that we can further refine it within the next month by another fifteen to eighteen percent, with the combat predictive software being ready for deployment against Leviathan."
The last tidbit was interesting, something she would file away for further review once this shitstorm abated, but for right now—
"So, based upon a predictive algorithm, with a, by your admission, failure rate of one in five, and an incredibly small sample of field testing to ascertain its effective viability in law enforcement, you made a judgment call to violate every single established procedure, both operational and legal, in order to run roughshod over the constitutional rights of an underage victim and illegally interrogate them. Am I missing anything?"
"Yes, Director, however, it is worthwhile to note, that during Miss Militia's attempt to interview Miss Hebert, she exhibited behavior that was irreconcilable with that of an expectedly traumatized teenager. Instead, what was encountered were behaviors and patterns of someone inordinately experienced in methods of interrogation who sought to keep their interrogators off balance. Skills that most certainly are not something a teenager with Miss Hebert's background should possess."
It took a herculean effort not to snarl at Armsmaster right at this moment. It was one thing to make a mistake and own up to it, it was quite another to double down on it in defiance of the reality of the situation. It didn't matter what information that had been obtained, it was fruit gathered from a poisoned tree because Armsmaster had chosen to not confer with anyone but Miss Militia, instead doggedly pursuing his own theory in some misplaced sort of self-aggrandizement to prove something.
"So what are you suggesting, then, Armsmaster?"
"Director, I believe that Miss Hebert and Tenshi are working together in a more open manner than either has disclosed. Considering Miss Hebert's alleged encounters with Shadow Stalker it is possible that she had at least something planned with Tenshi to kill Shadow Stalker, it is also possible that the-"
"Enough."
It wasn't necessarily meant to be spoken aloud, but when it did, it only cemented her feelings on the matter. Enough had been said by Armsmaster to confirm in her mind what needed to be done, both for the PRT, and the local Protectorate. It was disappointing to say the least, considering her long-term plans for taking back Brockton Bay, but this event here highlighted several problems that could no longer be ignored. The fact of the matter, however—
"Director?"
—was that Armsmaster didn't get it. Maybe he never did and she chose to ignore it.
Collecting herself, because someone had to be the rational voice in this clusterfuck of monumental proportions, she then spoke, this time, her tone made it adamantly clear that she would not brook any interruption.
"Do you have any idea what you have done, Armsmaster," she began, piercing him with her stare, daring him to speak up, "I have a dead Ward in my morgue, Armsmaster. A Ward that was killed in the bedroom of the very girl she has been accused of abusing to the point where you are now suggesting that she may have triggered herself in a clear case of self-defense. That is, unless you are suggesting that Miss Hebert is a Master or Thinker of a class comparable to Simurgh where she can manipulate the last month to this single outcome that would do more harm to her than good by exposing her. Or are you suggesting that Tenshi, who has made it a point to be as hands off as possible on the matter of Shadow Stalker, outside of calling our attention to it, was planning with Miss Hebert from the very start to kill her?"
She let that hang in the air for a moment, letting both of them soak in the absurdity of the statement. Because it was patently absurd, even if she was a parahuman, with the ensuing mental and psychological issues that stem from their trigger event, there was a clear difference between actions driven by a traumatic experience and sheer stupidity, which the latter was, if one believed what Armsmaster was possibly suggesting. The less acknowledged about Tenshi, the better.
"But of course you don't believe that, because if you did, you wouldn't have confronted her in an interrogation room with Miss Militia not three hours later without following any procedure that would protect you from any possible Master effects. But to add the final touch to this entire debacle, you get caught by her lawyer running roughshod over all of her rights."
And the most galling thing that only drove her fury only higher, was, even with his face obscured by his helmet, she could read his body posture as nothing but unapologetic. He didn't feel like he was wrong in any of this.
If she didn't hold herself to a higher level of professionalism than it seemed Armsmaster deigned to even bother with, she would have screamed. Instead, she took a sort of morbid pleasure in what she was going to do next, something that was now more necessary than ever, considering she no longer had the luxury of trying to cultivate it.
"If Shadow Stalker had been detained, all that would have been necessary would have been an internal reshuffling, a few concessions, and a public admittance of failure with a pledge to do better, Armsmaster. A minor scandal, yes, but one that is survivable. Now, though, not only do I have a dead Ward, I also have the local Protectorate leader, along with his second-in-command, get caught willfully violating the constitutional rights of said dead Ward's victim, less than four hours after an attempt by that same Ward to silence her!"
Once again, she paused, allowing her a moment to rein herself again. The fact of the matter was, and she was willing to admit it, was that part of her anger now was more directed at herself, than at simply Armsmaster. She had made the conscious decision, despite her knowledge of Armsmaster's character and personality flaws, to keep him in the position he was wholly unsuited for. A calculation that she should have never made in the first place.
"You're relieved of duty, Armsmaster," she declared, "while I can ill afford administratively suspending you considering the current state of things, I will not have you in charge of the Wards or the Protectorate in Brockton Bay any further. While you have continuously shown your martial effectiveness, it is no longer enough to ignore your other failures, from the Wards, to the internal discord with the Protectorate itself in Brockton Bay."
She could tell that he wanted to protest her, from the way his jaw was clenched, yet he seemed to retain a semblance of professionalism in this case. It was enough for her to offer an olive branch.
"You may be right, Armsmaster. Maybe Tenshi was there, or maybe the answer is much simpler; maybe Miss Hebert did trigger in that locker and Tenshi's proximity to her caused her to gain some semblance of those powers and she used them to protect herself. The problem is that none of it matters, because when the public becomes aware of what has happened, and it will, they will only care about how it appears, and there is nothing we have that can challenge that narrative. Soon, there are going to be a lot of hard questions asked by people, and a lot of them are going to be looking at you. I suggest you continue working on that simulation, Armsmaster, make sure it's airtight."
And it was true, while there were going to be some hard questions for her, considering she was the Director of the department, there still existed a degree of separation that provided a level of autonomy to the Protectorate. So while she technically did have overall command of them, they still operate somewhat independently. It would protect her to an extent, certainly, but there would still be questions that she would have to answer, like why she didn't remove Armsmaster sooner if she had such misgivings.
"And who will be replacing me," he asked, and from his tone, body posture, and expression that she could see, it was obvious that he knew who she was going to suggest. There really wasn't any other choice on the matter, considering the candidates.
"Dauntless."
She was well aware of Armsmaster's professional dislike for Dauntless, fearing not only the threat the younger man presented to his position, but also the Strike-slash-Trump's powerset would allow him to eventually supersede him altogether. While she hadn't worked to cultivate this inferiority complex, and it hadn't necessarily affected the performance of the Protectorate detrimentally, it was still something she kept a close eye on, even as she worked to do exactly that which he feared. It was through no fault of Armsmaster's, not that she would ever take the time to admit it to him, but he was, by his own personality and skills, a blunt instrument. Fundamentally effective, certainly, but nonetheless blunt, unable to suitably meet the complex and labyrinthine world of politics.
Dauntless, on the other hand, had those skills, and the only thing that had held her back from replacing Armsmaster with him had been her wish for him to gain a bit more experience and become a bit more comfortable before she recommended him for the leadership position. Something that had been robbed of the both of them by Armsmaster shortcomings.
So she had been expecting an explosion from the now-former leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, and to her surprise, maybe a little bit of what will be forever unacknowledged disappointment, she didn't get it. Oh, she could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, even feel as he glared behind that faceplate, but instead he merely spun around and marched out, leaving Miss Militia and herself in the room.
"I will not be administratively punishing you, Miss Militia," she finally said, "however, this only highlights why I chose Dauntless over you. Time and again, you have shown yourself unable to be anything but a by-the-book follower who will still follow the orders given even if they are illegal."
"Ma'am-"
"Tell me, if I ordered you, right now, to eliminate the Heberts, because they present a clear and present danger to the Protectorate and PRT, would you follow those orders?"
The hesitation was telling, for the both of them. Even if it was a ghastly order, one that had no truly legal grounding, the fact of the matter remained that she would do it with only a modicum of protest. It was a moderately useful trait in a soldier, and in any other circumstances she may have been more welcoming of it. However, this wasn't the military, as much as she wished it was, and that meant there had to be a level of free will to allow the flexibility that was necessary in law enforcement.
"You need to consider your obsession with following orders, Hannah," she finally said, dropping a bit of professionalism in order to maybe get through to the younger woman. While she may dislike parahumans on both a personal and professional level, it wasn't to the extent her bigotry left her blind to the fact that, outside this one personal fault, Miss Militia was the model of what she wished the Protectorate would be.
"While fine and even expected for someone such as yourself, the problem has become that you have taken it to such extreme lengths that it has become a liability, both to yourself and the organization as a whole.
She quickly cut off Miss Militia when she opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal.
"If you had chosen to disobey what you had known were illegal orders from Armsmaster, if you had told him no and prevented him from his actions, would we be in this position in the first place?"
"Ma'am, respectfully speaking, but there is a dead Ward in our morgue."
"A dead, rogue Ward that had no reason to be where she was. A Ward, according to testimony, who was killed in self-defense. No matter what Armsmaster believes he may be able to discover, it will simply be too late to make a difference. It all comes down to the initial optics of the situation, and unfortunately, it's not only not in our favor, but it has been exacerbated by the actions of Armsmaster, actions you knew were not only against procedure, but were also illegal."
In a way, she was being unfair to Miss Militia, as hindsight was twenty-twenty in this case. Even if she may have done what Armsmaster had chosen to do, she would have certainly not done it in the half-assed manner that the Protectorate hero had done so. But that was the difference her role as Director required, to be aware of all facets of the problem and react accordingly, Armsmaster has shown in the past that he could suffer from tunnel vision to the point of detriment.
Nonetheless, Miss Militia had to be made aware that her fixation had repercussions, and while it would certainly be tactless if she pointed out that 'just following orders' didn't help at Nuremburg; the fact of the matter was, gauche or not, it was true. Just because orders were followed did not provide protection against the consequences of those choices. And unless she was willing to make a change, then she would become just as much a liability as Armsmaster was.
Time would tell what she would do, but at this juncture, she had larger concerns that precluded her from focusing on attempting to fix Miss Militia.
"Is there anything else, ma'am," was the clipped response from the bandana-wearing hero, her expression making it clear that she was unhappy with being called out like she was.
"No. Dismissed."
With the dismissal hanging in the air, Miss Militia rose from her chair and marched out of the room. It was only after the door slid shut that she allowed herself a moment of weakness, slouching her shoulders and letting out a sigh as she massaged the bridge of her nose with her left hand.
There were times, when she was by herself, that she questioned the feasibility of what she had planned. She was never going to claim she was some great strategic mind, but she understood that the situation in Brockton Bay could not be solved overnight which was what had dictated her decisions over the years. However, sitting her, in the aftermath of tonight, she had to wonder if it was simply doomed to failure, despite what efforts she had available to her, as depressingly few as they were.
Turning to her computer, she accessed an account that she rarely ever did. Fact of the matter was, she utterly despised ParaHumans Online, despite the public relations benefits it provided. It was a gossipy, childish, medium that took away from the professionalism necessary to be successful. But in this case, it was useful, as she logged in and tracked down the profile she needed. Opening up a personal message, she quickly typed out a message and sent it, the entire notion of what she was doing distasteful, even if she knew it to be necessary.
It was then that her phone rang, which, since it didn't go through her secretary, indicated just what it was. Letting it ring again, she collected herself before picking it off of its cradle.
"Chief Director."
"I know you wouldn't be trying to get ahold of me at this ungodly time unless it couldn't wait, Emily, so give it to me straight."
And she did, from the beginning with Tenshi's accusations being laid public on PHO, all the way up until just a few minutes ago. It took the better part of a half an hour, with the Chief Director only interrupting a few times to ask a few questions to clarify some things, Emily listened to the silence upon the other end, awaiting the judgment to be rendered by the Chief Director. This was quite honestly the trickiest part, because the Chief Director was well within her right to sack her for the failures that had taken place this evening.
But alas, that was not to be, as Rebecca Costa-Brown finally spoke.
"What do you need from me, Emily?"
"I need to head things off at the pass here, Chief Director. It's not a question of if, it's simply a matter of when the events of this evening go public. I'd rather control the narrative as much as possible, which means I need access to the discretionary fund. It's going to hurt, but this is what it was designed for. If we can at least show contrition, then we can at least dull some of the furor that is going to be directed at is."
The discretionary fund, as it was officially referred to, was a fund that was controlled by the Chief Director that was intended for critical emergencies that were not covered by the overall budget. Usually it just sat there, undisturbed, because the Chief Director was a miser when it came to disbursing anything from that fund. There were a handful of events in the past decade in which she dipped into it, but it was few and far between.
And she was going to need that type of money if she had any chance of holding back the metaphorical pitchfork and torches. This was already going to be a major boon for the Empire 88 once it went public, the last thing she needed for the civilian political establishment to start sharpening their axes as well.
"Done."
"I need time, Chief Director. I've reached out to Tenshi in order to make an attempt to at least dial back her operations against the gangs so I can have time to reorganize. However, even if she accepts, it may not be enough considering the damage to the Merchants may cause the ABB and Empire-88 to still mobilize. I need more bodies, Chief Director, combat capable and with a skillset that can at least deter them from erupting into open warfare."
"I can't guarantee anything, Emily, but I'll see what I can do. At the very least, I'll have Legend wave the flag in the bay for a few days if it becomes necessary. Is there anything else?"
Honestly, she was stunned, even if she kept it from being apparent. It had been so long that her department had been ignored that to suddenly have any support was frankly astounding. A more cynical part of her had to wonder what exactly had changed, a dead Ward and a burgeoning scandal should result in her termination without a second thought, not support like this.
"Not at this time, ma'am."
"Good, keep me in the loop."
And with that, the phone call was ended, leaving Piggot to wonder still just what had changed. It was as she replaced the phone back in the cradle that she caught the small sight of red in the corner of her vision, upon the computer screen. Specifically over the icon that indicated mail.
Grabbing her mouse, she clicked over it, revealing that indeed, she did have a private message, with a simple, terse message from Tenshi.
PRT headquarters roof. 45 minutes.
AND
"Do you want to explain to me why you just had me throw away our experiment in Brockton Bay," Rebecca Costa-Brown demanded as she replaced her phone back in the receiver, glaring across at the person currently seated in in a leather chair, "I thought it was agreed by all of us that it was necessary."
For a moment, the business suit clad woman was silent, and Rebecca, no, Alexandria, had to rein in her irritation. Brockton Bay, while an laboratory for what they believed would be the post-Scion world, was also a political hot potato that quite often was a question asked by the political class in DC, especially with the Northeastern politicians. While, more often than not, it was easy to ward off too deep an enquiry, it still annoyed her that it was a subject she had to deal with far too many times over the years.
So when she opened her mouth to repeat her demand was when Contessa spoke.
"I can't track her."
Her mouth audibly clicked shut, both at the fact that she had at least some answer, but also the tone of the other woman's voice, one of confusion, like she couldn't understand why things were the way they were, before she let her minor Thinker power take over processing what she was referring to. Who couldn't she see? Who could Contessa be referring to. What had changed in Brockton Bay that would cause such a drastic divergence that they would need to change tactics.
It was only a few moments before the answer was quickly supplied by her power, only one notable change in the last month, that only within the last few days had become more than a simple blip on their radar.
Tenshi.
Still it was only a suspicion that fit the existing data. She had to be sure.
"What do you mean can't track her? How?"
For a moment, Contessa seemed to not be seeing her, staring off in the distance, before she seemed to bring herself back.
"Tenshi, Taylor Hebert" she then shook her head slightly, "It's not like the Endbringers or Him," she trailed off again, trying to find the right words to describe whatever it was that she was seeing, "she's like a ghost, sometimes the path can see her, or knows that she is there, and other times there's nothing. Then there are moments when I can see her again and the paths around her change instantly."
That was…concerning. A lot of their planning banked on Contessa's unique Thinker abilities in order to create a pathway that would maximize their chances of defeating Scion and ensuring the survival of humanity. To have yet another possible weak point to their already delicate house of cards—
"No."
This drew her out of her thoughts with a blink, her head snapping back to Contessa, who had seemed to collect herself.
"Challenging her wouldn't be wise in the long run," Contessa stated, a surety to her tone that had previously not been there, "the path is certain about that. There will be a need for her in the future. Paths that include her, from what I can see, are often less pyrrhic. Brockton Bay is already proving to be an unreliable source of data for the continuing plan. It's better this way."
"Is that the path talking, or your own personal misgivings?"
It was petty of her, certainly, considering what Contessa had already done and her dedication to their plans. But it still didn't take away from the fact that it had always been clear to Rebecca's ability that Contessa had always found her role distasteful, even if it was for the survival of humanity. And one of the programs they had previously been adamant on had been the study of the projected collapse of civilization after the destruction of Scion, and to suddenly have all of that work tossed aside for something like this rankled at her.
For a moment, she was met with silence, before Contessa slowly rose to her feet and adjusted her fedora.
"Does it really matter," she asked, a lilt of challenge in her tone. "Door me."
With that statement, a portal opened in front of Contessa, and she merely stepped through it, leaving Rebecca Costa-Brown, Alexandria, to her own thoughts at the newest development that had seemed so small previously, wondering just how it could reach this point.
And just where it would lead them.