To Be a Hero, Chapter 3
April 9th, 2011
Emily Piggot Interlude
"Twenty-five civilians, thirteen agents, and Triumph—all critical or dead. And to top it off, $150,000, gone! Can this fuck-up get any worse? I ran my hand down my face, my stomach twisting into knots at the thought. This is all on Triumph's sorry ass; he couldn't even handle two powerless criminals."
Knock knock
"Checking the security camera, I spotted Armsmaster in his armor waiting at the door. Gritting my teeth, I reluctantly buzzed him in.
"Ma'am," Armsmaster said, standing at attention.
"Report," I growled, staring into his visor.
"Yes, ma'am. According to the doctors, Triumph is expected to make a full recovery within a month thanks to his regenerative ability. However, it's likely he'll require a couple of weeks of physical therapy before he can return to active duty," Armsmaster responded, his gaze straight ahead, always maintaining his professional demeanor."
"That will make things difficult," I sighed, frustration evident in my voice. "He just had to act recklessly in the field instead of waiting for backup. We'll need to demonstrate strength to prevent any moves by the merchants and ABB. We'll have to assign someone else to cover his patrols."
"Assault and Battery have offered to cover his patrols in addition to their own," Armsmaster reported, reading from his tablet.
"Good. Now, what the hell do we know about this woman who crippled eight of our agents and sent Triumph to the ICU?" I exclaimed, the anger pulsating through my veins as I slammed my fist onto the desk. It stung, but I made sure not to show any signs of weakness on my face.
"Nothing," he replied, his fingers swiftly moving across the tablet's screen, his helmet concealing any possible reaction he might have had.
"What do you mean we have nothing?" I growled, feeling a migraine starting to form behind my eyes.
"I mean nothing, ma'am," he responded, handing over the tablet that displayed the lack of any matches from the facial recognition program, DNA analysis, and fingerprint database. "In conclusion, we have no records whatsoever of this woman."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of frustration inside me. "Alright, find any leads, any connections, or anything that can help us identify her. I want to know who she is and how she managed to cripple our agents and put Triumph in the ICU. This is a top priority."
Armsmaster nodded, his helmet offering no glimpse of his expression, and went back to his tablet.
"Could this be the result of master/stranger abilities?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, as I anxiously glanced around, checking the corners of my vision for any signs of something amiss.
"It's possible, but I don't believe that to be the case," he responded calmly. Though his words were steady, I knew him well enough to recognize that he too was scanning the room, ever vigilant, as we conversed, just in case.
"Another player then?" I said, my gaze still cautious as my migraine intensified. This situation was becoming a genuine annoyance.
"That would be my guess," he stated, his attention shifting momentarily as a green light on the desk indicated that we were in the clear.
"And what of this Arthur Michael Dweller? How does he fit into all of this?" I asked, leaning back into my chair, feeling the supportive backrest easing the tension in my body.
"Triumph's report says he claims to have been mastered into the bank robbery," Armsmaster said, sending the relevant section of Triumph's report to my screen.
"Is he telling the truth?" I questioned, my tone edged with skepticism.
"Video and audio recordings show that he at least believes he's telling the truth," he replied, sounding unsure himself.
"What aren't you telling me?" I demanded, glaring at his visor, unable to hide my frustration.
"His actions don't align with his psychological profile," Armsmaster sighed, bringing up the psychological profile on my screen. "Mr. Dweller robs a bank, and then just hours later, he shows up at the main building, requesting to enroll with the Wards, only to brutally murder five highly trained agents. Not only does his records show no indication of the skills needed to accomplish this, but his psychological profile suggests he is a deeply damaged, yet kind young man."
"Is it possible he triggered?" I asked, my thoughts racing to find a plausible explanation.
"It's possible, but we won't know for sure until we can bring him in for scans," Armsmaster responded, his voice expressing a sense of curiosity.
"Then nothing has changed. Bring him in, with force if necessary, and we'll sort it out afterwards," I stated, feeling a sense of urgency to resolve the situation before it escalated further. "Whether or not he has been mastered, his connection with that woman makes him dangerous, and I won't risk any more of our personnel. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, acknowledging my directive.
"Good," I said, dismissing him as I leaned back in my chair, allowing the scowl on my face to fade as I delved into deep thought. The possibility of Dweller being mastered and the involvement of this woman with a bat couldn't be mere coincidence. Someone had to be making a move, but the question remained: Who, and for what purpose?
Stretching, I stood up and went to grab a cup of coffee. Tonight would be another long and arduous night of filling out reports, and I knew I would need all the energy I could get. As I sipped my second cup of coffee, I noticed him standing in the corner of the room, obscured within an eerie shadow. He was tall, lean, and bald, his presence sending a shiver down my spine. Keeping my composure, I pretended not to be affected by his presence while pouring myself another cup of coffee, although my mind raced with a mixture of caution and curiosity.
Returning to my desk, I resumed organizing some papers as I discreetly activated the panic button concealed beneath its surface. My heart raced, and I quietly retrieved my gun from the right drawer, carefully disengaging the safety. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I stood up, taking aim at the robed figure, only to find that he had vanished along with the peculiar shadow he had occupied. My senses heightened, I thoroughly searched the room, my face damp with sweat, until my tension was finally alleviated by the timely arrival of a squad of agents bursting through the door.
"Director, where's the danger?" the lead agent inquired, his voice laced with urgency, as he diligently scanned the room for any signs of potential threats.
"Unknown, Sergeant. Master/stranger protocols are now in effect," I responded, emphasizing the need for caution in an uncertain situation.
"Understood, ma'am. Agent Weathers and Agent Thompson, sweep the room. The target may still be here. Agent Forman, guard the door, and Agent Vali, gather video evidence," the lead agent issued commands to his squad, their training and discipline evident.
"Yes, sir," the agents replied in unison, swiftly carrying out their assigned tasks, each member focused on their role.
"Sir, nothing on the cameras," Agent Vali reported, her fingers swiftly typing away at my computer, showcasing the professionalism expected from one of our highly skilled agents. It was a stark contrast to the capes running rampant across the city.
I sank back into my chair, my mind racing, trying to comprehend the situation. Who was that mysterious man, and what was his purpose in infiltrating my office? My heart pounded in my chest, my palms grew sweaty, and a sense of fear began to well up within me.
I made an effort to push the fear aside, reminding myself of my role as the director of the PRT. As the one in charge, I was expected to have a plan and remain composed in uncertain situations. Yet, in that moment, a sense of powerlessness washed over me. I had no clue about the identity or motives of the mysterious intruder. All I knew was that he had vanished without a trace.
While the agents diligently continued their search of the room, I struggled to focus on their actions. My mind was consumed by thoughts of what had just transpired. There was an unsettling sensation, a nagging feeling that this encounter was unnatural.
I rose from my desk, feeling an inexplicable unease, and walked towards the window. The city lay cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of street lamps below. It was a peculiar sensation, observing the world from this vantage point, aware that there were forces at play beyond my control and comprehension.
A shiver traveled down my spine, causing me to swiftly turn around. A strong sensation of being watched engulfed me, but as I scanned the room, there was no sign of any presence.
Taking a deep breath, I attempted to steady myself. Regardless of the unknown factors surrounding me, I couldn't allow them to undermine my resolve. I was Emily Piggott, the director of the PRT, and duty called upon me to persevere and fulfill my responsibilities.
No matter what I did or how much coffee I drank, I couldn't rid myself of the unsettling sensation that something was wrong with the shadows. They seemed to move and shift, as if they were alive, watching me. Every time I looked up, I thought I caught a glimpse of something waiting just out of sight.
Deep down, I had a sense that something sinister was on the way. Something that defied explanation, something beyond this world. And as I worked through the night, handling reports and making plans, I couldn't help but wonder if I was truly prepared for what lay ahead.
All I could do was wait. Wait and keep a close eye on the shadows, hoping that when whatever it was finally arrived, I would be equipped to face it.
—-—-
April 9th, 2011
Morgan's Interlude
The hallways of Arcadia High were a swirling mass of energy, laughter, and pathetic attempts at popularity. As the football team's star quarterback, I had successfully infiltrated the kingdom of the popular, managing to blend in seamlessly amidst the superficiality that permeated every corner of this wretched place.
Today, I found myself surrounded by a cluster of obnoxious cheerleaders, their high-pitched giggles and vapid conversations echoing in my ears. Amber, the quintessential popular girl with perfectly coiffed hair and a persistent infatuation for me, prattled on about the latest gossip like a malfunctioning doll.
"Did you hear, Morgan?" she squealed, batting her eyelashes in my direction. "Jessica's been sneaking around with Jake, the captain of the basketball team! It's like something straight out of a cheesy teen drama!"
I looked at her with a blank expression, my eyes betraying none of the disgust I felt inside. How these simple-minded creatures entertained me with their insignificant dramas was beyond comprehension. I longed for intelligent conversation, a meaningful connection that reached beyond the shallow depths of their existence. But instead, I was left to navigate this labyrinth of idiocy, feigning interest in this fool's charade.
"That's fascinating," I replied in a monotone voice, careful to conceal my true feelings. "The intricate web of high school romance never ceases to amuse."
Amber's face lit up at my response, oblivious to the mockery laced within my words. She mistook my aloofness for intrigue, failing to fathom the immense chasm that separated her bubblegum existence from my own intricate mind.
I studied her, her perfect smile and vacant eyes. She was a puppet dancing to the shallow rhythm of those around her, desperately seeking validation and admiration. The brittle facade of this high school hierarchy enchained her, trapping her in a cage of stagnant existence. It was both pitiful and amusing to see her bask in her ignorance, chasing meaningless infatuations while I hungered for something deeper, something more profound.
As Amber continued to drone on, my mind drifted to darker thoughts—thoughts that mirrored the cold detachment in my soul. Behind the carefully tailored mask, I seethed with a contempt that tainted my every interaction. I longed to shatter this repulsive bubble they called life, to expose the empty vessels that paraded as human beings. But unlike Patrick Bateman, my desires did not manifest in grotesque violence. No, my true power lay in intellectual domination, manipulating the fragile threads that held their fragile world together. It was an art form, bending their wills to my own with surgical precision.
Amber's voice faded into the buzzing of background noise, her presence nothing more than a mere inconvenience. My icy gaze shifted past her, scanning the sea of faces for something—anything— that would ignite my mind, awaken the slumbering genius within.
For now, I allowed the facade to remain intact. With a disingenuous smile, I reassured Amber, played the game that society expected of me. But behind that smile, there lurked a predator—a predator who would rise above the trivialities of this insipid world and claim the recognition and power that was rightfully his.
A tingling sensation crawled up my spine, snapping me out of my disdainful thoughts. Surveying the crowded hallways, something caught my eye – a mysterious figure lurking in the shadows. There was an eerie aura surrounding them, like something out of a supernatural flick.
Curiosity mingled with caution as I approached the figure in the dimly lit boiler room. As the noise of the bustling high school faded away, leaving behind an unsettling quiet, my heart raced with anticipation. Who was this mysterious being and why had they chosen to reveal themselves to me?
And there it was, emerging like a ghostly apparition - Noden, the enigmatic entity I had been drawn towards. Its name appeared in my head and sent a chill down my spine, yet I couldn't help but be intrigued.
"Morgan," Noden's voice cut through the silence, ancient and chilling. "I've been watching you, you reek of desire."
I stood there, my eyes locked with this cryptic being, hanging on to every word it uttered. What did Noden want from me? And how did it know about my desires?
"I offer you a deal," Noden continued, its voice echoing through the room. "I can grant you the freedom you crave - the power to overcome anything. But in return, I require you to use that power to end the pawn of nyarlathotep, Arthur."
I listened intently, pondering the implications of its proposition. It seemed this, Noden saw me as a means to an end, a pawn in its own mysterious game. The idea of gaining unimaginable power was tempting, but who was this Arthur it wanted me to eliminate? I had never heard of him.
"Wait a minute," I interrupted, my tone both curious and cautious. "Who is this Arthur you're talking about? And why should I get rid of him?"
Noden shifted its form, a glimmer of eerie luminescence washing over its features. "Arthur is the chosen of nyarlathotep," it replied, oozing both malevolence and intrigue. "End Arthur and you will be free."
I mulled over Noden's words, I didn't recognize the name. But, here was a chance to be free, I had to take it.
"Alright," I said, determination lacing my voice. "If killing this Arthur means I can be free, I'm in. Give me the power, and I'll take care of him."
Noden's demeanor shifted, a wicked grin stretching across its ethereal face. "Then the bargain has been struck," it whispered, the words chilling as they hung in the air.
With those final words, Noden started to fade away, dissolving into the very darkness it emerged from. The room brightened, the familiar cacophony of high school life trickling back into my consciousness.
THUMP
I felt some kind of thumping in my chest and for a moment everything smelled like green apples.
—-—-
Harley Quinn's
So, there I was, tearin' up Gotham City with my beloved puddin'. We were causin' a whole lotta chaos, just the way we like it. Explosions and gunshots fillin' the air, makin' sure everyone knew we meant business. Ain't nothin' quite like the mayhem that follows us wherever we go.
The thrill of the chase was somethin' that made my little heart skip a beat with the Joker. It was like a twisted game we played, always tryin' to stay one step ahead of the law. As we zigzagged through those grimy city streets, my heart was burstin' with joy and excitement like a confetti cannon.
Everything went according to plan as we made our oh-so-daring escape, until suddenly we heard the unmistakable sound of rockets. The Batmobile was hot on our tail, its ominous presence givin' me goosebumps that even the Joker's smile couldn't chase away.
"We got ourselves some uninvited guests, baby. Looks like Batman wants to play," the Joker said, a wicked grin spreadin' across his face. "But no worries, we'll give him the slip in no time."
We revved up, determined to outrun the Bat. Yet that pesky vigilante was relentless, stickin' to our tail no matter how much we tried to shake 'em off. The car crackled with laughter as we approached the city's edge. With nowhere else to turn, we made a beeline for the docks.
"Time to get wet!" the Joker hollers with that devilish grin. And without a second thought, we take the plunge, our ride splashing into the water with a mighty ka-splash. The Batmobile screeches to a stop at the dock, but it's way too late for him to catch up to us.
So there we were, poppin' outta that water, feelin' equal parts relieved and pumped. We showed Batman he can't mess with us, right? I shot the Joker a big ol' grin. "Another kickass caper, Puddin'."
But then, outta nowhere, things took a seriously twisted turn. All of a sudden, I'm free-fallin' through this crazy void. Couldn't see nothin', couldn't hear a damn thing, and it felt like the very breath was sucked right outta me.
Felt like I was stuck in that pitch-black void forever, 'til I crash-landed on the ground with a solid thud. Ouch, that hurt like hell. And when I finally pried my eyes open, guess what I see? A weird bed in the freakiest lookin' room—like somethin' straight outta a sci-fi flick.
At first, I'm thinkin' the Bat finally caught up with me, ready to rain on my parade. But as I'm sittin' there, tryin' to make sense of the situation, I start feelin' all sorts of... different, y'know? Like I'm havin' this whole new experience I never had before.
Colors, man, they're swirlin' and dancing around me, mixin' together like some crazy dream. Smells? They turn into shapes, and sounds? They become textures. It's like all my senses are meldin' into this massive explosion, messin' with my head in the best way possible.
Turns out, I'm experiencin' synesthesia. Fancy word, I know.
But then, boom! A whole bunch of info hits me like a freakin' freight train. Thoughts, whispers, they're takin' over my mind, twistin' and changin' my very core.
At first, I fought against it with all my might. Knew deep down that Arthur wasn't my sweet pudding, but no matter how hard I pushed those thoughts away, they came back louder and more persistent than ever.
Arthur. My pudding. My Mr. J.
Those words echoed in my head, like a seductive melody that I couldn't resist. Somethin' inside me knew there was no escapin' this. I didn't have a clue who was messin' with my mind or how they were doin' it, but one thing was for sure: my very thoughts were under attack.
And as this twisted process went on, somethin' strange started happenin'. The whispers kept callin' to me, but they started feelin'... right. Like they had always been there. Like Arthur had always been my pudding.
I fought against it, desperately tryin' to shove those thoughts aside. But damn, they only got stronger, like an itch I couldn't scratch. Before I knew it, I was forgettin' that anythin' was amiss.
Arthur was my pudding. It felt so damn right, so damn perfect. And the more I dwelled on it, the more everything else just faded away. Memories of my old life, of my old pudding, became fuzzy and distant, like they belonged to some stranger.
It scared the livin' daylights outta me, seein' how easily my mind had been played with. But at the same damn time... it felt like a load off. Like I didn't have to worry 'bout nothin' no more, didn't have to grapple with all them complicated emotions.
So, without givin' it a second thought, I embraced this new reality. I swept all notions of my tampered mind under the rug, forgot that anythin' was amiss. All I cared about was protecin' Arthur, my precious pudding. That man's got a venom pump, a mean five-gallon sucker just like Bane's. And he knows how to make it, too. Not to mention, his eye for gold is like nobody's business.
The words keep hammerin' against my skull, each hit bringin' a burst of color and sensation. It's a whirlwind I can barely keep up with, but strangely enough, there's somethin' about it that feels... right. Like these experiences were what I'd been missin' my whole damn life.
Then, like a freakin' movie, the wall slides open, revealin' a blood-soaked Mr. J. I expect him to acknowledge me, so I plop down on the bed, waitin' patiently. But there he sits, stonewallin' me.
So I give him a minute, givin' him the benefit of the doubt, before I finally open my mouth.
"Hey, Mister J, you plannin' on just sittin' there on the floor?" I say, watchin' as he drags his eyes up my body. I see that spark of interest, and oh boy, it sends a swarm of butterflies flutterin' in my stomach. The old Mr. J never looked at me like that. And in that moment, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that we were meant to be together.