I don't remember much from the ride to the PRT building; my thoughts were a chaotic mess, with no clear start or end to them. I barely paid attention to the agents, though I always kept half an eye on the two capes; Satyrical next to me, and the unnamed one in the front seat, with the crimson coloring.

When we turned into the building I was surprised, since at first glance I disregarded it, mentally cataloging at as another warehouse or other.

It wasn't an unfair assumption; it was a large, brutalistic building with no grace to speak of, full of hard edges and filled with little color. The PRT logo was splattered across it, but unlike most buildings in this city, it wasn't flashing in neon colors and didn't grab one's attention.

We went down to an underground parking lot, and the van parked among a dozen others like it. I got out along with Satyrical, suddenly anxious again.

I knew that the Protectorate were the 'good guys' (as much as a label like that was worth), and that more importantly, they were supposed to follow the law, which I hoped wouldn't let them imprison me in the name of something ridiculous like 'horribly unstable and likely to horribly maim and murder dozens of people in anger'.

"Come on, we'll get you in a bed, and in the morning we'll sort out the details." said Satyrical, and I began to follow him.

After a couple of steps, he turned back, and shouted to the other cape:

"Untraceable, you too!"

She hurried after us, and we continued walking towards the stairs.

"My schedule's full, but you don't need me to help with paperwork; the other Wards are already naturals at it, so just ask either Untraceable here, or Mirage if you see him."

We went up three stories, and entered into a large room, with a small kitchenette at one side, a couch and a TV on the other, along with a couple bookshelves.

"This here is the Wards' quarters. And over there should be your room." We crossed into a small hallway, which had doors on both sides; two of them had name tags on it, while another one was only labeled as 'Junk'.

I was led to the second on the left, and Satyrical presented the room to me; it was simplistic, with a bed, a wardrobe, a desk and a computer on it.

"Have a nice night!" he said and turned away, exiting the room and leaving through the way he came.

Only a couple seconds after he left did I realize that I should have said something. Maybe a simple 'thanks', or, I don't know, asking more about the Wards and all that.

It was an annoying feeling, and I tried ignoring it as I took off my shoes and climbed into the bed.

I didn't have many reference points, but it was certainly not a very good bed. The mattress was hard, the pillow even more so, while the blanket was so thin you could almost see through it.

Though the last one didn't bother me much; temperature was more of a data point than something I actually felt.

Even though I was comfortable, and I felt rather tired, sleep would not come. Once or twice I thought it had arrived, but in both instance I was just tricking myself, thinking that closed eyes and empty thoughts meant that I actually managed to fall asleep.

I don't know how long it took me to abandon my efforts, but the first hints of dawn were visible on the horizon, which was enough of an answer.

I got up from the bed, still in my jacket, which I only now realized was weird to be wearing indoors; I quickly threw it in the wardrobe.

I was left in my button-up and trousers. I tried to look over them, to perchance catch a marking that would give me a clue as to my origins, but I found nothing. (Predictably.)

So I got up, and in lieu of anything else I went to the desk. On it, I noticed a book that previously escaped my attention, titled "Protectorate Reference Manual 2010 Edition". Seeing that it ought to be useful, I sat down to read it. (Can all Case 53s read? Or am I just lucky that way?)

It opened with an introduction.

"This is an internal reference manual for members of the Protectorate of the United States of America, also usable by it's subsidiary: The Wards. It contains sensitive information that should not, unless expressly allowed by a director or local branch leader, be shared with civilians."

The table of contents followed, a massive list of chapters that spanned all manner of topics. I caught onto the first one with immediate applications, titled "Your Computer".

"Each member of the Protectorate has an assigned computer that is to be used by no one else. These are to be located in their offices, or in the case of the Wards, their rooms."

"These computers should be assigned the minute a cape is entered into the system, and the IT Department should install the POS (Para-Operating System), along with the PRT Internal Communication application and a modified version of the SAIL internet browser. A document should be created on this computer, that contains the account name and password that should be used by the cape on the Internal Communications System, along with an account name and password that is to be used on the website Parahumans Online."

I knew about the internet, and this gave me a convenient inway; I turned on the computer.

Just as it said in the rulebook, there were three icons on the desktop; Internal Communications, SAIL, and a .txt file with only a couple lines in it:

"Internal Communications:

Account name: Dreadnought

Password: U1RSQU5HRVJfREFOR0VS

Parahumans Online:

Account name: Dreadnought

Password: VEFCTDBJRA"

Interested to see the internet, I opened the browser, and managed to log into Parahumans Online.

"Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.
You are currently logged in, Dreadnought (Verified Cape) (Wards Department 29)

You have one (1) unread message.

You're account is monitored by PRT Department 29: any post, comment, or private message will have to be approved by them before it becomes visible."

I hadn't intended to write anything, but the restriction was chafing. Decidedly unwelcome. I would have left the site, if not for the fact that I had a private message to read.

"From: PRT Department 29

Account created automatically.

Notice: nothing will be approved until official debut."

It felt like I was locked out. It was an alienating feeling that I was quickly becoming familiar with. (I did not like it. I did not like any of this.)

So instead I closed the web browser, and opened Internal Communications. After inputting my credentials, it opened into a faintly similar interface.

It had several shortcuts at the top of the window, leading to "Home", "Communications", "Archives", "Options", "Help" and on the left side of the header there was "My account".

The page had a dark blue rhombus pattern that was decidedly uninspired.

"Welcome Dreadnought (Department 29) (Ward) (Case 53).

Groups you are part of:

GLOBAL

GLOBAL: Wards

Department 29: Main

Department 29: Wards

Irregulars (Case 53 Hub)"

I immediately clicked on the last one, which transported me to another, far more pleasantly decorated page.

It was a bit childish, with drawings in the background that imitated a hand-drawn pencil artstyle, with simple flowers, trees, grassy hills and with no humans in sight.

The centerpiece of the page, however, was a highlighted piece of text with a font larger than any other's.

"Newly arrived?

It can be very scary to try and make our way in a world that we wake up not recognizing. To make it easier, we compiled a list of helpful materials.

Click here to get taken to the 'Starting Out' thread."

The Starting Out thread did not turn out to be what I was looking for.

It had a short introduction, and then a bunch of links to posts written by other Case 53s, each of them specific and narrow in focus, and not the clear solution that would solve everything, quell all my doubts, silence my fears and kill the Endbringers while it's at it, seeing that I only managed to put it into words after I was disappointed and forced to realize how unrealistic my wish was. (I hate hate hate hate hate this lack of certainty/knowledge/place/root/personhood.)

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of a door opening. It came from the hallway, and successfully distracted me enough for the thumping beats of my anger to fade into the background. (Only then did I realize how far the cracks creeped along my arms. My fingers appeared so brittle as to shatter under the smallest force.)

I stood up. I left the computer on, because I didn't want to look at it again, instead I turned towards the door, but found myself unable to take a step.

What do I even do? Just go out and say hello? Just pretend my skin isn't cracked all over and it's only a matter of time until it breaks again?

I can't even form the words in my head. Can't even picture how a greeting would go. It's pathetic.

I heard the sound of a second door opening. I was reminded that Satyrical mentioned another Ward, one I haven't yet met.

And I never would, like this. And if I couldn't face these other capes, how could I face anyone else? How could I face Bastard Son? (How could I carve him up?)

I needed to get going, and no matter what, not stop.

I forced my feet to take a step.

I forced my hand towards the door's handle.

And I thought to myself:

"Time to ruin a first impression."

/-/

AN: Had a lot of fun with the worldbuilding in this chapter. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I just love elaborating on unmentioned stuff like this. (It just makes sense to me that there would be a communication network for the PRT & Protectorate.)

Constructive criticism is always welcome, even if it is only to point out a typo.