PRT squads swarmed the scene right after Bakuda left. Making sure there were no surprises left behind by the bomb Tinker was the top priority, securing Lung's body – and verifying it was real – was a distant second.
That had been several hours ago. Nothing suspicious was found, including on or inside the body. Armsmaster's portable scanning equipment wasn't as detailed as what he had in his workshop, but it was good enough to distinguish flesh from a potential bomb. It all came back clean; not even traces could be found.
The fact gave them some reassurance that this wasn't an attempt to smuggle explosives into the PRT headquarters. Still, precautions had to be taken. There'd been an argument about where would be safer if the scans were wrong. The tensions were high and there was a fair amount of shouting involved, but by the end of the hour it was decided that one of the reinforced rooms on the top floor was their best bet.
At least that didn't run the risk of a powerful enough explosive damaging the building's foundations. Debris falling to the street was deemed a lesser hazard than the whole place coming down. There was also the thought that a strong enough bomb going off in the morgue could destroy evidence from other cases, even if it didn't cause the building to collapse.
Colin couldn't blame anyone for the mess that meeting had been. Just earlier in the day, when the ABB had flooded the streets, they had been preparing both physically and mentally for the gang to storm the lobby. That the whole thing then evolved into a hostage situation, even if some people had doubts about Bakuda's threat, made it all the more stressful. And, of course, the cherry on top.
Lung was dead.
They had run all the tests anyone could think of, from DNA testing and dental records to tinkertech scans with equipment brought in by Dragon. It all said the same thing, that the body was real. It wasn't a clone, a Stranger or a long-lost twin brother from an alternate dimension. Just Lung.
The cause of death was clear, even if the process that led up to it wasn't as much. The end result was morbidly interesting, with signs of demyelinated neurons in large parts of the cerebral cortex and large amounts of metabolic byproducts in the frontal, occipital and temporal lobes, as well as the amygdala.
The PRT doctors predicted that Lung would have lived his final moments experiencing crippling paranoia along with visual and auditory hallucinations. In an ironic twist of fate, the regeneration he was famed for only seemed to have made things worse, preventing him from going into a coma while letting the damage pile up. Eventually, it became too much. Numerous bleeds formed and the intracranial pressure killed him.
Colin shook his head. He was focusing on the whys and hows, distracting himself from thinking about what it all meant. Lung was dead. Gone at the hands of a subordinate. And...
The male was barely hanging on, fifth and sixth degree burns throughout his entire body. He would be dead in minutes without immediate care and even then, he would need a miracle to survive. The younger female had lesser but still life-threatening injuries. The sooner she could be picked up, the better.
A roar reached him, perhaps four or five blocks away. He took one last glance at the two, then left. A faint cry was heard behind him, barely audible but not enough to make out what was said. Armsmaster didn't look back.
He felt an urge to throw something against the wall but kept it at bay, considering he was in his workshop, surrounded by fragile components.
Armsmaster was supposed to bring down Lung. For the past three years, ever since the gang leader settled into Brockton Bay and their first fight against him, Colin had worked day in and day out to 'solve' the Bay's newest problem. Looking for a return to the uneasy, but known, equilibrium that had existed before a dragon shattered it to pieces.
He never found that solution. Lung only dug in further, becoming entrenched in the city's scene. Armsmaster's initial failure, and every single one that followed, became black marks on his record – not officially, but personally. Each one was an insult that drove him to give up more and more of himself, and it'd all be worth it when Lung would be behind bars thanks to him.
Every second he spent thinking up countermeasures. Every opportunity he didn't pursue because it would pull him away from this work. Every fight he lost, with nothing but a deeper understanding of his enemy to show for it.
Meaningless, all of it. Three years wasted.
Armsmaster wouldn't be remembered as the hero who persevered against the odds to bring down a dangerous criminal. He would be remembered as someone who was always one step behind his adversary, never catching up, until someone else – another villain – had to step in to do his job.
If only that was the end of it, he could deal with that. It would remain a sore spot for months or maybe even years. Yet his pride could eventually recover. There were plenty of other villains still out there to fight. Feats to accomplish that would eclipse those years of constant failure.
All those feats wouldn't erase what he'd done that night or what he'd tried to do after.
In that moment, hearing the dragon's roar, he'd told himself it was a necessary sacrifice. There was nothing to be done for the older male. He couldn't afford the delay to help the girl. Some other, uglier part of him wrote them both off as unimportant, and in his haste to go after Lung he listened to it. He rushed off and left them behind to die. It'd all be worth it when the gang leader was captured.
Except, not only did he fail once more, but Lung had already been retreating, so rushing to confront him wasn't even needed to minimize further damage. Sure, Colin could tell himself that he didn't know that at the time and that hindsight is 20/20. In the end it was a decision he could justify, both to his boss and to himself.
But Colinknew that none of those justifications were true. Because, even if he had known Lung was retreating, Armsmaster would have still gone after him. He always would have sacrificed those two for the slim chance of bringing down his nemesis. It was a foregone conclusion the moment he realized Lung was still nearby.
It disgusted him, and what he had attempted after even more so. After returning to base, looking back through that footage was like rubbing salt on an open wound. His imagination ran wild with what others would think of his choice, of what they would think of him as a hero. Armsmaster, the one who abandoned the innocent to go get his ass kicked by a retreating villain.
On impulse, he deleted it.
Now, Lung was dead, and though the mistakes and failures of the last three years would eventually fade with time, Colin felt that this last one wouldn't. At least, not for him. He knew it could have been the start of a slippery slope. A darker path in his pursuit of glory. In a sense, maybe he should be grateful to Bakuda, for putting a stop to this chase just as it was starting to get out of hand.
He snorted. Perhaps he'd bring her flowers in prison.
Sitting down in front of a workbench, Colin considered what to do. Not about the city, the PRT's direction moving forward was clear. No, this was about his own latest mistake. Unfortunately, for all that he could build incredible things, a time machine wasn't one of them. So, he would have to make this right in the present.
How? That he was having trouble figuring out. Though, he did have some idea about where to start.
Colin rolled the chair over to the main access point of his personal computer system, turning on the screen and navigating to the PRT database of bodycam recordings. He could download the modified recording from there, but it was only one part of the puzzle. The other was the memory chip of the bodycam he had used that night. Thankfully, he hadn't used it again since then, so there was less of a chance that the deleted data would be written over.
Restoring the footage would be difficult, especially since it was he who had deleted it. But not impossible. What he would do with it... That was a part of the plan that still needed some work. It could help him find the identity of those two, which would then make it easy to figure out what happened to them.
What else could he use? Location data from the recording? Getting a rough address would allow him to look for their names in the registry and then ask around hospitals, clinics and morgues. Armsmaster could do that job. Doctors might be less reluctant to disclose that kind of information to that persona.
He would not fool himself into thinking that the man could have survived. Those were wounds even Panacea would have trouble healing. But maybe, just maybe, the girl had made it out. If he could find her-
Colin paused, hands hovering over the keyboard. His fingers slowly curled into fists. What would he do if the girl was alive? For that matter, what would he do if she ended up dead? He shook his head. That didn't matter right now. First, he needed to know what the outcome of his mistake was. Everything after could wait.
"Again."
Though she didn't feel pain, Taylor groaned from her spot on the warehouse floor. Regardless, she got up, standing across from Newter once more. Faultline was off to the side, supervising the spar between the two.
Taylor's eyes narrowed at her grinning teammate. They'd been at this for close to an hour by now. Almost an hour of Newter basically running circles around her. She'd been amazed at how agile the, presumably, older teen was.
For the first ten minutes anyway. It only started getting annoying from there as her teammate used said agility against her to great effect. He was enjoying it too, the bastard.
Well, this time would be different.
There was no call to begin. Taylor wouldn't get that out in the field, so she wasn't getting it here. Instead, she waited for her opponent, letting her ash production ramp up. She'd learned early on that trying to rush someone faster than her wouldn't end well. Maybe it'd be different as her skills grew, but for now she'd stick with counters.
She kept her eyes forward. It was another simple lesson she'd learned in these spars. Trying to anticipate Newter's movement or track any specific body part would only disorient her. It didn't help that part of her mind still had to be focused on limiting her power. Two days of practice just weren't enough to get to the point Faultline wanted her. Taylor could feel the improvement, small as it was, so she just had to keep at it.
Newter must have noticed her focus starting to drift, because he chose that exact moment to spring into action. His dash was almost too fast for her to react to, but she managed to duck under his right hook, transitioning the movement into a low sweep of his legs.
He leapt over it, trying to get behind her, not realizing that he was exactly where she wanted him. Ash surged forth from beneath her, rushing straight towards his chest. A satisfied smile bloomed on Taylor's face.
'Finally got you.'
Newter didn't falter. Using the inertia of his tail, he twisted out of the way of Taylor's counterattack, at the same time launching his own. Taylor's smile faded into an expression of surprise and panic as Newter grabbed her head and leveraged his whole weight to throw her off balance. She tried to roll with it as best as she could, blindly lashing out with her ash towards his general direction.
He pushed off her to avoid it, letting Taylor regain her footing before she could completely fall on her ass. They stood across from each other once more.
The bastard was still grinning.
That stupid grin was wiped off his face when the ash by his feet came alive, a tendril latching onto his foot and yanking it out from under him. He landed on his back with a yelp; the air forced out of his lungs.
Faultline slowly shook her head, "Did you really forget to watch your step while fighting a Shaker?
Newter got back up, dusting off his jeans, "In my defense, the rookie's a fast learner." He turned to Taylor, giving her a nod, "Good fight, Pyro. Another couple weeks of this and you'll be a real pain to go up against."
"Uhm, thanks," she replied somewhat awkwardly, not exactly used to getting any sort of praise.
The older teen stretched, a satisfying crack echoing from his back.
"Hey boss, mind if I start heading back? Sparring's fun and all but an hour straight is a bit much for us with squishy, fleshy bodies."
"Sure," Faultline agreed, "I've got a couple things to talk over with Pyroclast, but you can go on ahead without me. Thanks again for helping out with training, Newter."
"Don't mention it, boss. It's actually pretty fun. See you later, Pyro!" He stopped at the door to wave, then walked out of the building and into the street.
Taylor wondered what Faultline wanted to talk about. Her curiosity only grew when the mercenary walked over to make sure the door was locked, taking a good look around the warehouse and removing her mask. Taylor took it as a cue to do the same.
Faultline let out a breath, clipping the mask on her belt.
"How are you holding up, Taylor?"
Ah, so that's what. To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure. It had been simple anger at first, a visceral reaction that had burst out of its bottle and pushed aside everything else. But that had simmered down before the evening was out.
Sure, she was still... irritated, a steady resentment bubbling just beneath the surface. Before he died, she'd wanted Lung to really get to know her face. Learn to curse her name. Watch his little kingdom burn to the ground around him, like her own life had at his hands. What he'd done that night probably wasn't a big deal for the gang leader. Taylor wanted to make it personal, for his death to not be just another case of parahumans killing parahumans.
She hadn't had the chance to do any of that. Hell, the search for his whereabouts after the rampage hadn't even gotten off the ground yet. He died in hiding, at the hands of a subordinate. And, in the end, her father's killer was six feet under, though she hadn't been involved. As things were, she didn't really know whether she wanted to thank Bakuda or punch her in the stomach. Hard.
Maybe if more time had passed, if Taylor had spent longer hunting down Lung, her feelings would be different, or stronger. Instead, once that initial burst of anger was gone, leaving behind smoldering embers that she could shove back into the bottle, she just found herself asking; Now what?
But that was an easy question to answer, wasn't it? Lung had never been the end of the road. She still needed to learn how to play the hand she'd been dealt, for Kurt's and Lacey's sake. She still wanted to help them clear the boat graveyard. Running with Faultline hadn't been unpleasant so far. The opposite, if she were honest. For the first time since The Trio's bullshit started, Taylor felt like she could be tentatively comfortable around a group of people. That said group were a bunch of mercenaries and technically villains... well, she chose to ignore that.
Besides all that, there were still the Undersiders. She both could and couldn't fault them for what had happened. They wanted to live, but at the same time they clearly didn't give a rat's ass about where Lung was chasing them into. Then Armsmaster, proving the saying that you should never meet your heroes. There was hate there – a cold fury for the parts they'd played – but it wasn't the same overwhelming need to go after them and everything they cherished. She wasn't sure if they deserved that.
Honestly, she'd rather leave that whole mess of tangled emotions alone – just shove the whole thing under a metaphorical carpet and avoid those people if she could help it. More stuff to lock away and ignore in an effort to stay sane. Taylor thought she was getting rather good at that.
She realized Faultline was still waiting for an answer. How was she supposed to condense all of that into something coherent?
"I'm fine."
Faultline raised her brow, probably not believing her all that much. Too bad, it was the only answer Taylor currently had.
"No, really. I'm alright."
Her boss sighed, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? It doesn't have to be power related."
Taylor just nodded. Thankfully, Faultline let it go.
"Well, that aside, I wanted to let you know that I'll be sorting through jobs to find something good for you to wet your feet. Probably something simple down south, Boston or even New York. So, when the time comes, expect to be away from home for a couple of days."
That did sound exciting, her first job as a mercenary. Taylor was sure the nervousness would show up in a day or two. She'd been to Boston a couple times when she was younger, but never New York.
Her thoughts stumbled as the rest of the statement caught up with her.
Shit. If she was going to be away from Brockton for days, what was she going to tell Kurt and Lacey? Until now, she hadn't even considered letting them know about the mercenary job. Business was picking up for the Union with the cleanup preparations and the two were busy enough that she could afford to come home late and still be there first.
She couldn't just go missing with no explanation; it'd drive them both mad with worry. Maybe call it a camping trip with friends? It was a stupid excuse and it'd probably just make them worry more. Come clean about joining Faultline? She blanched at the idea, even though it'd probably go down fine if she did. But probably wasn't good enough, and the last thing she wanted was to drive a wedge between herself and the last thing she had resembling family.
No, she could come up with something better.
Faultline continued, either not noticing her sudden panic or not saying anything about it.
"Of course, since Lung kicked the bucket before we could even get started, I won't charge you. I'd still appreciate it if you could help with that personal project of ours though."
"How come?" Taylor asked, somewhat surprised at the refund.
"Mercenary 101, your reputation is everything," her boss replied, taking what was quickly becoming recognizable to Taylor as her boss' standard lecturing pose. Taylor had seen a few during their impromptu lessons but this was the most common, with one hand on her hip while using the other for emphasis.
"For heroes and villains, clout is about the adoration or fear of the public. They use it in ways that can affect some sources of their income, but they're not wholly dependent on it. For mercenaries, whether human or parahuman, reputation directly determines the size, reputability and wealth of your client base. Refunding payments for incomplete jobs may sound like we're just losing money, but we're simply weighing the immediate loss of revenue against the opportunity cost of being known as an unreliable crew."
That sounded oddly like how a normal business would work. It seemed a bit surreal, that there could be similarities between a bakery downtown and a group of parahuman mercenaries.
"If you're thinking about it as a regular business, you'd be mostly correct."
Sometimes Taylor wondered if Faultline could read minds and just hadn't told anyone, or if she was really that predictable.
"Of course, the comparison somewhat breaks down when you add parahumans into the mix, for reasons I couldn't begin to explain in a single evening. But most of the principles of running a successful business still apply. Now, back to refund policy, we will typically keep a portion of the downpayment to cover operational costs up to that point. In the cases where the initial payment doesn't fully cover what we've spent, we may waive the difference. However, since expected costs plus a safety margin are included in the amount we ask up-front, that very rarely happens. Said margin is paid as a bonus to the crew at job completion. Consider it an incentive to keep costs low."
Taylor really did appreciate these random lessons. When she'd first bargained for help with her powers, she'd expected to get just that from the older woman. Instead, for whatever reason, Faultline had seemed to take her fully under her wing.
Beyond just making sure that she'd be competent in a fight, Faultline taught her how the crew worked, how to manage team dynamics and people's different personalities, even how to recruit and negotiate. Taylor was grateful, though she didn't understand why her boss was going the extra mile.
"Ah, but we've gotten a bit off-topic. So, you up for some overtime?"
"Sure, why not?" More than anything, Taylor was curious about what it was. From the sound of things, the whole crew was involved in it.
"Sweet. I'll send you some files over PHO, should get you up to speed. Got a handle?"
She didn't, despite using the forum for a few years. She just lurked around the threads, not really feeling the need to comment on anything.
"I can make one." If she was going to be a cape, it was about time anyway.
"Shoot me a text when you do. The project is on the backburner right now while we track down new leads, so don't feel the need to read through everything in one go."
Taylor figured she might do that anyway, depending on how interesting of a read it was. Her phone buzzed, a message from Lacey letting her know that they'd be home early.
"Need to go?" It had to be telepathy or something. No way was she this much of an open book.
"You know, it'd be much easier if you just told them you're running with us." Taylor wasn't really sure about that. She'd much rather put it off until she couldn't anymore.
"I'll consider it," she lied as naturally as she breathed.
Faultline didn't seem all that convinced either but shooed her away anyway, walking her towards the door, "Well go on then. I need to lock up the place; no need to wait. See you later."
Taylor waved back, putting her mask back on and heading outside.
"And you found nothing?"
Thomas rubbed his brow to stave off the coming headache, the other hand holding a phone to his ear.
"The file is empty, sir. Basic information has been redacted, whole pages missing. No mention of relations or contact info."
"I see. Leave everything as you found it and return to base. The second part of your operation is a no-go. That is all." He hung up, leaning back in his chair and considering the implications.
This lack of information wouldn't normally stop him from going after the girl. After all, there were more ways to find someone, especially a parahuman whose name and general description had been leaked. What did give him pause was the meaning behind such obvious tampering. The hospital files were a simple warning for whoever went looking.
His newest prospective pet had been poached. If only he'd acted on the rumors sooner...
It was deeply unfortunate, but ultimately shouldn't affect his planned operations much. Still, the question did remain as to who had taken the girl. All the big players in the Bay had the means to quickly and quietly alter a hospital file, but only a few could do it without him noticing. Seeing as none of his moles in the PRT, Empire or ABB had reported a new cape joining either group, it was highly unlikely that any of them were responsible.
That realistically only left two choices on the table, and he very much doubted it was Uber and Leet. Such a shame, too. Those two were easy to handle, whether through money or intimidation. Were it them behind this, Coil could have had the new cape in his employ in all but name.
But no, he would need to deal with Faultline instead. That infuriating woman had refused to involve her crew with him on multiple occasions. He'd tried generous payments, intimidation and even threats in throwaway timelines, but she wouldn't play ball. Thomas wasn't used to being denied, and it wasn't often that his power couldn't change the outcome of a situation like that in his favor. What vexed him even more was that he had no real plan on how to deal with the mercenaries until well after he took control of the city.
An unstable element that he couldn't directly or indirectly control in his city. The mere thought was almost physically painful. That it was reality, infuriated him.
Regardless, no matter how much of an affront their existence was to him, he could afford to wait a few more weeks. There were much bigger fish to fry, after all. The repurposed Alcott operation had gone swimmingly, and his older pet had finally run out of excuses and reasons to delay. Information-wise, everything was in place, and Coil just had to act on it.
While there was no hard deadline, the sooner he made his move, the more potent the effects would be. Bakuda killing Lung had been a surprise – he would need to adjust his questions to the Alcott girl going forward – but it was a pleasant one. Even in his most ambitious plans, Lung would have been a loose end for quite some time, so he did appreciate the gift.
Additionally, her public display of his corpse and her proclamation kept the tension in the city from faltering for a bit longer, which gave him time to make more thorough revisions to some plans and explore new options. Some of said options had only been made possible thanks to Bakuda's recent actions, so really, all in all, he couldn't complain.
He could see it, the dream he'd been striving towards for years now, finally coming to fruition. Thomas Calvert in control of the PRT, while Coil pulled the strings of the underworld. The whole city, firmly in his grasp. Under his total control.
The phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He picked it up. The report was nothing special, just the Acquisitions team having finished their latest assignment, but it served to ground him.
He was close, yes, but there was still the final stretch. The last mile. It wouldn't do for fantasy to distract him. Thomas refused to stumble right before the finish line.