- Interlude 1 -
o-0-o
In the murky depths of a corner apartment, hidden away in a dark section of Brockton Bay, a woman found herself ensnared in the unrelenting clutches of a pounding migraine. A chill of discomfort draped her body, causing her shirt to adhere unpleasantly. An attempt to draw back the curtains and welcome the daylight into the room was swiftly abandoned after another sharp surge of pain rippled through her temples.
"Damn it," she muttered, vexation etched across her countenance as the persistent ache scoffed at the medication she had ingested. Hastily, she navigated her way to the bathroom, realizing she hadn't bothered to tidy up after her nocturnal arrival. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she peeled away layers of makeup that masked her true age. With each gentle swipe, the visage of a seventeen-year-old girl emerged.
The mirror declared her as Lisa Wilbourn, with dark blonde tresses cascading around her face. Her appearance, subtly above par, bore vulpine facial features suggesting a sharp intelligence. Freckles adorned the bridge of her nose, imbuing a hint of youthful charm, while her eyes, described as "bottle-glass green," exuded a mysterious allure.
"What are you gawking at?" she snapped at her own reflection, frustration palpable in her tone. Dismissing the internal debate, she chose to retreat to her bed. The apartment might not have been lavish, but it served its purpose.
Reclining on the bed, Lisa pondered the events leading to this moment. The headache wasn't a mere physical ailment; it was a symptom of the taxing strain that accompanied her unique abilities. She wasn't just Lisa Wilbourn—she was Tattletale, a moniker earned in the gritty underbelly of Brockton Bay's cape scene.
The clock on the nightstand ticked away as she closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to meander into the recesses of her past. Memories of her trigger event and the beginning of her career flickered before her eyes like a disjointed movie reel. She could still feel the intensity of that moment, the torrent of information flooding her mind.
With weariness etched across her features, she reached for a notebook on the nightstand. Its pages were a mosaic of cryptic scribbles and meticulous observations—a tangible testament to her unyielding pursuit of knowledge, the potent weapon she wielded in a city where information could decide who lived and who…didn't.
Flipping through the dog-eared pages, worn and weathered by the relentless pursuit of information, she landed on the latest entries. Hasty notes, scribbled with a sense of urgency, chronicled the encounter from the previous afternoon. The inked lines on the paper seemed to engage in a chaotic dance, encapsulating the essence of a serendipitous meeting with a younger stranger—an enigma lingering on the fringes of her existence.
Fate had woven their paths together in an unpredictable twist, and had it not been for the capricious nature of her powers, Lisa might have brushed off the girl after attempting to glean information from Assault and Miss Militia about the events of the night before yesterday. The intelligence her powers provided on this stranger remained a perplexing enigma—distinctly peculiar and frustratingly inconclusive.
[She is human. It is not human.]
The bewilderment stirred within her an insatiable urge, driving her to try to unravel the mystery and prompting her to tail the girl into the library. Her observational acumen was sharp, yet her powers frustratingly yielded only superficial insights.
[Is fearful. Seeking knowledge. Frustrated by the lack of answers. Hints of mistreatment.]
Puzzled, Lisa pondered the girl's anxieties. If bullying were the root cause and she was too fearful to seek help from others, resorting to online help would be a logical deduction.
[Not frightened by bullying.]
Her eyebrows arched ever so slightly.
[It perceives.]
"What?" she inwardly mused.
[It gazes back.]
In an instant, a blinding radiance enveloped her, and a searing headache seized her senses. Bewildered and disoriented, Lisa recoiled when the girl approached. Panic gripped her, and she swiftly declined the girl's suggestion to consult a doctor, fleeing the library in haste.
The subsequent memories blurred into a chaotic frenzy—darting back to her apartment, swallowing headache medicine with a brazen defiance of caution. As she replayed the earlier event, her fingers massaged her temples, yet the persistent ache showed no signs of relenting. But there was no time for respite. A message had materialized on her phone, a missive from her employer, a constant prodding to redirect her focus to the looming quandary at hand.
There was still the research her so-called boss had "kindly requested" her to undertake. Yesterday, the unexpected unfolded concurrently for every parahuman, a phenomenon her powers could only vaguely allude to. The meteor shower the previous night seemed to correlate, yet the enigmatic ailment afflicting every known parahuman, including herself, eluded explanation.
The inquiries lingered, and her employer demanded swift answers. However, her powers, typically a fount of insights, offered only a cryptic response that left her as confused as her employer.
"It was dazzling," she read the conclusion given by her powers, gritting her teeth against the persistent headache, Lisa tossed the notebook aside. It was no use dwelling on the mysterious girl and her blinding light. Instead, she refocused on her boss's urgent message.
Her cramped apartment suddenly felt even more suffocating, and the dim lighting did little to ease the tension coiling in the pit of her stomach. The throbbing in her head intensified as she delved into her powers, seeking answers that seemed to slip through her mental fingers like grains of sand. A spark of frustration flared within her.
"It was dazzling," she repeated with a heavy dose of sarcasm, shaking her head. "Real helpful, powers." Despite the lingering mystery that hung over her like a storm cloud, Lisa found herself unable to shake off the image of the young girl from the library.
There was an elusive quality about her, something that reverberated in the recesses of Lisa's mind. The cryptic encounter had left a lingering unease, a nagging feeling that eluded definition. It was like trying to grasp shadows in the dark.
Her phone buzzed, rudely interrupting her thoughts. Another message from her boss, and this time, the tone was more insistent. The urgency conveyed in the texts matched the urgency racing through Lisa's own thoughts. She needed to unravel this puzzle, and she needed to do it fast.
With a determined glint in her eyes, Lisa decided the time had come to tap into her extensive network of connections. She reached for her phone, fingers dancing over the keys as she dialed the secure number she had reserved for her informant in the PRT—a clandestine ally navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth.
"Hey, Smith, it's Annie," she spoke in a hushed tone, invoking the alias she used to maintain discretion.
On the other end of the line, Smith responded with a gruff acknowledgement. "What do you need?"
Leaning back in her chair, Lisa's mind raced with the urgency of the situation. "I'm chasing down some info on the recent parahuman shenanigans. Anything juicy that might be flying under the radar?"
Smith chuckled, a sound laden with both camaraderie and skepticism. "You know I'm not running a charity here, Annie. What do you have to offer?"
Quick on her feet, Lisa thought fast, her eyes scanning the room for something of value. "How about two rare books?" she proposed, choosing a currency that had proven invaluable in her dealings.
There was a pause on the other end, and Lisa could almost envision Smith weighing the value of the information against her offer. Finally, he grunted in agreement. "Two books. I'll see what I can dig up."
"Deal," Lisa declared, satisfaction coloring her tone. With the information pipeline now in motion, she knew she had a shot at getting some answers. The clock was ticking, and she needed to piece together the puzzle before her employer's patience wore thin with the lack of progress.
o-0-o
Perched in her office, a robust woman with steely-gray eyes and a bob-style haircut bleached to a crisp shade of blonde surveyed the chaos unfolding in the reports sprawled across her desk. Emily Piggot, the reigning Director of PRT ENE, couldn't shake the gravity of the situation depicted in the detailed accounts provided by Dragon.
Yesterday's upheaval with the Empire and the preceding night's surge in parahuman admissions to hospitals globally had her on edge. She scrutinized the information, her navy blue jacket and skirt lending a touch of formality to the room that echoed with the tension of unfolding events.
The matter with the Empire aside, what was even more worrying was the lack of information regarding the probable causes of the ailment that affected the parahumans. Emily leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm on the desk. The reports were sketchy at best, and the medical community was struggling to make sense of the sudden surge in parahuman hospitalizations.
Fortunately, there weren't any signs of permanent damage to the parahumans – the capes under her jurisdiction. It was a faint silver lining in the midst of chaos, a glimmer of relief amid the storm. Emily couldn't afford to lose any of these capes, not because she had a soft spot for them – she didn't – but because she knew what would hit the fan if she lost one of the few tools she had to enforce authority in this god-forsaken city.
She saw the capes as a double-edged sword, a necessary evil in her line of work. Emily scowled, realizing that, despite her disdain for these masked folks with their fancy powers, they were like the duct tape holding the city together. Lose them, and everything unravels. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she had to admit it.
Sitting back in her chair, Emily drummed her fingers on the desk, contemplating the peculiar balance she had to maintain. The capes may get on her nerves, but they were a necessary evil, like a creaky wheel keeping the machinery of justice moving. Without them, chaos would reign supreme, and that was a mess she wasn't willing to mop up.
A knock echoed through the office, shattering Emily Piggot's concentration. "Come in," she called out, her eyes snapping back from the intricate dance of possibilities on her desk to the present moment. The door creaked open, revealing Miss Militia – or Hannah, as she insisted on being called when not wrapped in her costume – flanked by a doctor assigned to tend to the medical needs of Victor and Rune.
"Director Piggot," the doctor nodded respectfully, his name tag identifying him as Felix Mendez, a senior radiologist. Emily's brow furrowed. Why in the world did Miss Militia bring a radiologist? Suspicion carved lines into her expression as she waited for an explanation.
"Is this about Victor and Rune?" Emily questioned, and Miss Militia nodded in confirmation. "Were the results of their medical check-up... concerning?"
The memory of finding Victor and Rune sprawled in the art storage of Central Square's old museum flashed in Emily's mind. The injuries were brutal, especially Victor's. Emily winced, recalling the extent of the damage to his face. She doubted normal medical procedures could fix it; tinkertech might be the only solution to restore Victor's once recognizable features.
"It's Victor, isn't it? So, you're here to discuss the permission to use tinkertech to fix his injury?" Emily posited, more a statement than a question.
Miss Militia hesitated for a moment before responding, causing a surprised twitch on Emily's face. "Yes and no," she replied, leaving Emily no choice but to demand an explanation.
"Explain," Emily demanded, leaning forward, her gaze fixed on Miss Militia and Dr. Mendez.
Miss Militia took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and determination. "Director, Victor's injuries are bad, but they're still treatable. There are plans for reconstructive surgery and the potential use of tinkertech to mend the damage. However," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "Rune's situation is different."
Emily's forehead creased with worry. "Different how?"
Miss Militia hesitated, glancing at Dr. Mendez for a moment before turning her attention back to Emily. "Rune's visible injuries are much less severe than Victor's, but there's something... deeper. Something we can't heal, no matter what we try."
Emily's expression tightened, a mixture of frustration and concern playing on her features. "What do you mean, something you can't heal?"
Dr. Mendez spoke up, his voice measured. "Director, it's not a matter of conventional injuries."
He then placed a folder on Piggot's desk, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. "These are the brain imaging images of Victor, Rune, Miss Militia, and a non-parahuman PRT operative." Dr. Mendez's hands were steady as he revealed the contents of the folder. "Take a look and compare the ones between Victor and Miss Militia with the ones between Rune and the PRT operative."
Piggot carefully held up the images, studying each one intently, her brow furrowed. She claimed she didn't see much difference, except that the skull of Victor appeared damaged. "What am I supposed to be seeing here, Doctor?"
Mendez leaned forward, pointing out details on the images. "Look closer, Director. Focus on the brain structures, particularly the region known as the Corona Pollentia. It's a part of the brain that all parahumans are theoretically supposed to have."
Piggot squinted at the images, her eyes narrowing in concentration. After a moment, she looked up at Dr. Mendez. "I still don't see anything wrong. What am I missing?"
Mendez then directed her attention to the comparative images of Rune and the non-powered PRT operative. "Now, compare Rune's brain structure with the non-powered individual. Do you notice anything different?"
Piggot put the images side-by-side, her eyes scanning them meticulously. Suddenly, her eyes widened. Rune's brain structure lacked something that all parahumans were theoretically supposed to have. Her brain lacked the Corona Pollentia.
"What the hell does this mean?" Piggot demanded, her voice sharp with urgency.
Mendez took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "The images suggest that Rune used to have the Corona Pollentia on her brain, just like any other parahuman. But it's missing now. It's as if it has been... erased."
Piggot stared at the images, the weight of the revelation sinking in. "Erased? Don't you mean 'removed'?"
Mendez shook his head, stating, "I would have agreed with you, except there were no signs of external injuries to suggest that the Corona Pollentia had been physically removed. There's no incision, no trauma. It's like it was never there in the first place."
Piggot's brow furrowed in frustration. "So, what are you saying? Are you telling me this unknown can just erase a parahuman's apparent source of powers from their brain without leaving a trace?"
Unknown. That was the temporary designation given to the unknown parahuman who was recorded engaging in battle with Victor and Rune in that storage area. She did not know yet what classifications would be given to this person, but judging from the footage, she would bet her savings that it would include Brute and Shaker.
In fact, she would throw in Mover and Breaker as well, since the footage showed the unknown disappearing in a flash of light.
She had ordered Armsmaster to study the footage, but he was being unusually slow with his report. Perhaps she should give him a call after this.
Mendez nodded solemnly. "That seems to be the likeliest case."
Piggot leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. "Is it possible that Rune never had one to begin with? Maybe she was an exception."
Mendez shook his head, his expression unwavering. "The shape of her brain strongly suggests otherwise, Director. The Corona Pollentia was there, and now it's not. This is not a natural occurrence. It's a deliberate act."
Piggot's frustration grew, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts. "What does this mean for Rune? Does this mean she's lost her powers?"
Mendez exchanged a glance with Miss Militia before responding. "We don't know yet, Director. Rune is still unconscious, and we haven't been able to conduct the necessary tests. We need to understand the extent of this alteration before we can determine the impact on her powers."
Piggot nodded, a sense of urgency settling in. "I want the tests done as soon as possible. We need to know what we're dealing with," Piggot ordered. She leaned forward, her gaze steady as she added, "And make sure this information stays in-house. We can't afford any leaks. The last thing we need is panic and chaos spreading through the city over this. Understand?"
Miss Militia and Mendez nodded in agreement. "Understood, Director. We'll keep this under wraps until we have a clearer picture of what's going on," Miss Militia affirmed.
Mendez, flipping the folder closed, chimed in, "Patient confidentiality will be strictly maintained. We won't compromise the security of this information."
With a collective understanding, the duo dispersed, each with their assigned tasks to unravel the mystery surrounding Rune's condition.
As the door closed behind them, Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair, the weight of the situation pressing on her shoulders.
She sighed tiredly. She really needed to take a break.
o-0-o
Danny Hebert paced the living room, his anxiety reaching fever pitch as he eagerly awaited his daughter Taylor's descent from her room.
The previous day had thrown him a curveball with a disconcerting call from the school, revealing that Taylor had pulled a disappearing act from her classes and had yet to make a return. While other parents might've been ticked off about a bit of truancy, Danny's concern went far beyond skipped lessons; he feared that something was seriously amiss with Taylor.
The anxiety clawed at him because, come hell or high water, Taylor had always been a picture of resilience. Even in the wake of her mother Annette's tragic demise, she'd soldiered on, trudging off to school without a whiff of complaint, like a warrior marching into the fray. Danny didn't expect her to be immune to grief, but the abrupt departure from her usual rock-solid routine set off alarm bells in his paternal instincts.
He couldn't shake the vivid memories of Taylor soldiering on, supported by her best friend Emma, even after Annette's death. Emma had been a lifeline, a comforting presence for Taylor in those trying times. The camaraderie between the two friends had been a glimmer of hope, proof of Taylor's unbreakable spirit.
Now, as he nervously paced the room, the ghost of Annette haunted him. The woman who had been the bedrock of their family was gone, leaving Danny to shoulder the weight of parenting alone. It was Taylor's dogged determination to lead a semblance of normalcy that had given him the strength to rise from the ashes of grief. The routine, the mundane rituals of daily life, had served as a therapeutic balm for both father and daughter.
But today, with Taylor deviating from her routine, anxiety clung to him like a stubborn shadow. Regret gnawed at him for not rushing home immediately after that disconcerting call. He had to deal with serious issues involving some of the dock union members, and by the time he returned, Taylor was already fast asleep.
The fear that something sinister might be unfolding in her life, beyond the challenges she had already faced, refused to let go. As he waited, the house echoed with unspoken worries, the silence punctuated only by the ticking of the clock. Danny prayed for Taylor to walk through that door, dispelling the heavy atmosphere with her mere presence.
As Taylor hurried down the stairs, her bag slung over her shoulder, Danny couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and concern. Relief at seeing her safe and sound, yet concern over the mysterious events of the previous day that had left him on edge. He wanted to talk to her about what happened but hesitated, not wanting to push her away with intrusive questions.
"Hey, Taylor," Danny called out, trying to sound casual. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"
Taylor glanced up, her expression slightly hesitant. It was a subtle shift that didn't escape Danny's notice. "Just some things I want to take care of," she replied, her gaze avoiding his.
Danny arched an eyebrow, a curious frown playing on his face. It had been a while since Taylor had mentioned having things she wanted to do. The last time she had expressed such determination was before the tragic loss of Annette. That memory lingered in the air, unspoken yet palpable.
"Things to do, huh?" Danny said, trying to keep his tone light. "Mind filling your old man in? It's been a bit since you mentioned having plans of your own."
Taylor shifted on her feet, a mixture of reluctance and vulnerability in her eyes. "Dad, I just need some time to figure things out, okay? It's nothing to worry about."
Despite her reassurance, Danny couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He took a deep breath, deciding to tread carefully. "Taylor, I got a call from the school yesterday. You left your classes in the morning and didn't go back. What's going on?"
Taylor sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. "I... I needed a break, Dad. Just some time to clear my head."
Danny studied her face, searching for clues. "Is everything alright, kiddo? You've been through so much, and I just want to make sure you're okay."
Her gaze met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of vulnerability before she masked it. "I appreciate it, Dad. Really. But I can handle it. I just need some space right now."
Danny nodded, his concern not fully assuaged but understanding her need for independence. "Alright, Taylor. Just remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. You don't have to face everything alone."
Seeing Taylor headed toward the door, Danny couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface. He watched her leave, a mix of worry and fatherly love etched on his face.
As Taylor reached for the doorknob, poised to step out, she abruptly halted in her tracks. A moment of hesitation washed over her, and she seemed to mumble something under her breath—words that Danny strained to catch but couldn't quite make out. It was like she was having a conversation with herself.
Unexpectedly, Taylor pivoted back to face Danny. There was a steely resolve in her eyes, a determination that caught him off guard. Breaking the silence, she addressed him directly, her words slicing through the tension.
"I'm heading out, Dad. Catch you later."
The sudden declaration left Danny momentarily stunned. He scrutinized her face, searching for any clue about what might be brewing beneath the surface. There was a fleeting vulnerability in her eyes, a cocktail of determination and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Sure thing, Little Owl," he responded, his voice gentle but laced with concern. "Take care of yourself, alright? And remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."
With that, Taylor nodded, offering a small but genuine smile. She stepped through the doorway, and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving Danny standing in the hushed living room, his thoughts swirling with a mix of worry and curiosity.
"Catch you later, huh?" He couldn't remember how long ago since he last heard those words from his daughter. Usually, their exchanges were brief – 'I'm off' or 'bye,' met with a simple 'take care' from him.
Once again, the house settled into an uneasy quiet, the weight of unspoken concerns hanging thick in the air. Danny couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Taylor's sudden departure than she was letting on. As he stared at the closed door, a father's instinct whispered to him that this was just the beginning of a chapter he didn't fully grasp.
For now, all he could do was wait for his daughter to open up to him. So, he lingered in the quiet, poised to lend support whenever she chose to share the burdens that seemed to weigh heavily on her shoulders.
o-0-o
"How long are you going to stare at the ceiling for?" The query echoed through the room, emanating from a man obscured behind an opaque, glassy helm. Clad in a blue-green skintight suit with a built-in hood and cape, his sleeves draped over his hands, the world knew him as the esteemed hero Eidolon. But to her, he was simply David.
Despite the masked facade he wore, the frustration in his voice was palpable. The recipient of his question sat in a chair, fixated on the pristine white ceiling of Cauldron's base, her gaze seemingly penetrating the walls to a scene beyond.
She was an attractive, pale-skinned woman with black hair that fell in waves, slightly longer than shoulder length. Dressed in a white formal shirt beneath a black suit, complemented by black pants and a white tie, her black fedora rested casually on the round table beside her.
To those assembled around the table, she was known as Contessa.
"David, calm down," intervened another person seated at the round table, a woman with long, flowing black hair. Her appearance suggested Hispanic heritage, and at a glance, she seemed to be in her mid-to-late twenties. Publicly recognized as the hero Alexandria, she harbored a secret identity as the chief director of the PRT: Rebecca Costa-Brown.
David scoffed, his irritation still evident. "Calm down? We still don't know what caused that...that...I don't even know what to call it—attack? Yes, let's go with that. The attack that affected all parahumans worldwide, and we still have no clue what's causing it," he exclaimed.
"I understand your frustration," acknowledged Rebecca. "I realize the dangerous implications of what happened. If someone or something out there is powerful enough to affect all parahumans, it warrants inclusion in our list of immediate threats."
"And yet, our most revered thinker has said nothing so far," David added, casting a pointed look at Contessa.
For the last 36 hours, Contessa had remained unresponsive to David's inquiries, as well as those from others. Her attention seemed irrevocably fixed on the skies beyond the ceiling, leaving her companions in a state of uneasy anticipation.
As Contessa's unwavering gaze remained locked onto the elusive horizon, David shattered the heavy silence, his impatience bubbling to the surface once again. "Where's the Number Man?" he inquired, the tone of his voice blending concern and frustration in equal measure.
Rebecca, leaning back in her chair, let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the situation. "Still resting," she replied, running a hand through her hair in a gesture of weariness. "He claims he feels like he just had the worst hangover of his life."
The door creaked open, admitting a dark-skinned woman with flowing hair dressed in an outfit reminiscent of a doctor's attire. Known as 'Doctor Mother' to those assembled, her entrance altered the ambiance, injecting a sense of solemnity into the room.
Quietly, Doctor Mother approached Contessa, leaning in slightly as she posed a pointed question. "Any significant changes to the paths?" Contessa's continued silence hung in the room like an impenetrable fog of uncertainty.
Breaking the stillness, Rebecca inquired, "What's prompting you to ask that?"
With a measured tone, Doctor Mother proceeded to share troubling news gleaned from their operatives within Brockton Bay's PRT. "Our people have reported worrying developments," she began. "Rune's Corona Pollentia has disappeared."
Rebecca's surprise was unmistakable. Though she had heard of the clashes between Victor and Rune against an unidentified parahuman, the PRT and Protectorate remained in the dark regarding the identity of this adversary. Rune's condition had not made its way to Rebecca's ears.
Doctor Mother delved further into the revelation, disclosing that the Director of PRT ENE, Piggot, had imposed strict confidentiality measures around the matter to stave off panic within their ranks.
Doctor Mother then turned her attention back to Contessa. She repeated her inquiry, her voice slicing through the tension in the room like a blade, "Any alterations to the path?" The collective breath of the room seemed to pause, a shared sense of anticipation filling the air as everyone eagerly awaited Contessa's response.
Despite the palpable tension, Contessa remained reticent, her unyielding focus seemingly impervious to the persistent queries swirling around her.
Undaunted in her quest for information, Doctor Mother changed her approach, addressing Contessa by her given name, "Fortuna." The mere utterance of the name induced a subtle twitch in Contessa's shoulders, a nearly imperceptible reaction that hinted at the gravity of the unfolding situation.
"Fortuna," Doctor Mother pressed on, her tone now a concoction of urgency and expectation, "what are you seeing?" The weight of the escalating crisis hung heavily in the room, and Doctor Mother's question carried a profound sense of anticipation, as though the destiny of the world hinged on the elusive insights Contessa held within her enigmatic sight.
After an unending silence that seemed to stretch on indefinitely, Contessa finally shattered it with a revelation that hung in the air like a closely guarded secret. "…It is out there."
"It?" Doctor Mother echoed, the single word lingering in the room like a mysterious cipher, waiting to be unraveled.
"You're referring to something akin to Scion? Another one of its ilk?" Alexandria probed, her question sending a ripple of tension that tightened the air. Notably, David visibly tensed at the mere suggestion.
Contrary to expectations, Contessa shook her head lightly, her gaze still riveted on the unseen expanse beyond. She then uttered words that felt like a revelation veiled in mystery, "It came to Earth from that brilliant light."
The room collectively absorbed the weight of Contessa's disclosure. The gravity of her words seemed to hang in the air, leaving the assembled group suspended in a moment of profound realization. Doctor Mother, her eyes narrowing with concern, asked, "Is it responsible for the widespread affliction among parahumans?"
Contessa, her countenance still inscrutable, shifted her gaze towards Doctor Mother, her voice cutting through the air with an unwavering certainty. "Yes," she replied, the word hanging in the room like a solemn decree.
Curiosity etched across his face, David couldn't help but voice the burning question on everyone's mind. "What is this…'It''?" he asked, a note of urgency underscoring his words.
Contessa's response was measured and deliberate. "I don't know," she admitted, her eyes betraying a hint of uncertainty. "But it is out there."
The revelation lingered, a heavy fog of uncertainty settling in the room. The assembly exchanged wary glances, each member grappling with the gravity of Contessa's disclosure. The existence of an unknown entity, the architect behind the widespread affliction among parahumans, hung over them like an ominous shadow.
In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Doctor Mother leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Contessa. "Can you path it?" she inquired, her expression unchanging.
Contessa, however, simply shook her head, dispelling any optimism that might have lingered in the room. Alexandria, quick to seek clarification, asked, "Why not? You've always been able to path anyone or anything."
Contessa's response was succinct, her voice carrying the weight of a profound limitation. "It's too bright," she explained. "Dazzling, blinding. My shard cannot see through that brilliance," she said, not bothering to hide the admiration in her tone.
A collective hush descended upon the room as the heroes absorbed the gravity of Contessa's words.
Rebecca, the chief director in her dual identity, broke the silence, her voice steady despite the growing unease. "So, we're left in the dark," she mused, a touch of irony in her words.
Contessa, her gaze unwavering and determined, nodded. "Yes, we are," she affirmed, a tinge of resignation in her tone. "We must deal with it. We cannot let this new variable derail everything."
David, ever astute to subtleties, caught the nuanced tone in Contessa's words. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a blend of curiosity and suspicion. "You know where to find this thing, don't you?" he pressed, demanding answers with an intensity that hung heavy in the room.
Contessa met his gaze with an unwavering stare. "Since 36 hours ago," she began, her voice measured and deliberate, "there are certain paths that have become near invisible to me. These paths have been obscured by the same blinding light."
The revelation hung in the air, a weighty truth that seemed to intensify the gravity of their situation. The room held its breath, waiting for Contessa to unravel the implications of her cryptic statement.
Contessa continued, her words carrying a solemn weight. "These obscured paths, each one of them, shared a common denominator," she declared, her gaze scanning the faces of her attentive audience.
A collective tension settled over the room as everyone leaned in, their focus solely on Contessa. The implications of her revelation were profound, and each hero in the room felt the weight of uncertainty bearing down on them.
"All of them were connected to Brockton Bay."
o-0-o
End of chapter. Review and Criticism are welcomed.
A/N: Dear readers.
I hope you like what you read so far. I was planning to make a PHO Interludes for this fic but, sadly, after a few tries, I realized that I was simply not good enough to make PHO interludes. As such, I will leave it open if anyone wants to create PHOs of this fic, while I will be focusing on the main story.
Thank you for your attention.