We are Legion

by Korzark

A parahumans story about a new cape that can clone themselves.

6. Job Hunt

You hand a cardboard box in the truck over to another one of your bodies, and watch as it walks into the building. It was the last box that you had to drop off, so instead of going back into the truck, you walk around to the front, where a man is leaning against the front of the truck. He's smoking a cigarette, and is facing away from you, but you make sure you're loud enough in your approach that you don't startle him. He jumps and nearly drops his cigarette despite your caution.

His voice stammers as he speaks to you. "Hi. Legion. Sir. Can I help you?"

"I'm delivering the last box now," you say.

He nods, but doesn't say anything else.

"My payment," you say.

"Oh," he says. "Oh, of course. Right away, sir."

He reaches for his wallet with the same hand he's using to hold his cigarette, fumbling it and cursing when the lit end touches his skin. You wait as he apologizes and pulls out three crumpled twenty dollar bills.

You suppress a sigh as you take the money from his hands. Sixty dollars isn't a lot, but it's literally the highest paying job that you've gotten an offer for in two weeks. Every time you'd advertised yourself online, you managed to get a lot of attention, but a majority of people weren't interested in giving you jobs. You'd think that being the "hottest cape in town", according to Glory Girl would've gotten you more opportunities for a job, but all it gave you was people asking for interviews or appearances on their podcasts.

You took this job, on a whim and out of boredom, but it didn't seem like your employer had been aware of the fact that he'd be hiring a parahuman when he contacted you. Petrov, from Petrov and Son, had hired you to help out his son with a moving job while he was recovering from the flu. All for 60 dollars.

"Um I'm sorry, sir, but my dad told me that you agreed to 60 dollars. I can call him if you're not happy with it."

You look at the man, the son in Petrov and Son you assume, and wonder if your displeasure was that obvious despite your mask. "No," you say. "Sixty dollars is what we agreed on." You can't hide the sigh that comes next, no matter how hard you try. "I'm fine to go, then?" you ask.

"Of course, sir. Thank you for your hard work, sir," the young man stammers as he reaches into his pocket for another cigarette. His hands shake as he tries to light it.

You turn around and leave, with sixty dollars in your pocket.

You are Legion, and ever since you raided the ABB, you've also been bored.

You're surprised at how badly you want another job. It's not like you don't have anything else going on in your life. A combination of hanging out with Elliot and Ranger after school, jumping across rooftops, and getting beaten up multiple times in underground fighting rings all over the country is doing its job of keeping you entertained, but as more and more time passes without you doing something to earn money, the more and more unfulfilled you feel.

You feel like you should be doing something to ensure that you can grow to be powerful and affluent enough to ensure that nothing like what happened to Ranger ever happens again, but you simply haven't been given the opportunity recently. Posting your name online hasn't given you much success in finding job offers.

Suddenly, the idea hits you. Maybe you can go in person to any of the major players in Brockton Bay to simply ask if they have jobs for you. It's not a great idea, but you don't think that there's any harm in trying it.

You think about who you could possibly go to for a job, you think about the options you have for a moment before you realize that there's a clear candidate for a potential employer who would need your help and knows exactly how useful you can be, especially when your usefulness was the very thing that caused them to need help in the first place.

While you didn't exactly topple the entire ABB empire, you did cause enough damage that they're currently scrambling to regain resources and crush any of the smaller gangs who have taken their recent defeat as a sign of weakness. You would probably be a valuable asset to achieving both of those goals, for a price, of course.

But as you find yourself walking towards the mostly ruined Teahouse, you stop to consider the very real possibility that you'll be attacked on sight. Is it really worth the risk to go up to them so casually and not expect a fight?

You shake your head. Of course not.

You create a clone and cut off a small handful of hair and send him off. Satisfied with yourself, you smile. Now you won't have to worry about the risk of losing the sixty dollars you've earned today.

You are Legion, walking towards the Teahouse. You don't bother hiding in the alleyways as you walk this time. With no intention of causing a repeat of your last visit, you don't feel any need to maintain a stealthy approach.

You notice a few people staring at you, and pointing their cameras at you as you walk by. As you get closer and closer to the main area controlled by the ABB, however, people start to run away from the inevitable bloodshed you're about to cause, or so they probably think.

You ignore them.

Once you get close enough to see the Teahouse, you're surprised to see that there aren't any guards posted outside. You wonder for a moment, if the ABB have abandoned the building altogether, judging the fact that the top floors are still a smouldering mess, but as you approach the front doors, you're surprised to see something that you don't remember from your last visit.

It's an electronic panel. You expect to see a numberpad on it, but there's only one button on the interface.

You decide to ignore it for the moment, trying the door instead, but when you pull on the handles the front doors don't budge.

Shrugging, you press the button on the electronic panel.

It's not an automatic door opener like you'd hoped, but instead the sound of a ringing telephone comes from the panel. You wait patiently for the call to be picked up on the fourth ring.

There's a brief moment of silence, where all you hear is a shallow static buzzing.

You're about to walk away to try and find another method of entry, before you hear the person on the other line speak.

"Huh." The word comes out in monotone static, clearly disguised in some way, but you swear you've heard it before.

"Hello," you say, now that you know that there's someone on the other end of the line. "Legion. Mercenary for hire. I'm just doing a house call to see if you had any sort of temporary jobs that would be available for me. I'm sure you're familiar with my work."

There's a moment of silence before an eruption of static. "A bit of an upgrade from being a henchman to Uber and Leet, isn't it?"

A brief wave of confusion washes over you before you finally realize who you're talking to.

"I wasn't aware you were out of containment," you say.

"Yup!" Bakuda's voice is somehow exceedingly chipper, regardless of the monotone filter her mask gives her. "The feds are keeping it quiet because it's embarrassing for them, but the boss got me out on a heavily discounted bail. It's nice to see you again, narc."

You feel an anger rising up within you. This is the woman who embedded a bomb inside your friend's head.

"I wasn't the moron auditioning for the Slaughterhouse Nine," you say, letting your anger add some bite to your response. "Let's be honest. Me narcing on you early was the only thing saving your ass from a one way trip to the Birdcage."

"Hah." From the way that it came out as a clear word makes you assume that she's being sarcastic. Usually her laughs sound more staticky. "As if the PRT would have caught me."

"Really?" you can't stop yourself from asking. "You do realize you only just got out of prison, right?"

"I don't account for vermin getting in the way of my plans," she says. "Excuse me that a rat got caught in the way."

"Yeah," you say. "If only way there was some way to ensure that you wouldn't trust Uber and Leet, let alone any random capes they would hire, with your plans to genocide your own race in the first place. Maybe try not conducting bomb surgery in front of me next time."

When the only reply you hear is silence, you groan silently and pull your hair slightly. You hadn't intended coming here to start a fight, but you couldn't help but still be pissed off at the woman who put a bomb in your friend's head. It was simply too difficult for you to stop yourself from being as rude as you possibly could.

But you supposed you came here for a purpose. Bakuda wasn't someone you expected to answer your housecall, but you grit your teeth and continue on.

"Anyways," you say. "I'm still offering to work for you if you have something for me." You bite back at least ten insults you could've included there. "I know the ABB is currently struggling with manpower, and I'm sure you're aware of how effective I can be."

There's a brief second of silence and you're tempted to just leave, but another round of static noise comes from the speakers.

You decide not to comment about how pointlessly annoying her filter is and wait for her to actually say something.

"You know," she says. "I actually do have a job that you might be able to do. You'd be doing me a huge favour, actually. You see, when Lung broke me out of containment, he told me that he needed my help to catch an annoying little fly that he couldn't quite catch."

You roll your eyes. "Get to the point."

"Gladly!" Bakuda replies. "All I'd be asking you to do is to just kill yourself. It'll be easy!"

You decide not to bother with wasting any more words. You turn around and are about to walk away before Bakuda speaks again.

"Wait!" she says.

You turn back around. "Are you going to give me a real job offer?" you ask.

"Nah. Just wanted to ask you to do something."

"Am I being paid for it?"

"Nah. But it's pretty simple. Just take off your mask for me? I want to see your face when you realize you're pretty much dead right now."

You raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Oh didn't I mention?" she asks innocently. "That entire area in front of you? In the panel, under your feet, on the doors? Rigged with explosives. You should consider yourself special, I made it just for you! The moment the pressure plates detect someone instantly appearing out of thin air, or see someone trying to walk away without my say so they explode."

More static comes out of the panel. "Maybe you're fast enough to escape in time, and maybe you aren't. I wouldn't bet on it if I were you though. Insider information, I doubt Velocity would be able to escape the explosion range in time. So I'm gonna ask you one more time. Take off your mask and look directly into the camera for me? Pretty please? It's right above the button. Give me a good picture before you die, won't you?"

You look at the spot on the panel, right above the button. You don't see any sort of camera there, but you don't see any reason why Bakuda would lie.

"I wish I could see your distraught expression right about now," she says. "Let me give you a little lesson. Think of it as the gracious opportunity for you to be a little less retarded before you die. You don't fuck with Lung. You don't fuck with the ABB. And you certainly don't ever fuck with me."

Another loud burst of static comes out from the panel as she cackles to herself.

"Any last words, Legion?"

As she laughs at her assured victory, a small part of you can't help but feel sorry for her.

You viciously murder that part of yourself as you raise your hands and flip her the double bird.

She's annoying, a bitch, and she almost killed Ranger. She deserves no sympathy.

You hold a deep sense of regret for not being able to hear her reaction to your escape. You hope she cries.

Alas you'll never know, as your body disappears. A fair distance away, your other body lets out a gasp as you finish absorbing yourself through your hair.

You take a moment to collect yourself after the immense mental concentration you had to summon to absorb your clone, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds before you're walking again.

Maybe the PRT will be more receptive to offering you a job.

You are Legion. You were created right after your other clone was sent to the ABB. Your sixty dollars is still safe in the hands of another clone, along with your hair.

As you walk down the streets of downtown Brockton Bay, it's a familiar scene, with people pointing their cameras at you and taking pictures unprompted, but there are also many people who ignore you, likely thinking that you're just some random cosplayer. You ignore the few people that come up and ask for selfies with you. You briefly wonder if you should give out autographs for a price, but push the thought aside as you approach the PRT headquarters.

You get a few looks and a few laughs as you enter the building. As you approach the front desk, the two receptionists look up at you, they look at each other for a brief moment before one returns her gaze to her computer, only barely hiding her amused grin.

The other gives you a professional smile.

"Hello, sir. How may I help you today?" she asks.

"I'm looking for any potential mercenary contracts with the PRT," you say.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asks.

"No," you say.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you, sir," she says, still smiling.

You frown, and the other receptionist makes a small sound. You can't exactly tell, but you assume it was either a huff of annoyance or a muffled laugh.

"Can I make an appointment now?" you ask.

"I'm afraid any and all appointments must be made by email or by phone," she says. "I can provide you with the details if you'd like."

It all seems a little strange, but you suppose it might just be a product of bureaucracy. In any case, you doubt making a scene or a tantrum would benefit you in any way here. Still, you'd think that the PRT would be more eager to control any parahuman activities in Brockton Bay.

"That would be nice, thank you," you say.

The receptionist you're talking to takes out a pen and starts writing something down on the back of a business card, but out of the blue, the other receptionist snorts loudly.

You turn your attention towards her. She's trying to act like nothing happened, but she's doing a very poor job of it as her eyes dart between her computer screen, you, and something behind you. You follow her gaze and turn around to see a man in a white mask with a smiley face drawn on it. He's wearing a hoodie and jeans, and seems frozen to the spot.

It's not one of your other bodies. The receptionist snorts behind you again.

You quickly understand why these receptionists are giving you the runaround. You briefly wonder how many people you have posing as you before you decide it ultimately doesn't matter. You open your mouth to insist that you're the original Legion before you think better of it. Why say when you can show?

Another version of you instantly appears behind you, walking up to the man in the mask. He flinches back as you approach him.

The receptionists have similarly stopped laughing and smiling and are now looking at you with an expression of shock.

"Do I still need an appointment?" you ask.

The receptionist rapidly shakes her head. "We'll have someone down right away, sir."

"Thanks," you say, as your other clone approaches the man in the mask.

"Hey," you say. "You know you need to pay royalties if you want to use my image, right?"

"Huh? Really?" he asks. It's a deep voice. Probably a fully grown adult.

"Maybe," you say. You're not sure if that's something you can actually enforce, but maybe you'll look into it later. You open your mouth to say something else, but you realize that you're not exactly sure how you want to deal with it. Should you even care if random people are dressing up as you?

"Anyways, do you know what putting on that mask means?" you ask. You look him over for a moment. He's not quite shivering in fear, but he is slightly backed away from you, as if he's ready to flinch away or run at a moment's notice.

"What?" he says.

You're not sure if he's asking you to clarify or if he's just generally confused but you continue anyways.

"I'm the most well known cape in Brockton Bay right now," you say. You're not sure if that's still true. "And I'm sure if you're dressed up like me, you're well aware why. I saved the city and attacked the ABB on my own. Isn't that right?"

Though you can't see behind his mask, the way that he tilts his head sideways suggests he's confused.

"But you didn't do it on your own?" he asks more than says.

You shrug. "The PRT did help me with the hostage situation, but the ABB attack was all me. I assume you saw the videos, right?"

"But you weren't alone," the man says, almost insistently.

Behind your mask you frown. "Excuse me?" you ask.

"You're part of an organization aren't you?" he says more than asks.

"What?" you ask genuinely confused. "No. Didn't you just see me clone myself?"

The man doesn't seem to have a response for that.

You sigh and shake your head. "Anyways, the reason I brought up the ABB wasn't because I was bragging. I mentioned it because I was responsible for it and if you're wearing that mask, the ABB will assume that you're responsible for it too."

The man's shoulders slump as he faces towards you. You watch as he dejectedly reaches up and pulls his mask down. He looks like a typical middle-aged salaryman with a receding hairline. He leaves the building without turning around.

As you watch him leave, your other body notices a familiar face approaching you, though you suppose you've technically never actually seen his face.

"Legion," he says.

"Armsmaster," you reply. You notice a short woman walking alongside him, positioned slightly in front of him. You nod respectfully to her, knowing to be polite.

The woman doesn't speak until she gets close enough to shake hands with you. She doesn't offer her hand so you don't offer yours.

"It is nice to meet you, Legion. My name is Emily Piggot, Director of the Brockton Bay Division of the Parahuman Response Team," she says. "I understand that you've come here to discuss a business proposal of some sorts?"

You nod. "I'm looking to find work on a contractual basis."

Emily squints at you and nods.

"We can discuss this in one of our conference rooms," she says. "Will you be requiring accommodations for both of you?"

"No," you say, reaching out to touch your clone and absorb him. Though you notice a few people in the lobby flinching or gasping when you do, neither Emily nor Armsmaster react in any way.

Emily nods curtly, turning around and expecting you to follow. No words are exchanged between the three of you as you enter the elevator.

You follow the two to a small conference room. It would seat about twelve people or so.

"Please sit," Emily says, motioning to the table.

You take a seat wordlessly, and Emily takes a seat across from you. Armsmaster remains standing behind her.

You wait for anyone to say anything, but Emily only stares intensely at you, with her fingers steepled under her chin.

You wait further still.

Eventually Emily speaks.

"Legion," she says. "I will be frank with you, and I hope you will do the same with me. Do you believe that you would be able to fight your way out of this building if every parahuman under the employ of the PRT were to try and stop you?"

You raise an eyebrow under your mask. For a moment you consider whether you should tell the truth or not. In the end you decide to go for a half-truth.

"It's likely," you say.

You don't know if you imagine the slightly deeper frown on Armsmaster's face. From what you've seen already, it seems like he's permanently frowning regardless, but you're not sure if he seemed more relaxed before.

Emily stays silent for another moment before nodding. "Then I suppose it won't hurt to say that this room is being watched by over half the current members of the Brockton Bay Protectorate and Wards, with explicit orders to attempt to arrest you if you do not accept membership to either program, depending on your age. The room is also locked, but the windows are regular glass so I assume that the lock itself wouldn't deter your escape much."

Armsmaster flinches at that and turns to face Emily, though he doesn't say anything.

You frown, uncertain of why she's telling you this. "Thank you for telling me this," you say.

"It's not a problem," she says. "Now I am willing to discuss contract work with you, if you do not immediately want to leave with that knowledge in mind."

"What jobs would you have for me?" you ask.

"We would like you to investigate a parahuman named Storage."

You suddenly feel very grateful that you're not wearing the backpack that you recently bought from him. You ponder whether to accept the mission, since it would cut you off from accessing a very convenient item, but you decide there's no harm in hearing more details.

"What would you have me do, specifically?" you ask.

"Storage is a Tinker who specializes in creating items that either compress or expand space. He uses this ability to create small boxes that have a much larger capacity than their size would suggest. We believe he's currently working with several gangs by supplying them with these items, allowing them to grow in power by smuggling drugs and weapons into the Brockton Bay area.

"Your job would involve finding any details on any gang's connection to Storage, or any information on Storage himself. We would require you to take a more discrete approach than your attack on the ABB headquarters. The PRT will not be associated with wanton destruction. You will not be exempted from any criminal charges you may accumulate during this contact period."

You briefly wonder if they knew about the ABB deaths you've caused. You realize you're not actually sure if you've actually caused any deaths, but Oni Lee's grenade had caused a lot of damage. In either case, you weren't about to offer any information on what you may or may not have already done.

"Would I have any help?" you ask. It seems so far you're only being limited in what you can do. Having access to PRT resources would be nice, even though you doubt it's a possibility.

"We can provide you with more information on Storage, should you accept," Emily says. "But we will not be providing you with any further assistance or resources. Not unless you are officially a part of the PRT."

You nod, not because you like what you hear, but you can understand what they mean. They don't want to be associated with you, just as much as you don't want to be a part of their team.

Emily doesn't continue to talk, staring at you and simply waiting for you to speak. Armsmaster doesn't seemed to be inclined to say anything either, standing there with his arms crossed and his face pointed in your direction, though you can't say for sure whether he's actually looking at you.

You frown behind your mask. Honestly, if this was related to any other Parahuman, you likely would have been fine with getting them arrested by the PRT, but the fact was that you were a client of Storage, and if he was in jail, then you wouldn't have access to the items he could create and maintain.

"Can I ask what you would be doing with the information I provide?" you ask.

You get an intense glare in response, but eventually Emily nods. "Any information you provide will be used to locate his whereabouts or to provide us an opportunity to approach him in person. We intend to offer Storage an opportunity for employment with the PRT. His services would be used to better the safety of all the citizens within Brockton Bay, by granting our local heroes and staff access to his technology."

You don't miss the implication. "Exclusive access, I'm guessing."

"Most likely," she says.

"And if he refuses?" you ask.

"I sincerely doubt he would," she replies, her voice giving away no trace of doubt.

You believe her, or at least you believe that she feels confident enough to consider it a fact. She doesn't seem interested in explaining why.

"That may be a conflict of interest, Emily," you say. "I would want to have regular access to Storage's services."

Though the Director hasn't smiled once since you've met her, you quickly realize that the expression that you assumed was a frown before was just a particularly sour-looking neutral expression.

Her lips twist downwards, as she ponders your question.

"Fine," she says. "As long as you remain in relatively good standing, you will have access to Storage's services during his employment with the PRT. I also insist that you refer to me as Director Piggot, or simply Piggot."

You nod as you think about what she said. You remember what she and Glory Girl both said.

"If you're going to try and arrest me after this meeting, does that mean I'm not in good standing now, Director?"

Armsmaster and Piggot both twitch.

"I'm willing to make exceptions as long as you remain in good enough standing to be considered employable by the PRT," Piggot says.

That's still very vague, but you're not sure if you care enough to push.

"Can this meeting be recorded, with a copy given to me?" you ask. Ideally, you would have a lawyer in the room with you, but the whole point of trying to go to the PRT in the first place was to try and stave off your boredom, and waiting around and discussing legalese didn't sound like so much of a good time.

"Fine," Piggot says, nodding towards Armsmaster.

"Are you sure, Director?" he asks.

"Yes," she says. Armsmaster nods and a red light shines from a camera in the corner of the room.

"This meeting is being recorded, now," he said. "You will be provided with a copy of it if you choose to accept the terms provided. If you do not accept our terms, it will be deleted."

You nod. "Sounds good enough for me."

Piggot repeats the entire conversation back to you as you nod along. At the end of her list of things that she's already told you, she asks you if you'll accept the contract.

"What am I being paid?" you ask.

"Three thousand dollars upon completion."

A small part of you is reacts negatively to the fact that you won't be getting half upfront, but you suppose you do have a recording to rely on.

"Deal," you say.

Piggot nods. "Armsmaster?" she says. "Stop the recording and provide Legion with a copy."

"I'd prefer a digital copy, please," you say. If you really have to cloneshift or hairport out, you won't be taking anything with you.

Piggot regards you for a moment before nodding. "That will be fine. Where would you like it sent?" she asks.

You give her your email address and Armsmaster claims that he's sent it. Using another one of your clones, one of the ones currently in Texas, you quickly scan over the email and go through the file before thanking the both of them.

"Now, could you please turn off the recording, Armsmaster?" she asks.

You raise an eyebrow behind your mask. "May I ask why?

"The information we are about to give you is confidential," she says. "And not something that would have any purpose legally. We can record further details if we agree on their importance to your safety, but we will not be risking any unnecessary exposure on confidential PRT intel."

That's fair enough, you suppose.

"That's fine then," you say. "What information should I be aware of for this mission?"

Unlike your mission with Tattletale, Piggot seems to be fine with speaking from memory rather than providing you with a visual aid. Or perhaps she just doesn't want to give you the possibility of physically stealing classified intel.

"Firstly, Storage's involvement in the gang scene is a potential source of great danger within Brockton Bay, but with his relatively minor actions in the scene, the PRT cannot afford to divert too many resources to him, in light of other dangers."

"What other dangers?" you ask.

"You aren't entitled to the specifics," Piggot replies easily. "For now, all you should be concerned about is the potential presence of a parahuman named Red Mettle."

"Who's that?" you can't help but ask.

Instead of answering your question, Piggot turns to her side. "Armsmaster?" she says.

Armsmaster starts to speak immediately. "Red Mettle and Storage are both tinkers, with the specialty of manipulating space with their tinkertech. We believe that Storage is an alternate identity for Red Mettle, who the PRT had previously assumed to be dead. Even if Storage and Red Mettle are not one and the same, their similarities in powers would give Storage a similar threat rating, if Storage chooses to utilize his tinkertech offensively."

"When Red Mettle was active, over ten years ago, he was notorious for the collateral damage he caused. While his items all utilize a similar ability to compress or expand space, he would use this ability in frightening ways. The tool he used most often was a miniscule container, the size of a thumb, with several hundreds or even thousands of gallons of air compressed into it, creating a pseudo-psi rating that could potentially reach the millions or further."

It doesn't sound too dangerous to you, but then again, you've never been one to pay attention to physics class.

"How bad is it?" you ask. "I'd prefer if you spell it out so I'm not misinterpreting or guessing anything, if he's really that dangerous."

"While he hasn't done it before, the PRT speculates that he has the capability to create bombs with enough destructive power to destroy several city blocks."

"Ah," is your only response.

"Red Mettle is designated with a threat rating of Tinker 7," he continues. "With a tentative rating of 9 if his mentality changes and he decides to utilize his tinkertech to its maximum destructive potential. Even during his prime days, he would keep damage to a minimum, though that does not mean he hasn't taken lives."

This information should worry you more, if you are truly living in a city that houses a supervillain that could blow it up on a whim, but the complete calm that Armsmaster and Piggot seem to be rooted in complete confidence, not that you expect political figures like them to show their true emotions.

You briefly wonder if you should take the initiative and kill the supervillain before he can do any harm. Your family would perish if a nuke hit Brockton Bay, and you're not comfortable with leaving their safety dependent on the mentality of a supervillain, even if you know you would survive it as your clones are currently living in other cities. As that thought crosses your mind, you realize why they're even giving you this mission in the first place.

The fact that they're sending you out on a dangerous mission as expendable fodder actually makes you feel better about the whole situation. That explains why they're being so forthright with you, and reduces the chance of there being some sort of hidden plot going on in the background of this request.

"Okay," you say. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"We have a list of Red Mettle's known devices and their capabilities," Armsmaster says.

"Alright," you say. "I assume you're not allowed to email that info to me?"

"I can," Armsmaster says, surprising you slightly. "Would you like it sent to the same email address as before?"

"Yeah," you say. You can't stop yourself from asking another question. "I thought all of this was confidential?"

"The information presented to you in this meeting is indeed confidential, but his capabilities are public knowledge," Armsmaster replies.

"Ah," you say, a little less surprised by the sudden generosity. "Then is there anything else?"

"None that we can provide you with," Piggot says. You're not sure if she's telling the truth or if she's just posturing by implying they have more.

You stand up. You're still not sure about whether it's considered polite to offer to shake hands when you're dealing with parahumans, but neither Armsmaster nor Piggot offer a hand so you simply nod to them.

"Well then, I'm going to walk out of here now," you say. "I assume you were bluffing when you said you would try to arrest me?"

They make no reaction, so you shrug and walk towards the door.

"Same way I came in?" you ask.

"I'll be escorting you," Armsmaster says gruffly as he finally moves from his position standing behind Piggot. You hold the door open, letting him move past you and lead the way.

You don't exchange any words as you take the elevator down and Armsmaster leads you through the lobby, all the way to the revolving doors that lead out of the building.

Even before you exit the building, you're calling Tattletale using one of your other clones.

The phone rings three times before it's picked up.

"Hey Smiley," Tattletale says. "What's up? How's the new toy treating you?"

You freeze for a second, wondering if Tattletale somehow knew about the strange interaction that your power seemed to have with your new piece of tinkertech, but you quickly decide she was being polite.

"It's working well." Beyond any expectations you'd had for it, though that remained unsaid.

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't get you what you wanted with that whole linking between blackboxes thing."

"It's not your fault, Storage said it was impossible. But enough about that," you say, wanting to get off the topic as quickly as you could. You still don't know what Tattletale's power does, but you doubt that talking more about the blackbox was a good idea, regardless. "I wanted to cash in that favour of mine," you say.

"Oh really, now?" Tattletale says, with more curiosity than surprise.

"Yeah," you say. "Would you be willing to give me more information on Storage?"

"I would," Tattletale says. "Smiley, do you plan to use your favour on something like that?"

You shrug. "I guess so," you say.

"I mean, I suppose I won't refuse you on this, but I will say I'm a little insulted if you think this is all a favour from me is worth," Tattletale says. Her casual tone says she's joking, but you don't know her quite well enough to be sure. "Storage is an annoying guy to deal with directly, but it's not like he's completely closed off to the idea of new customers. I'd only really charge about two grand to directly connect you to him. "

You consider the clear offer.

"Then in that case, would it be okay if I kept my favour and paid you two grand?" you ask, just to be sure that you're not just assuming.

"Sure thing," Tattletale says. "A girl's got to keep herself fed. So what did you want to know?"

You sincerely doubt any situation where she could go broke, but you don't bother to mention that.

"Can you just give me any information on where his headquarters might be?"

Tattletale gasps. "Smiley," she says dramatically. "Is this another raid? Are you cheating on me for another employer?"

She laughs before you have a chance to think of a reply.

"Don't worry. I'm not offended," she says.

You nod, though you're a little confused. You don't know why you would ever assume that she was offended by you taking another job.

"That's good to hear," you say.

Tattletale hums. "Alright, then. Well, I do actually know where the guy lives. Or at the very least, where his 'storefront' is. It's located in a residential area, I sincerely doubt that a guy like him would be dumb enough to work where he lives, seeing as he's more than likely a seasoned veteran."

At this point, Tattletale's ability to know exactly what you're thinking about is starting to surprise you less and less.

"So he is Red Mettle, then?" you ask.

"Their power sets are identical," she responds, not showing any surprise at your reference to the name. "The PRT eggheads might not be admitting that they're certain about it, but they're really just covering their own asses in the 0.01% chance that it's not him."

"I see," you say. "So what's the address?"

When Tattletale tells you his address, you blink a few times in confusion.

"Are you sure?" you ask.

"Yeah. You need me to repeat it?" Tattletale asks.

You don't. It's not difficult to remember. After all, it's your address.

"No," you say, right before you hang up the phone.

You don't know where you're going, but you move anyways, wandering mindlessly down the streets as all of your bodies and all of your brains start to spin with the new knowledge that you have.

You should have seen it by now. The strange people that you saw waiting for Uncle Rusty, Storage having the same address as you. Could Uncle Rusty really be Storage? You wrack your memory in a struggle to remember what Uncle Rusty had been doing ten years ago, when Red Mettle was... still... active.

Red Mettle.

Red Metal.

Rust?

God damnit, Uncle Rusty.

Back at home, Jay stands up quickly, causing Little J to yelp as her legs are launched away from their resting spot on your arm.

"Sorry Little J," you say in response to her confused expression. "I just thought of something I need to ask Uncle Rusty about."

"Okay?" she asked, still more confused than anything else.

You smile and nod before walking over to Uncle Rusty's door and knocking twice on it.

Because of his strange scheduling habits, it's always possible that he's asleep, but he's always told you that you were welcome to wake him up if you ever needed him. You wait about a minute before you hear a response from inside.

"James? Jessie? Did you need something?" Uncle Rusty asks through the door.

"Yeah, it's James," you say. It's a little odd to refer to yourself like that, since Uncle Rusty's really the only person to refer to you with your full name. "Can we talk?"

"Talk?" Uncle Rusty says, as if it's an entirely foreign concept to him. "Talk?" he repeats again, as if just making sure. "Oh yes, of course. Just. Can you wait a little bit? I just need to do a little something."

"Sure thing, Uncle Rusty," you say.

You stay standing silently in your spot for over ten minutes before Uncle Rusty pushes himself out of his room. From the brief glance you get inside his room, it's similar to how it looked like before. Just a large pile of garbage. Uncle Rusty almost seems to be struggling to open his door with how much stuff is piled up against it, but when you try to help, he insists he's got it. Eventually, he manages to make a large enough gap for him to squeeze himself through.

"James," he says, smiling awkwardly at you. "Did you want to ask something?" he asks, as if he's not sure.

"Yeah," you say, but when you open your mouth to ask, you think about what exactly it is that you're doing. After a moment of consideration, you lean closer towards Uncle Rusty so you can whisper in his ear without Little J hearing.

"Oh? Oh, um okay," Uncle Rusty says. You feel his arms wrapping around your shoulders and patting your back as he misunderstands why you leant in.

While it's nice, and you don't feel the need to correct him and have him pull away from the impromptu hug, you do still need to ask him your question.

"Uncle Rusty," you whisper. "Are you Storage and/or Red Mettle?"

His long untrimmed nails dig into your back.

"What?!" he shrieks.

You hear a sound coming from the direction of the living room and you look around to see Little J standing at the end of the short hallway, giving you an incredibly alarmed and confused look.

"Ummm," she says.

"It's okay, Little J," you say, with a smile.

"Uh, yes. Jessie. Everything is okay. Your brother just. He just said something that surprised me," Uncle Rusty says, much less convincingly.

"Huh? What was it?" Little J asks.

"Nothing!" Uncle Rusty shrieks again.

You and Little J both stare at him for a second, before you turn to Little J. "I'll tell you later, okay?"

She doesn't seem too satisfied by the lack of explanation, but whether it's because it's you saying it or it's because this isn't nearly the strangest thing that Uncle Rusty has done, she shrugs and walks away.

"James," Uncle Rusty says, looking directly into your eyes. You stare back at him and he looks away. "I think you're very mistaken about something? Who's Storage? Who's Red Mettle? I certainly wouldn't know. How could I be a superv-"

You raise your finger to your lips, motioning towards where Little J was still sitting.

Uncle Rusty takes a second to register what you mean before biting his lip.

"Let's talk inside my room," he says. "Get your shoes."

You're a bit surprised at the offer, considering that you've never stepped foot inside before, and confused about why you would need to get your shoes, but as soon as you return with them in hand, Uncle Rusty opens his door wide enough for you to pass through and you understand.

There is literally nowhere to stand without stepping on something. The room is covered in metal and glass panels, electronics, clothes, and toys for some reason. Covering one of the windows, which are both boarded up with black construction paper, a large king-sized bed is leaning against the wall. Other large pieces of furniture line the room, but there isn't nearly enough space for any of them to be usable.

You push aside a small pile of batteries with your foot to clear enough space for you to stand on one foot. You rest your other foot on a small pile of sturdy looking metal panelling, but don't put any weight on it.

Uncle Rusty walks past you, carelessly stepping on his possessions as he makes his way to a swivel chair, which he kneels on top of.

Uncle Rusty takes a deep breath and looks up at you.

"I'm not a supervillain, James. I don't know what made you think that, but I'm just your uncle. Old Uncle Rusty, normal as can be."

You give him an awkward smile. "I never mentioned Storage and Red Mettle were supervillains, Uncle Rusty," you say.

Uncle Rusty's mouth gapes open. It opens and closes twice before Uncle Rusty puts his head down.

"How'd you know?" he asks you.

"It's alright, Uncle Rusty. It's not like I mind or anything," you say. He sounds so dejected that you can't help but stammer a little bit as you say it. Whatever reaction you expected from him, this utter despair was not it.

He looks up at you. "Really?" he asks. "But I'm a murderer."

You shrug. "Me too," you say. "Well, maybe not, and it technically wasn't me who did it, but I think a few guys are dead because of me."

Uncle Rusty's eyes widen at you, but quickly turns into a glare.

"James," he says harshly. "Don't joke around like that."

It's the first time you've seen him so intense, that you can't help but flinch a little. "I'm not," you say.

Uncle Rusty's mouth twists into a frown and he shakes his head.

"I can't think like this," he says. "Feeling too claustrophobic. Stay there for a second, and don't move a muscle. I don't want you getting hurt."

You don't quite understand what he's about to do, but you listen, just watching as Uncle Rusty walks onto his desk and stands at his full height. You're reminded that he's possibly taller than you, as he reaches up and pushes his hand against a metal panel on the ceiling that you hadn't noticed before.

Instantly, you're standing on solid ground, rather than on a pile of garbage. You look around you, wide-eyed, as you observe the scene around you. Instead of the small, cramped room that you were previously in, lit by a single dim lamp, you are standing in a large clearing, bathed in warm sunlight. You look up, seeing nothing, but light shines down upon you as you struggle to understand what you're looking at.

The floor you stand on is wooden, like the floor of the apartment you had been in previously, but beyond the square of wood floor that you're standing on now, beyond that, the world is covered by lush gardens, with a stream that comes from nowhere and leads to nowhere cutting through the existing world.

"Explain," Uncle Rusty says, pulling you out of your thoughts. He's looking at you intensely, and for the first time in a while, you notice how straight and confident his posture is. It's still him, skinny body and all, but he looks like an entirely different person. "Are you in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt you? Did you fall in with the wrong crowd?" His eyes widen and instantly, his confident expression shatters. "Oh no, that's it isn't it? Oh no. Oh no. I'm so sorry. I should've stopped you. I should've been there for you!"

You're a little taken aback. "Uh, no. I'm fine, Uncle Rusty."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say. "Better than ever, actually."

"Oh," he says. "Oh," he says again, this time with a relieved sigh. "I thought I was going to have to kill someone again. I mean, I would for you, but I'm glad I don't have to. Right?"

"Yeah?" you say.

"Ah fuck. I'm sorry I said that. I know it's weird. J would always scold me for that, but I..."

He trails off, but you only smile at Uncle Rusty's concern and the mention of your father, Jason, known to most people as just J. You won't ever pretend that remembering him is a bad thing.

"Nah, I get it. I'd do the same for you. I have powers, by the way. I'm Legion."

"What?!" This time he shouts it, rather than shrieking it. You have to admit that it sounds nicer, much more confident, but Uncle Rusty still looks incredibly distressed. "Oh James. You triggered?" he asks you.

With how despaired he looks, you're almost tempted to lie, but you never could.

"Yeah," you shrug, trying to act casual about it.

It doesn't seem to work, as Uncle Rusty rushes up to you and grabs you in a tight hug. His arms are incredibly bony and it's honestly a little bit uncomfortable, at least physically, but it's still quite nice.

"I'm okay," you say, patting him on the back.

Whether he believes you or not, he doesn't say anything, just holding you in silence. You're not sure whether he's doing it to comfort you or himself, but you don't mind either way.

He lets you go after a while, but keeps his hands on your shoulders, using them almost as support as he hangs his head and sighs.

"I won't force you to talk about it," he says. "But if you ever want to talk, I know how bad it can be."

"Sure thing, Uncle Rusty," you say. You're not sure if you'll ever reveal that you've literally died, if this is the reaction he had to finding out that you had an unknown trigger event, but it seems to give him at least a little bit of peace of mind as he looks up at you with a shaky smile.

"Good," he says. "Now I think I should be scolding you for saying that you'd kill someone for me, but honestly, I'm already emotionally exhausted," he says, hopping off of his chair and walking away. "Remind me to talk to you about that casual murdering thing later?"

You're not quite sure you'll remember, but you shrug. "I'll try," you say, giving no promises.

"And also," he says, giving you a sheepish look. "What did you mean by that last thing you said? Sorry. I'm not quite caught up with the current slang these days. Legion, was it? What's that?"

You stare at him. "That's my cape name," you say.

"Oh," he says. "That's nice?"

"I'm pretty famous," you say, before you realize something. "You made a piece of tinker tech for me."

"Really?" he asks, genuinely confused. "When was that?"

"About a week ago. It was a backpack?" you say, trying to jog his memory.

"Oh! That was for you? You know Tattletale, then?"

"Yeah, I've had a job with her before and she owes me a favour. Mercenary," you add, as an explanation. "Speaking of which, I actually need to talk to you about something else."

Uncle Rusty doesn't seem to be too surprised by your proclamation of being a mercenary, simply nodding along to it.

"I recently got a job contract with the PRT," you say, and immediately you see his face twist up into a grimace. You can't help but let out a short bark of laughter at the instant reaction. "Bad blood?" you ask.

"I was a supervillain, James. You know that," he says.

"Fair," you say, shrugging. "Anyways, I got a job with them to track you down and put you in contact with them. Obviously, I didn't realize that you were Storage until pretty recently. Oh, by the way, why does every one of your contacts know where you live?"

"Not everyone," Uncle Rusty says, shaking his head. "Just my distributor and anyone who works under him. So, what does the PRT want with me?"

You file the information that Uncle Rusty has an distributor in the back of your mind and the fact that Tattletale is apparently working under someone, before answering his question.

"They want to hire you."

When Uncle Rusty's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, you pause to let him speak.

"Really? And they know I was Red Mettle?" he asks, utter confusion in his voice.

You shrug. "They suspect it."

"Then why the hell would they offer me a job?"

"Beats me, but they're pretty convinced that you'll take it."

Uncle Rusty's confused expression immediately fades. "Ah. They're going to threaten me with the Birdcage. The PRT never changes."

It's only the amused expression on his face that stops you from feeling any anger towards the PRT.

"You really think so?" you ask, mirroring his casual reaction.

"Yeah," he replies easily. "I've done some fucked up shit before."

You nod. You don't know the extent of what he's done, but you'll take his word for it.

"So, I assume you don't want to talk to them," you say. "I'll cancel the contract."

"Wait, James," he says. "What about your rep?"

You give him a look. "I'm not sacrificing you to the PRT for rep."

He pauses for a moment before shrugging. "Well, you wouldn't be sacrificing anything, really. I'm not going to cuff myself and march into the PRT without a plan. They just wanted to contact me, right?"

You briefly recall what Piggot specifically asked of you, and you shake your head. "They wanted a location or at least an opportunity to approach you in person."

He doesn't seem too concerned, strangely. "Did they specify a location? Do I have to walk into the PRT HQ?"

"They didn't say anything like that."

Uncle Rusty smiles. "Then it's fine. Just give me a week and I can meet up with them in a neutral location." He pauses for a second. "Actually, make that two weeks. I don't want to kick you or Jessie out of the condo, so I'd only be working while you're in school."

"What do you plan to do?" you ask.

"Something to equalize the field," Uncle Rusty says with a smile. "I can't have negotiations with the PRT if they have a knife to my throat, not unless I've got one to theirs."

"You think I could help you out with whatever your plan is?" you ask. "I literally cannot be captured if I'm prepared."

Uncle Rusty raises an eyebrow. "Remind me what your power was, again?" he says.

Once again, you're a little surprised that he's never heard of you, but you oblige him by cloning yourself in front of him.

He blinks and nods. "Cool," he says. "Which one's the real you?"

"Both," you say simultaneously. "Also, there's a bunch of versions of me all around Brockton Bay and the country in general."

"The range is that far?" he asks. You feel a sense of pride when you realise how impressed he is.

"Yeah. I'm pretty strong too. I infiltrated and humiliated the ABB a bit more than a week ago," you say, unable to stop yourself from bragging at least a little bit.

"What's the ABB?" Uncle Rusty asks.

"The Asian Bad Boys. They're the ones that kidnapped Ranger."

"Oh. That's a stupid name."

You shrug. "Yeah."

Uncle Rusty shakes his head. "Back when I was caping, names were pretty important."

"This coming from a guy who named himself Storage?" you ask, with a smile.

Uncle Rusty casually bats you on the shoulder. "It doesn't count since I'm not a cape anymore, James. I'm just a man who can make useful items for the real capes to use. Which is why I won't be joining the PRT as their newest action figure."

"Why bother negotiating with them in the first place, then? I'm serious when I say that I'd gladly sacrifice any sort of rep to help you out. If you're planning to turn them down anyways, I could just tell them I couldn't find you or something."

"I didn't say I was turning them down," Uncle Rusty says. "Back when I was active, I'd always heard that the Brockton Bay PRT was filled with hardasses who refused to ever negotiate with villains or mercenaries, no matter the situation, but if they're willing to hire a contractor like you, then maybe they'd be willing to give me a similar deal, as long as I can provide a worse alternative."

Uncle Rusty pauses for a second.

"Wait a second... Actually, I might need to talk to someone about that first."

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"My distributor. I have an exclusive contract with him for now, but I think I can negotiate my way out of it," he says, shrugging. "He seems like a reasonable enough man, but his schedule's pretty busy."

"Anyways," you say. "But back to my original question. Is there any way I can help out with your plan?"

Uncle Rusty seems to consider the question for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I can handle myself, and it would probably be better if you didn't have any association with me, aside from the gear I make for you," he says with a smile. "All you need to do is let the PRT know where to find me after I get everything ready."

It doesn't make you happy to hear that you can't help, but you won't argue with it. One thing you are willing to argue about however, is something that was more implied than said.

"Uncle Rusty," you say firmly, crossing your arms. "Are you planning to give me shit for free?"

"Absolutely," he says, crossing his arms to mirror you and giving you a hard stare, as if challenging you to deny him. "I'm not good at normal life things, but I know how capes think, and I know you'll want the stuff I can give you."

"Uncle Rusty," you say. "Your stuff costs thousands of dollars to buy. I'm not going to steal thousands of dollars of gear from you."

"It's not stealing, James," he says firmly. "I'm spoiling you. Like an uncle should."

You would never have described Uncle Rusty as being stubborn or strong-willed before now, but with his arms crossed in front of him, with his posture straightened enough that you don't have to look down to meet his eyes, with a cocky grin that makes him look more youthful and happy than you'd ever seen him before, and with his entire body lit with the warm glow of the unseen sun above, you can't bring yourself to argue with him.

"Fine," you say, causing him to grin from ear to ear. "But I'm warning you that I'm spending the money anyways to spoil Little J."

"That's more than fine by me," he says, holding out a hand.

You take it and shake it, as if you're engaging in some sort of business deal.

Uncle Rusty lets out a deep laugh, and claps a hand against your shoulder. "Speaking of Jessie, why don't we get out of this stuffy old room so she doesn't worry."

You nod as Uncle Rusty directs you to stand on top of a chair. "By the way, you think we should have a cover story ready for her? You were kind of freaking out before we went into your room."

"Oh yeah. Got any ideas?" he asks, as he stands on his desk and reaches up to place a hand on a metal panel that seemed to be floating in the air, around where it had been attached to the ceiling in his original room. Unlike the activation of whatever the device was, where the expansion of space had been instantaneous, the deactivation was much slower, with the unseen walls closing and the objects on the floor moving closer to you much slower. It's honestly a little bit terrifying, but you trust in Uncle Rusty to not compress you into a cube of garbage.

"Nothing that comes to mind," you admit. "How about you?"

"Well, I'll admit I was pretty freaked out, so the lie has to match." Uncle Rusty grins mischievously. "How about we say you knocked a girl up?"

"Uncle Rusty!" you say, with a laugh.

"Fine, fine. We can say that you think you knocked a girl up. Big difference."

"Little J's eleven! Let's just say I failed a science exam or something."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Eh, works for me anyways. By the way, is monopoly still a thing that kids like to play?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Is it something that anyone ever liked to play?"

Uncle Rusty laughs. "Fair enough. I'm sure we can find something else in this pile of collectibles, probably should've searched for something before I pushed it all into a pile of shit, but if there isn't some sort of three player game that we can play together, I'm joining the PRT as a full-time superhero."

-Interlude-

He was Rusty. He used to be Red Metal, but those days were long gone. He supposed he could call himself Storage, since that's what his clients referred to him as, but that was never supposed to be a name. Just a description of what he sold.

So he supposed he didn't really have a cape name anymore. He was just Rusty, both in name and in his skills, but despite the fact that the muscles in his hands ached from the dexterous feats that he needed to achieve in order to create his tech, he couldn't have felt more alive.

It was 10:25 AM in real life, but in his box world, it was nighttime. Though his immediate surroundings were lit up by a powerful lightbulb that he'd bought specifically for this purpose, the world around him was bathed in a pale light shining down from a moon he could not see. He had set up a large tent around him, in anticipation of any possible rainfall. It hadn't rained for the last week that he'd been working on his gear, but it was better to be prepared than not. Plus, it was nearing the peak of summertime in his world, and any hint of shade during the day was a welcome presence.

Laid out on a table in front of him, sat a variety of tools, metals, and parts. He was creating a set of eight Nodes and a single large Box in preparation for his meeting with the PRT and for the first time in a while, he was tinkering with a wide smile on his face. The shivers and shakes he got weren't of nervousness, but of excitement, and they only happened whenever he wasn't touching his tools, out of eagerness to return to his work as fast as possible.

For the first time in a while, he wasn't afraid that his constant shaking would end up in an implosion of space that would destroy both him and his condominium.

For the first time in a while, he was having fun.

During his days as Red Metal, he would go out of his way to create strange and new versions of his design, rather than just focusing on increasing efficiency, capacity, or safety. Right now, Rusty wasn't even trying anything new, simply going back to one of his old designs, one that was similar to the Box that powered his world right now, but it comforted him like an old friend.

He didn't know if that should have scared him. He wasn't scared, and he didn't know if that should have scared him even more.

Should he have been scared? Scared of reverting to Red Metal? Scared that his nephew would become just like him? Scared about his upcoming meeting with the PRT?

He chuckled at the last thought, which really told him how much of a good mood he was in. He never laughed to himself.

Rusty focused on creating his Box. It had been a week since he'd started, and he'd expected to need two weeks at the very least, especially considering how long ago he'd created something that wasn't a Blackbox, but he was surprised to find that he was nearly done. Of course, he could create more Nodes to increase the stability and safety of the Box, but if he was being honest, eight Nodes was probably more than enough anyways. He could probably finish his project before James and Jessie got home from school.

The thought of his nephew and niece hurt his face from how unused he was to smiling so wide.

The last week had been nice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually sat down to eat dinner with the kids. He hadn't known that Jessie was so smart! She really took after her father in that department, though he didn't quite know where the energy came from. Her mother he supposed, though he didn't really know her well enough to make a connection. What was her name again? Mary?

Ah whatever. It didn't really matter in the end. He hadn't had to kill her for breaking Jay's heart, so she was alright in his books.

He briefly wondered what fun activity they could do together when James and Jessie came home from school, when he realized that he was finished with his work. He lifted his newest box up into the air, flipping it around to see if there were any obvious flaws to it. When he saw none, he placed it down on the table and stood on his desk to touch the floating metal Box that sustained his current world.

He deactivated his Box slowly, letting the tent shrink around him and his possessions converge to a smaller spot at a speed that wouldn't send them flying towards him and crushing him in the process. Once he deactivated it completely, he grabbed the newest Box, as well as his Nodes, and brought them out into the condo.

He left two of his nodes in his room, but spread out to the furthest corners of his condo for the other six nodes, he didn't optimize the space between them as well as he could, since that would require him to go into his nephew and niece's rooms, and he refused to invade their privacy.

After double-checking and triple-checking that the door to the condo was locked, Rusty set his Box down and activated his new world.

Immediately, the entire world expanded around him. Unlike the world that his other Box linked to, which at least had the light of the moon shining down on him, he was plunged into complete darkness as soon as he activated the Box. Prepared for the possibility, Rusty reached into his pocket and flicked on a flashlight.

Though he'd already suspected it from the cool and damp air around him, he was delighted to find that the world around him looked like the interior of a cavern system. Ultimately it didn't matter what sort of environment he found himself in, but for the purposes of intimidation, it made a good showing.

Rusty got to work immediately, swiping the invisible UI on his box and creating small pockets of nonexistence within his new world. How long had it been since he'd made something like this? He was quite out of practice, but found himself enjoying the process again, reminiscing about his previous worlds as he created a new one. He found himself missing them, especially his old castle, but he'd destroyed the box linked to that world a long time ago, and he had never been able to find a way to link different boxes to the same world.

But maybe James's power could do something to change that? He'd done something that Rusty had previously thought impossible, by cloning the custom backpack he'd made for him.

Rusty shook his head. That was something to think about later. If he got too obsessed with it, he would never be able to finish designing his maze.

He made sure to soften the edges of his non-existent walls as he threw them up. While he somewhat wanted to humiliate the PRT out of pettiness, he didn't want to hurt anyone, both because of his promise to Jay years ago and because he still wanted to put himself in a position where they wouldn't be forced to kill him in retaliation.

Once again, he hoped that Coil would be understanding and let him back out of the contract or at least amend it, not that he really doubted that he wouldn't be amenable to the idea. Though he supposed that the manipulation of the CPS system was something that wasn't quite tangible, he could offer to pay him back in the form of a favour.

Well, he supposed all of this depended on the PRT wanting to offer him a job in the first place. Unless this was a trap that James was unwittingly being pushed to set, then he knew that joining the PRT as a contractor, and eventually hero, would be a good way to set his nephew and niece's futures in stone. It would give grants, benefits, and eventually life insurance payouts to the two most important people in life. Not a bad way to take care of them, eh?

He knew that the PRT had always had a raging hard on for his powers, even amongst other tinkers, but now that he was older and his glory days were far behind him, he supposed he could accept having his hands tied.

-Job Hunt-

It took two weeks since your conversation with Uncle Rusty for him to bring up the topic of the PRT deal again. Though you'd been spending a lot more time together recently, the first time that Uncle Rusty brought it up was when he slipped a note to Jay, telling him to have a clone stay at the condo after Little J had left for school

He'd made amends with his old employer, who had given him a severance package and a general thanks before wishing him well. Though apparently he hadn't expected the severance package, he wasn't too surprised to find him amenable to canceling their exclusivity contract and he was almost ready to confront the PRT.

"I just have one thing left to do," Uncle Rusty says. You watch as he nervously twiddles his thumbs around in his hands.

Though Uncle Rusty has seemed more energetic and cheerful for the past two weeks, you suppose this nervous side of him is familiar to you too.

"What is it?" you ask, once it's clear that he's holding it back for some reason. "Do you need any help?"

He bites his lip.

"I… I need to set up my gear," he says.

You wait for him to continue.

It's a solid ten seconds of silence before he takes in a deep breath and sighs.

"I should set it up far away from here. So they don't know where we live. That's the smart thing to do, right?"

He doesn't look up at you, but he seems anxious. Probably about going outside.

"Do you want me to do it for you?" you ask, with more than a hint of concern colouring your tone.

He bites his lip for a second before shaking his head violently. "No, no. I can't. I can't rely on you to do things for me. No. No," he pauses to push up his glasses, which have gotten a bit askew. "Thank you, James, but I should really be doing this on my own."

"You don't need to," you say.

"But I should," Uncle Rusty says. He doesn't seem happy about it. "You're my nephew. I can't be relying on you to cover for me just because I'm being a fucking pussy about going outside."

You disagree completely, but you nod along, anyways. "If that's how you feel," you say. "If you need to set up by yourself, do you want me to help you out as an escort?"

He shakes his head again. "Thank you, James. But no."

"How about a Legion mask?" you ask. "You probably don't want to wear it the entire way, since the ABB would probably try to kill you on sight, but I suppose it could be useful if you want to stay anonymous."

He looks up at you, giving you an intense stare. "They want to kill you?"

"I didn't mention?" you ask, scanning your memory. "Huh, I guess I didn't."

"Interesting," he says. "But no, the mask seems to be more trouble than it's worth. Besides, I'd say that given how often I actually go outside, Rusty Bucket is as secret of an identity as I can get." He smiles.

You smile back, nodding, despite the fact that you will absolutely be stalking him to make sure that he's safe.

Uncle Rusty lets you know the details of where he plans to set up, and you send a hairlocked clone towards the PRT HQ. After he gathers his things and puts them into a large flask that is much too small to be carrying the items that he places inside, he takes the burner phone you gave him and promises to call before he's done.

Even from far away, you're both pleased and surprised to see Uncle Rusty standing tall as he walks down the streets of downtown Brockton Bay. Though it's not as crowded as it could be, being around 10 AM on a Wednesday, it's busy enough that the Uncle Rusty of the recent past would have likely run back inside the building out of fear, but with a determined, if shaky gait, Uncle Rusty pushes forward.

Your stalking clone has taken off his mask, in favour of a pair of sunglasses and a cap. It won't stop Uncle Rusty from recognizing you if he happens to turn around, but it makes you inconspicuous enough to the random passerby without showing off your face.

You follow Uncle Rusty to a more run down area, where it becomes harder to trail him without fear of him noticing you as the number of bodies in the streets begins to thin away, but your practice in slinking through alleyways pays off and you're able to keep an eye on him while keeping a fair distance away.

Eventually, Uncle Rusty stops at a nearby park, with "park" being the loosest definition of the word. It's more of a wide clearing filled with asphalt that just happens to have a pair of swing sets and a slide that looks like it would be much more dangerous than it would be fun. In the corner of the clearing, a scruffy man is lying on his side atop a damp-looking cardboard box.

Uncle Rusty walks towards the man, and says something from a fair distance away. You can't hear what he's saying. When it becomes clear that the man is becoming more and more agitated, you ready yourself to cloneshift towards Uncle Rusty, but Uncle Rusty lifts his box and pressed a button on the side. In an instant, a regular looking gun is in his hands, halting the hobo's charge before it begins.

Uncle Rusty waves the pistol to the side, and the man takes the signal to leave, running off, leaving his cardboard box behind. Uncle Rusty watches him leave and when he's satisfied that he's gone, he presses a button on the side of his blackbox, shooting out one of the tools you'd seen him working on for the past two weeks. It lands almost gracefully atop the cardboard box, though that seems to be a mistake as Uncle Rusty nudges it off and kicks the cardboard box away.

Suddenly, he sighs and shouts out.

"You can come out now, Legion!"

Sheepishly, you exit from behind the corner of a large building and you walk over to him. He gives you a bemused expression as he watches you with his arms crossed, pistol dangling casually from his fingers.

"How'd you know?" you ask.

"You're a good kid, that's why," he replies easily.

You can't help the blush that crawls to your face.

"Here," he says, pressing an invisible button on his box again. A small metal disk appears in his hand, identical to the one that he'd kicked off of the damp cardboard box. "If you want to help, you can put this near the edge of this little clearing."

"You don't need to do it yourself?" you ask.

"Lazy, are we?" he asks. His casual smile tells you he's joking, and you don't need to protest. "No, all I needed to do was to prove to myself that I could go outside on my own, even if I did have a little stalker on my trail."

"Sorry," you can't help but mumble.

"It's okay," he says, tossing you the disk. You catch it. "Just put it at the edge of the clearing. No need to be too careful about it."

You nod and rush towards the edge of the clearing. With how casual Uncle Rusty was in handling the other one, you feel like you could probably toss it onto the floor and it would be fine, but you still take some care to place it gently on top of the asphalt.

It takes a grand total of thirty seconds for Uncle Rusty to set up his "Zone" as he calls it, with him even throwing a few of them across the clearing like frisbees, after which he tells you that he's ready for an audience with the PRT. You nod and the clone waiting near the PRT building walks in. Remembering the last time you were there, you duplicate yourself and absorb yourself immediately after walking up to the receptionists. Their easy smiles fall off immediately.

"I'd like to speak with Piggot, please," you say.

The receptionist on the right nods intensely and doesn't say anything as she picks up her phone.

Five minutes later, Piggot and Armsmaster appear in front of you.

"I've finished the job," you say.

"I assumed," Piggot says. "I'll reserve congratulations and payment until after we've confirmed that fact, however."

"Fine by me," you say, following as Piggot and Armsmaster turn around, leading you through a familiar path to the elevators. You stop at a different floor than you did last time, though the layout is similar enough that it doesn't make a difference.

"I hope you would be fine with presenting your findings to a group that's larger than you may have expected," Piggot says. "You called me out at a time that was both inconvenient and convenient. It's the Protectorate's monthly meeting, and since your mission would be relevant to our actions in the near future, it would be convenient to present to the Protectorate as a whole. Are you fine with that?"

You shrug. Though you'd never had to do any sort of public speaking before, you assume you'll be fine. "Sure," you agree. "But there's not a lot to say."

"I prefer it that way," Piggot replies. "We've just started, and your item is only one of many."

"PRT's busy, then?" Uncle Rusty asks through you, as your clone relays the conversation to him. You ask why he wants to know and he admits it's just pure curiosity. "Is that why you're willing to hire contractors? You're overworked?" you ask, relaying his speculation again.

Piggot fixes you with a glare. "No comment."

You take the hint and stop asking further.

The room that Piggot and Armsmaster lead you to is much larger than the one you'd met in previously, and better equipped. On the wall, you briefly see a projection of a powerpoint presentation before a woman wearing a bandanna over her face clicks a button and turns it off.

"Ooh, good thinking, Missy Militia," a man in red says. "We wouldn't want outsiders knowing that we have an agenda for this meeting."

"Assault," Armsmaster says, in a warning tone.

"You can't yell at me in front of a house guest, Dad," Assault shoots back casually, from his reclined position at the conference table. He points a finger gun at you. "If you're considering recruitment, I suggest you don't. You gotta go to these boring ass meetings that are impossible to skip, no matter how annoying you act. Don't ask me how I know."

Two seats away, Battery buries her face in her hands as her seating neighbor, Dauntless looks awkwardly between her, Assault, and you.

"Everyone," Piggot says, "You're familiar with Legion. He will be joining us briefly to give us an update on the current status of the villain known as Storage, due to the convenient timing in his arrival."

You hear three claps, each of them descending in volume as the man dressed in a lion motif, Triumph, quickly realizes that he's the only one giving an applause, as if you're some sort of guest speaker.

He seems to sink lower in his seat, as if trying to disappear, but when nobody else makes a move to do anything, you suppose that you're free to speak, moving to the head of the long conference table. There's no reason for you to do so, as there's no presentation behind you and there's no mic to speak into, but it feels somewhat appropriate.

"I'm sorry, Director Piggot, but I didn't know I had to give a status report," you say, addressing the entirety of the Brockton Bay Protectorate and its Director. "If I remember right, I only had to get the location of Storage or set up a meeting with him. Is that right?"

"Specifically, we had asked you to obtain any information that would allow us to locate or contact him in person, but yes. I misspoke. Please continue, Legion. You mentioned that you were successful?" Piggot says.

You nod. "Yeah. I've got a location right now. It's in a public area with no civilians in the immediate area and he'll be there until noon today. If you don't catch him now, he won't be coming out in public for another two years," you say, repeating what Uncle Rusty instructs you to. "I don't think it really has an address, so I can point it out on a map if you want."

The room is silent.

The silence is broken when Assault raises his hands and shouts, "Yes! No meeting!"

Armsmaster, Velocity, Assault, and Battery are sent out to the location that you point out, and you're asked to stay in the conference room with the remaining heroes while the attack team makes their way to where Uncle Rusty waits. You tell him who's coming and, after his initial surprise at the fact that they're only sending four people, he asks you for a basic rundown of all their powers. If any of the descriptions you give are concerning, he doesn't show it.

Back in the conference room, Piggot asks you for further details on how you acquired your intel, and after consulting with Uncle Rusty first, you very honestly admit that you just politely asked the Cartel for any information. Ignoring the varied reactions around the room at that, you lie and say that ever since you found out the general area that Storage had made his base, you scoped out the area and "discovered" that a man in a strange mask had been coming to and from the general area, but you could never tail him as he seemed to disappear into thin air on occasion.

You then received an anonymous email a few days ago to one of your many Legion email addresses, which instructed which simply included a picture of a map, and a short message that read, "Wed 1030-1200 last chance [2y]". After you checked it out at the designated time, you saw the same strange man walking there and you rushed to tell the PRT your findings. Though you can't be certain, you heavily suspect it's Storage.

You're honestly a little confused about the narrative that Uncle Rusty's trying to weave, but you confer to his experience when he says that supervillains love to ham it up by being needlessly mysterious. Apparently adding some stupid details would make the cover story more believable.

"Too bad I threw away my old mask," he says as he presses a button on his Blackbox, summoning a fragile-looking folding chair directly behind him. "But thankfully, an old friend lent me one of theirs," he presses a button again and a strange looking mask pops out, styled in a fashion that's similar to a friendly-looking tiki mask. "Well, he wasn't my friend, and he definitely didn't lend this to me, but you get the idea."

After he puts on the mask, he presses the button once more and a much bigger box pops out.

He sits down on his chair and sets the bigger box in his lap.

"Don't have a pet cat on hand to complete the whole look, but I guess this'll do," he says, as he strokes the box.

"A cat? What are you talking about, Uncle Rusty?" you ask.

"Red Mettle," he says, wagging a finger at you. You can't see his face behind the tiki mask, but he doesn't seem to be seriously admonishing you. "No real names."

"Sorry," you say. "I've never known someone's secret identity before. Just slipped out."

"Eh, you'll learn," Uncle Rusty says. "Now run along. Hide in that same spot you were in before. I don't want them to associate you with me. You can still watch, though."

You dutifully follow his instructions, jogging until you return to your spot, and out of sight of Uncle Rusty.

It's not long before you notice someone waving at you from down the street. It's not hard to notice the small group of heroes in red and blue.

When you approach, Armsmaster hands you a pair of familiar looking earpieces, which you put in without much question.

"Hey, Legion," Assault says, casually leaning against the wall and pointing a finger gun at you. "We've got to stop meeting like th-"

Assault's voice abruptly cuts off, though his mouth continues to move.

You're a bit confused, but you both see and hear Battery massaging her temple and whispering a quiet, "Thank you," to Armsmaster. Armsmaster doesn't acknowledge it as he regards you, ignoring the silent speech that Assault seems to be giving behind him, oblivious to the fact that he's effectively been muted.

"Legion," he says. "You didn't mention you were still on-site."

You shrug. "I wanted to be here in case he decided to leave," you whisper, remembering how the earpiece can pick up your voice even when you speak quietly. "I'm not going to leave a job unfinished. He's still there, by the way, just sitting in the clearing with a box in his hands."

Armsmaster frowns. "Did he do anything else?"

"No," you say, repeating the lie that Uncle Rusty told you. "I arrived here at 9:00 AM, and he arrived at about 10:30. He didn't do anything besides pull a chair and a box out of nowhere and sit down."

"Team," he says. "Presume that the area around us is trapped. We will be proceeding with extreme caution."

The other three heroes adopt a serious expression. Even Assault stops his silent chattering as he nods.

"Legion," Armsmaster says. "You are free to leave. This isn't a part of your contract. As soon as we confirm that the masked man is indeed Storage, the Director will be providing you with your payment."

-Interlude-

Armsmaster pressed himself against the walls as he looked over the scene in front of him. The interface on the inside of his helmet provided him with a wide variety of information, ranging from electrical currents, to heat signatures, and metal detection.

The clearing in front of him provided a large trough of information, which he allowed to filter into his vision despite the majority of it being useless, but he couldn't accept that the man sitting in front of them was so unprepared.

Storage, and allegedly Red Mettle, was obviously expecting them. He was too far away to get a reading on his heartbeat, but Armsmaster suspected that it would be low. Just from a glance, the man looked entirely too calm.

A brief look through his database matched the mask that the man was wearing to a deceased hero named Torchhead. While Torchhead had died of an unrelated drug overdose in 1998, a brief search for Red Mettle's name brought up the fact that the two had many altercations with each other, with Red Mettle often winning. Apparently he had taken Torchhead's mask as a prize at some point.

"Storage is Red Mettle," Armsmaster whispered. "Proceed with extreme caution."

Nobody answered back verbally, but a brief glance at the upper corner of his screen told him that his team was nodding, as detected by the earpieces they wore.

"There are eight metal disks that are forming a general perimeter around where Red Mettle is waiting," Armsmaster said. "Their function is unknown."

"Bombs?" Assault suggested.

Though Assault's question was out of turn, it was a legitimate concern. At the very least the man could be serious during a life-threatening mission.

Armsmaster didn't think they were bombs. Red Mettle may have been a supervillain, but very few people were suicidal, and if the disks were in fact bombs, the way they were arranged would either kill him if they were to strong, or they wouldn't be a threat if they weren't strong enough.

"Possibly," Armsmaster said anyways, not wanting to eliminate the possibility. "Keep your distance."

"Got it," Assault replied.

If he'd had more than just a few minutes to set up, he would have equipped his team with visors that would let him point out the location of the disks. While they didn't blend in particularly well, and it didn't seem like Red Mettle had any intention of making sure they were hidden, he didn't like sending his team in with less knowledge than they should have.

"I think it's been long enough, hasn't it?" Red Mettle said, suddenly.

Armsmaster froze. He knew he would have been the only one to hear it, but another voice in his ear spoke up.

"He just said something," Velocity said, as the closest one in their group the clearing. "Did you catch that, sir?"

"I did," Armsmaster replied.

"You can come out now, heroes," Red Mettle spoke again. His back was turned to him, and Armsmaster frowned. He wasn't close enough for his helmet to assist him in his assessment, but Armsmaster had dealt with enough villains in his time to know that Red Mettle spoke with extreme confidence. He knew that they were here.

"Assault, Velocity. Show yourselves after I start to approach. Do not enter the clearing. Battery, stay hidden and accumulate your power in preparation."

"In preparation for an attack?" Battery asked.

"Anything," Armsmaster said, in stead of admitting that he didn't know what to expect. Depending on what Red Mettle had prepared, what happened next could be anything from a fight to the death to a hostage situation with the surrounding city block at risk. Battery said nothing.

Armsmaster moved out from behind his spot and walked forwards. "Red Mettle," he said, amplifying his voice through a small speaker in his helmet. Though his voice was more than loud enough to reach the man in the clearing, he didn't turn around to face him, still remaining seated in his chair. "I am Armsmaster, leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate."

"That's a mouthful. Mind if I call you Arms?" Red Mettle replied, again only loud enough for him to hear. Armsmaster didn't feel like it was to be discrete, but rather just because he was too lazy to shout.

"It's difficult to hear you," Armsmaster said. "Do I have permission to approach you?"

The reactions from his team were slightly muted, as he had turned their volumes down in favour of focusing on Red Mettle. He ignored their questions about what he was planning to do.

"Free country, Arms," Red Mettle said casually, finally leaning backwards over his chair to look at him, giving him the full view of the tiki-styled mask. "Do what you want."

Armsmaster braced himself as he stepped into the circle of disks that surrounded the larger clearing. Nothing happened as he stepped forwards, but that didn't do anything to convince him that they were harmless. He mentally pushed up the potential threat level they posed, and continued to walk forward, as if unbothered by the fact that he was willingly stepping into the belly of the beast.

As he got closer, his scanners could detect more and more about the man in the chair. Though his helmet told him that the man in the baggy clothes was much thinner and lankier than one might expect from a supervillain, everything else about the man screamed confidence in a way that it was obvious even without his gear.

It was concerning to say the least. Red Mettle was not listed as having any powers in addition to his Tinker abilities. Armsmaster was confident that at the distance he was at, he could easily rush forward and deliver an incapacitating shock to the back of the man's neck without him being able to react, but even then, the confident posture didn't change in the slightest.

Armsmaster wasn't stupid enough to think that there wasn't some reason for it. Regardless of the fact that Red Mettle had seemingly been inactive for a decade, he had still maintained a career in villainy for eleven years before that. There was a reason he'd survived long enough to retire, and Armsmaster wasn't fool enough to ignore it.

As Armsmaster approached, Red Mettle let out a low whistle. It didn't seem like Red Mettle was warning him to stop, but Armsmaster halted in his tracks regardless.

"Damn, that's some shiny metal," Red Mettle said. "Back in my day, we had to use junkyard scrap and broken clocks to make our toys. You think I could get some of that stuff when I join up with you guys?"

Armsmaster stiffened. Had Legion been talking to Red Mettle? "If you are indeed the supervillain known as Red Mettle, you would held accountable for a large amount of crimes including, grand larceny, murder, and terrorism. Why would you assume that we would be willing to give you amnesty and recruitment?"

"Oh please," Red Mettle said, in a tone that held more amusement than he would expect when confronted with such charges. "You're PRT. What that means is you want me, and you can't touch me. That's never not been the case."

Armsmaster's brow furrowed as a word flashed green on the corner of his helmet's interface. "Truth." Red Mettle was completely confident that what he was saying was a certain fact.

"Well, it's your lucky day!" Red Mettle says, standing up suddenly in his chair. Armsmaster raised his spear in reaction, but Red Mettle only looked down at him, with a bemused chuckle. Though he made no aggressive moves, Armsmaster kept his spear trained towards Red Mettle's chest, finger hovering over the button that would send a tazer flying into him. "I'm getting older and older every day, and honestly? I need some retirement funds to make my bed on. You ever slept on cash before? It's not really that comfortable, but there's just something about it that's so satisfying."

Armsmaster did his best to keep his expression unchanging.

"The PRT has discussed potential recruitment under certain conditions," Armsmaster said.

Red Mettle made a small groan of annoyance. "You don't have to give me the whole spiel, Arms. I already told you, I know what you want. I've done this song and dance before. I'd join on the conditions of constant surveillance, exclusive rights to my gear, and, this one depends on who's the Director of the area, but sometimes you say that I'm not allowed to go into the field anymore either. You don't need to repeat the terms to me, Arms. No. You need to listen to me."

"It seems like you're pretty sure that I'll listen," Armsmaster said, ignoring the UI that reminded him of Red Mettle's confident body language. "But I doubt those teams were offering recruitment after you committed mass murder."

"I guess," Red Mettle admits easily, shrugging casually at the accusation. "But that was because I retired. I'm sure they would've tried if I stuck around."

Armsmaster ignored the disgruntled, if muted reactions of his team as they listened in on the conversation.

He stayed silent, unwilling to confirm or deny the claim. Red Mettle let out a loud laugh.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" he said, leaning in closer, though he pulled back when the flimsy chair underneath him started to shake underneath him.

Armsmaster lowered his spear slightly, and a voice invaded his ear.

"Wait, what the hell, Armsmaster?" Assault's voice said through his earpiece. "You're not even going to threaten him with jailtime? I get that I'm not one to talk, but mass murder? That's messed up."

"I agree with Assault," Battery chimed in. "What's going on? Why is this news to us?"

"An explanation will be provided later," Piggot's voice said, audible to the entire team and whoever happened to still be in the conference room back at the PRT HQ. "Negotiations with Red Mettle take priority."

An echo of frustrated "Yes, Ma'am"s echoed in his ear, but Armsmaster had to bite back a response, asking what negotiations Piggot was talking about. This wasn't a negotiation if they couldn't threaten or offer something substantial. While a majority of the Protectorate had been kept in the dark about the situation, Armsmaster knew that Red Mettle was speaking the truth when he said he was untouchable, and the experienced supervillain seemed to know that.

"What do you want?" Armsmaster said. Despite his efforts to stay neutral, a hint of frustration transformed his question into a growl.

Red Mettle seemed to take a moment to consider the question, tilting his head to one side as he stared at Armsmaster.

"Huh," he said. "Honestly, I thought you would still try to start a fight. Oh well."

When Red Mettle pulled something out of his pocket, Armsmaster's immediate reaction was to pull back and pull his spear up into a ready position.

Red Mettle responded by looking at him in a way that suggested he was rolling his eyes behind his mask.

"Please, I really hope for Brockton Bay's sake that you already knew you were walking into my zone. If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it already. Here."

Armsmaster barely realized that Red Mettle had tossed a small bag until it was halfway to him. He lowered his spear to free up one of his hands and snatch the bag out of the air.

"For my payments," Red Mettle said, as if it explained everything.

"Payments?" Armsmaster repeated.

"I don't want to join the PRT," Red Mettle explained. "When I was younger, it was because I wanted to be my own man, really see what I could do in a world of superpowered people, running around causing chaos. Joining the PRT didn't sit well with me, especially because I technically couldn't, since I wasn't eighteen when they made the org. Took them a while to convince the people they should let the kiddos join in the fight to save the world. Don't think I would've joined even if I was eighteen though. Too many rules to follow, too many people to please. All too stuffy for me. Now though? When I'm older and I've seen a bit more of the world, I suppose I could play along with a few rules if you can compensate me for them."

Armsmaster didn't allow himself to relax. "The PRT compensates its members generously," he said, noncommittaly. He still didn't know what Red Mettle wanted.

"Hey, I said a few rules, not all of them," Red Mettle said, wagging a finger in front of him. "I can't say I agree with the whole, revealing my identity thing, even if it's just to the higher ups. No. I want to be a contractor of sorts. Do you folks do that sort of thing anymore? Back in my day, the PRT was pretty open to hiring contractors, but I've been out of the game for a while, and in my experience, the longer an organization gets, the tighter the rules are."

"We've offered contracts in the past," Armsmaster said, leaving out the fact that Brockton Bay PRT had only given out two contracts to unaffiliated parahumans in the past decade, with both of the contracts being given out within the past month.

"Oh, then you'll have no problem giving me one," Red Mettle replied. "I've already got an idea for what my first job could be, too, but I'm sure you could guess what it is."

Armsmaster decided not to say anything, letting the supervillain continue talking.

"Aww, no guesses? Do you actually not know? Did your bosses not tell you why they've been chasing me like a long lost lover? Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter."

Red Mettle jumped off his chair, raising his hands in the air like a showman, with each of his hands holding a metallic box. While Red Mettle had shown off one of the boxes, with its ability to contain objects in a space much larger than it seemed to be capable of holding, he had yet to use the other.

"Ninety-Nine percent discount for the first job, just to get our toes wet," Red Mettle said happily. "Give me five million dollars, with monthly payments of two hundred grand, and I'll build you a fool-proof Endbringer shelter that'll house up to three hundred thousand of your squishy little Brockton Bay civilians."

Armsmaster gritted his teeth as his and the PRT's suspicions were confirmed. The reason why Red Mettle's files within the PRT had all been marked as Special. The reason why Red Mettle considered himself to be untouchable to the PRT, and the reason why he was right.

"He's hiding something," Piggot's voice said. "Even without his supposed discount, five hundred million dollars is cheap for what he claims."

The reactions of the heroes listening in was varied, ranging from gasps, to muttered swears, to suggestions that there's no way that Red Mettle is speaking the truth.

"Why that price?" Armsmaster asked, trying to sound as inquisitive as possible. Red Mettle's files had described his personality as unstable, egotistical, and dramatic. He didn't want to inject any hint of aggression in his voice, in case it would cause the villain to change his mind or increase his asking price.

Red Mettle shrugged, as if he hadn't made one of the most outrageous claims that one could make. "Honestly, I'm just playing nice. Like I said, I'm looking to retire, and at a certain point, money is less of a benefit than connections are. Of course, I could just build two or three shelters at a higher price and retire a billionaire, but I'd prefer my money to be a little cleaner for my kids' sakes. I'll be transparent and say that I'm looking to have you folks hire me eventually, once you've had the time to wipe my villain history off the face of the planet, and I can show my face as the honourable Fortress, or Sanctuary, or maybe Safespace… Eh, those sound lame. I'm sure your PR guys will think of something."

"You've committed mass murder," Armsmaster couldn't stop himself from saying, despite Piggot shouting in his ear otherwise.

"Nah," Red Mettle said. "That was the other guy. Red Mettle. Oh by the way, here."

Once again, Armsmaster only noticed that an object had materialized in the air in front of him when it was halfway to him. He quickly caught the object, and recognized it as a two-way radio. The cheap plastic material suggested it was a child's toy. Before Armsmaster could ask what it was for, Red Mettle was speaking again, this time shouting out around himself.

"Hey, folks. If you don't mind, could you not try anything for the next few minutes? I promise I'm just gonna be taking Arms on a short demo tour. Nothing nefarious."

There was a mingling of panicked shouts that erupted from his earpiece, but Armsmaster stayed where he was. Perhaps it was foolhardy to believe a supervillain who had ended the lives of heroes before him, or to stare up so defiantly at the man who was said to be unstable and egotistical, but Armsmaster did it regardless.

He blinked once as the world turned to darkness around him.

His helmet was quick to adjust to his new environment, switching almost instantly to night-vision, but when he saw that he was standing in what looked like a natural rock cavern, it took him a moment to mentally adjust to his abrupt change in scenery.

"Battery, Velocity, Assault," he said out loud. "Piggot, HQ."

No response.

Armsmaster wasn't one to externalize his thoughts when there wasn't anybody around to listen, but his inner thoughts were filled with muttered curses.

When the twoway radio erupted in sound, emitting a sharp static noise that seemed to bounce around the cavern walls, Armsmaster was surprised in his own ability to keep himself from flinching.

"Red Mettle to Arms. Red Mettle to Arms. Over."

Armsmaster raised the radio to his mouth and pressed a button. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Not gonna say, over, over?" Red Mettle said with a laugh that was translated into a tinny bark through the radio. "Nah, just joking. We'll get through this demo real quick. Promise. I'd assume your guys'll get pretty antsy if I don't return you in one piece soon."

Armsmaster didn't bother to reply.

"Welcome to my world!" Red Mettle said, his giddiness being easily translated through the radio despite the poor audio quality. "Right now, we are currently in a weirder, bigger, funner version of my boxes. Won't give away trade secrets of what or why this is, but as you can see around you, it's pretty neat, huh?

"Now, for a little audience participation, I assume that since you're a tinker with a shiny helmet, you've got some sort of night vision, or a flashlight at the very least."

"That's right," Armsmaster confirmed.

"Well then, Arms. I want you to walk around until you see something weird. Don't worry about what it is. You'll know it when you see it."

Armsmaster held back the urge to say that the entire situation could be defined as "weird," but didn't bother to. With no directions given, Armsmaster simply chose a random direction to walk towards until he saw a wall of nothing. It wasn't that it was too dark to see, or that it was made of a strange material that he couldn't recognize. The image on the inside of his helmet simply showed him nothing.

"I see something," Armsmaster said. "A wall."

"Made of void? Blackness? Indescribable? Yeah that's it. Funny, there's actually a lot of those walls scattered around here that make sort of a maze, but I guess you won't be intrigued enough to complete it. It's honestly kind of a bummer to see that you guys didn't try to attack me. I worked pretty hard on the maze for you. I would've brought Taurus's mask instead of Torchhead's too, if I really thought you were going to try, you know for the whole Minotaur theme, but I eventually decided it was stupid. Still had fun though. Anyways, I'm sure you're sick of me rambling already, so why don't you just go ahead and try to break that wall for me? Your most destructive option possible, please."

Armsmaster debated whether he should follow along and use his nanothorn blade. While he knew that his nanothorn was vulnerable against intense energy, these walls seemed to be created from a lack of substance, if that made any sense. In the end of his short internal debate, he decided to try. If Red Mettle was trying to pitch his capabilities as an anti-Endbringer tool, he might as well test it with something that could theoretically wound one.

Armsmaster raised his halberd, clicked a button, and pushed the blade slowly towards the wall. It stopped when it touched it.

"I tried," Armsmaster said.

"Satisfied?"

"Tentatively."

"Eh. Let's see what your bosses think later, but that's all I had, really. Unless you want to run the maze for fun?"

Armsmaster didn't bother to acknowledge the suggestion with a reply.

Laughter barked out from the radio. "Didn't think so. Maybe I could open it up to the public as a funhouse. Ask for admission and everything."

Before Armsmaster could decide whether he was obligated to deny the suggestion whether it was a joke or not, he blinked once and the world around him had returned to the way it was before he entered the cavern, with the only difference being that Battery, Velocity, and Assault were standing closer to the clearing, instead of at their previous spots. As a wave of voices spoke simultaneously through his earpiece, Red Mettle tossed his radio handset onto the floor behind him.

"So, that bag you're holding can be used to transfer stuff," Red Mettle said casually, as if he just hadn't abducted the leader of the Protectorate for a brief moment. "Press the button on it a few times every day around 10 AM and 10 PM and it'll spit out anything that I put in it using a bag that links up to it. It works both ways, so you can eventually use it to pay me. I'll be sending you instructions and requests. You'll just have to trust that I won't use it to send you a bomb or something. Use an intern if you have to. I'll be going now. If I even start to suspect that someone's following me, the deal's off."

In his ear, after the initial rush of concerned voices died down, the only speaking voice that was left was Piggot's.

"What were your findings, Armsmaster?" Piggot asked. "Does his claim of his device being effective against the Endbringers have any basis whatsoever?"

"Highly likely to be effective against Leviathan," Armsmaster said. "Likely to be effective against Behemoth, but we would require further testing. Likely to be effective against the Simurgh, but we would also need more testing to determine that."

Armsmaster looked up at Red Mettle, who was holding the box out in front of him.

"Red Mettle," he said. "When would be the earliest point that you would be able to provide us with a prototype for this sort of device? Before the PRT makes any serious investments, we would be interested in doing extensive testing to determine its true effectiveness for protection against the Endbringers."

Red Mettle didn't respond immediately, and Armsmaster was content to give him as much time as he needed to think of an answer until he noticed a part of his helmet's UI that seemed out of place from the rest of the interactions with the man.

His helmet was reading Red Mettle's body language as being confused.

When Red Mettle finally spoke, Armsmaster wasn't sure if he could truly believe what was being said.

"Wait could you run that by me again? What's a Simurgh?"

-Interlude-

Note: This is Browbeat's POV, because my audience wanted it.

While Richard had never considered himself to be a very social being, he also didn't consider himself to be someone who would ever shy away from a setting just because it was too loud or because there were too many people. Yes, he preferred his own company to others most of the time, but it wasn't like he couldn't handle other people.

But the truth was, he was abnormal. While he hid it well, Richard knew that he just was going through the motions. He had never wanted to be a superhero. Sure, he'd been an independent hero for a while, due to a strange and inexplicable urge to use his powers when he'd just gotten them, but that really wasn't who he was. He never really came to understand what drove him to try it out, but by the time he'd come to his senses, he had been given an invitation to the Wards that he'd already accepted.

When he'd been a part of his school's baseball team, a membership that he'd thankfully had an excuse to cancel with the introduction of his new "part-time job", the team had always brought him into their personal lives. Movies, lunches, karaoke, etc. While he appreciated the camaraderie at times, most of the time it just made him tired.

In the Wards, with constant patrols, paperwork, and monitoring to do, there was the same sense of camaraderie within the team, without the same social obligations. Everyone was always too tired or busy to want to do anything other than sit around in the Wards lounge, watch TV, and chat in their free time. It was a good arrangement for someone with Richard's personality, with his only social obligations being to smile at Dennis's jokes on occasion and nod at something that Dean said. He could refrain from contributing to the group dynamic much without worrying if any of his teammates would consider him weird for being so quiet.

But he still felt like he didn't fit in. It didn't bother him too much, since he never did.

Intellectually, he knew that he probably had some sort of mental issues. Family history of schizophrenia, unexplained fits of anxiety, days when getting out of bed seemed to be the most difficult thing in the world. It wasn't his fault, and eventually he would go to a psychologist more seriously, get medicated, and live his life out until he died. That wouldn't be different, whether he was a superhero or not, but after being in the presence of his superhero peers for a while now, he was becoming increasingly wary of the differences between him and them.

Everybody else seemed like they wanted to be there. Not everyone was Dean, of course, with his spirit of genuine nobility and heroism, but everyone likely had a reason at the very least. Shadow Stalker, for example, obviously wasn't a very noble or heroic person, but she was violent, and the Wards gave her ample opportunity to indulge that desire.

Richard, on the other hand? He had no idea why he was there. He had no motivation to be a Ward, but he'd taken the job because he'd never had any motivation for anything else anyways. It was a good job with good pay, so he didn't feel like he was losing it by taking it, but as he watched the other Wards, the question of why he was a superhero had slowly morphed into the question of whether he deserved to be one.

"Pst, dude," Dennis whispered. "You're staring." It was a stage whisper that he could hear even though his teammate was more than an arms length away, but still quiet enough that he doubted that anyone else in the lounge would hear, especially not with the loud chatter that seemed to be a constant presence around the newest addition to the Wards.

Richard nodded. He didn't avert his gaze from the scene playing out in front of him, but did make sure to be more subtle about it.

It took him a few more seconds after Dennis's warning that it might have looked like he was playing the part of a sixteen-year-old teenager and checking out the new girl, especially since the outfit she wore, though it didn't show much skin, was alluring in its own way. Now that he was aware of it, Richard looked slightly higher than he needed to, just to make it obvious that he wasn't checking out the way that the girl's suspenders seemed to perfectly outline the curves on her upper body.

He was almost looking at the ceiling at this point, but with how animated the girl was as she talked, his eyes had no trouble in tracking her.

Shock Jock. One of the newest members of the Wards. She had been recruited through the new incentive program that had been offered to both the Protectorate and the Wards, with "incentive" being a more PR friendly word for "bounty."

Richard had actually been patrolling with Kid Win when they discovered her, causing havoc in an electronics store. She hadn't announced any intent to steal, murder, or hurt any civilians, so after they apprehended her, the PRT was able to spin her crime as her losing control of her power so they wouldn't been seen recruiting a villain.

Richard and Kid Win were both paid a bonus of 500$ for the arrest/recruitment, something that had never been done before in the history of the Brockton Bay PRT, if Triumph's previous confusion at the concept had been any indication.

Piggot had explained that with the sudden and unexplained influx of trigger events and parahumans in Brockton Bay, it was a necessary action. While the Head PRT HQ had increased their funding in response to the problem, they were not transferring any heroes as backup. The "incentive program" and the new willingness to hire external contractors was a way to compensate for this.

Now, Richard watched as the girl he arrested walked excitedly around the Lounge as the newest member of the Wards. Dean was watching her, his mouth half open in preparation for the next time she would stop to take a breath and allow him to speak. It didn't seem to be coming anytime soon.

"And now, we come to the lifeblood of the Wards. The hearth, the home, the place of comfort where they can curl up, toss off the spandex, and finally be kids again. You know, I was honestly looking forward to seeing a place that was a tad flashier, with customized training arenas, simulations, war rooms, all that jazz, but now that I think about it, how stupid could I have been? Of course, you folks need a place to wind down after a hard day's work, to throw off your hats, and relax in a place you can call a home away from home. Wait a minute, I guess that applies to me too, now. Show's how green I am, doesn't it? Looks like I've got a lot to learn from you, Dean, my friend."

As if to mock her lungs and her own need for air, she didn't even pause to take a breath before throwing her head back to let out a deep laugh into the air.

It was the first time that Richard had ever seen Dean truly thrown off by a conversation. The team leader let out a quiet and shaky laugh, keeping it short as if he was afraid that he would lose the chance to speak if he didn't finish it fast enough.

"So yeah," he said. "This is the Lounge. We generally chill out here when we're waiting for our shifts, and the monitor's in the corner over there."

"Oooh, my. Listen here folks, we've got an exclusive sneak peek of the Wards' never before seen technology. My guest, Gallant, the knight in shining armor himself, is showing us exactly how the Wards are so diligent in their patrols. The Monitor, folks. The ever watchful eye of the PRT, protector of good, detector of bad. Watch out bad guys, cause Santa's got his eye on you."

Dennis looked like he was about to explode with laughter, though Richard didn't know if it was because of what Shock Jock, or rather Bethany, was saying, or if it was because of Dean's pained smile. Sitting on one of the couches nearby, Missy's own pitying look seemed to be in reaction to the latter.

"Uhh, yeah," Dean said, as Bethany held up a non-existent mic to his mouth. "That. Some of your job will involve watching the screen and responding to any alerts. It's a little more complicated than that, but…" Dean trailed off, as he eyed Bethany's pretend mic. "And someone else will explain it later."

Dennis let out a loud laugh. He tried to clasp his hands over his mouth when Dean shot him a sharp look, but several snorts still escaped.

"Not a guy for computers, are you, my friend? Don't worry. I'm the same. Always love a good radio myself!" Bethany shouted, as if the fact that she had been arrested for breaking into an electronics store and screaming about the ugly modernization of entertainment hadn't already been a good indicator of that.

When Dean looked back at Bethany, it was with a smile that was filled with poorly disguised dread. Bethany didn't seem to notice, almost bouncing on the spot as she continued to ramble about the purity of radio channels and the lost art form of hosting them.

When Bethany finally paused to take a breath, Dean opened his mouth, but no sound came out as he seemed to be more focused on how to escape the situation.

"Hey, Dean. It's almost time for shift change. You want me to take over the rest of the orientation?"

All the heads in the room seemed to turn slowly and simultaneously towards Richard. Bethany looking at him was likely just a reaction to his voice, but the rest of his teammates were giving him a varied degree of expressions. Dennis was waggling his eyebrows while he wore a shit-eating grin, Dean was giving him a smile of relieved gratitude, while Missy seemed to be somewhere in between confused and curious.

Richard could sympathize with the look. He had no idea why he'd spoke up either.

"Oh, you're right, Rich," Dean said, almost too quickly. "I didn't even notice the time! C'mon Missy. Let's get ready for patrol. Wouldn't want to let down the people of Brockton Bay, would we?"

Missy raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her phone, which no doubt showed her that they had at least ten more minutes before they even needed to think about changing into their costumes.

"I guess not," Missy said.

"Perfect!" Dean said, already walking as fast as he could towards the changerooms. Richard watched at his team leader flung open the door with an awkward gusto, accidentally slamming the door against the walls. Dean winced and voiced an apology before stepping inside, letting the door swing slowly shut behind him.

Richard had to fight not to flinch when he turned around to see Bethany standing directly in front of him. How a girl as loud as her could have approached him so silently, he had no idea.

"And with that, folks, the valiant Gallant has exited the building! In his place, I'm pleased to announce our next guest, the honourable Browbeat! Now, Browbeat. You and I have a little history together don't we? Tell us, how does it feel working beside someone you had previously apprehended?"

Though their "little history" only extended to the fact that Richard had tackled her down and arrested her, there didn't seem to be any venom in the question. As the imaginary mic was held in front of his lips, Richard toyed with the answer in his head.

"It's a little weird, I guess," he said, speaking the truth. "But there's a lot of weird stuff going on recently. We're getting heroes, mercenaries, and villains popping up out of nowhere. And there's that whole thing with whatever the Protectorate's keeping secret from us."

"Ooh? And how does that make you feel? Sometimes change can be scary, can't it, Browbeat?"

Richard waited for the follow-up, but was surprised to hear there wasn't one. It was the first time that he'd heard the girl talk for less than half a minute before stopping.

Richard shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I guess I haven't settled in enough to figure out what's normal yet. I've only been here a few months, so you'll probably know about as much as I do, pretty soon. Call me, Richard, by the way."

Bethany gave him a sly smile and extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Richard. Call me, B."

When Richard took the offered hand, Dennis started hooting and wolf-whistling at them. While Richard gave an awkward smile and retracted his hand, Bethany, or B he supposed, pointed at Dennis and gave him an okay signal with her fingers.

"I'm Dennis, by the way," he shouted.

Immediately, B put a finger to her lips. "No talking in the audience," she hissed.

Richard wasn't sure whether she was legitimately unhinged or just playing up a character, but she was his teammate either way. He pushed himself off of his chair and stood up to his full height. Though his power was currently inactive, robbing him of the overly muscular form that his biokinesis granted him, he was still tall enough to tower over B.

She seemed utterly unintimidated by that fact, giving him a wide smile as she looked up at him.

"There isn't much to see on this floor, since we probably don't want to check out the locker rooms while Dean and Missy are changing, and the washroom's just a washroom. You mentioned you wanted to see some flashier stuff, right?"

"Absolutely, Richard."

Once again, Richard was surprised to hear her stop after so few words.

"Well, we don't have it in the lounge, but we have a training area on a different floor if you want to check that out. It's equipped with a bunch of stuff that helps us train and measure our powers and skills." That last bit seemed a bit useless to add. What else would a training room be used for?

"Ooh, intriguing," B said anyway. "Dodging simulations? Reaction speeds? Weights? Oh yeah! There must be some sort of custom training equipment around here somewhere. I'm assuming the regular weights wouldn't cut it for you heroes, isn't that right? Or I guess I should be saying, "us heroes," shouldn't I? Eh? Say, how much do you bench, Richard? One ton? Two? You look a lot less muscular than you did a few days ago, but I'm assuming you don't wear a muscle suit as a part of your costume. Unless you do?"

Richard couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. "No, that's my power at work. And I don't know how much I could bench, but I've lifted a small truck before."

B let out a low whistle. "Woah there, man. You're saying I decided to go toe-to-toe with a powerhouse like you? You could've crushed my head like a grape with that sort of muscle. Why don't you give me some sort of warning next time?"

He didn't know how many of those questions she'd wanted an answer to, so he just shrugged. "Sorry. I'll try to do better next time."

B let out a loud, roaring laugh, as if he'd said the funniest thing she'd ever heard, and slapped him on the shoulder. "My man," she said. "My good man. Oh, that was great."

Richard couldn't help but smile at that, even though he had no idea what he was being praised for. "You want to see the training area, then?" he asked.

"Lead the way, my man. Alright folks, we'll be right back with you with an exclusive tour of the PRT HQ Training Room, otherwise known as the PRT HQ TR, if you like longer acronyms. We'll be right back, and in the meantime, to play us out, we've got a fan favourite by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, Tiger Rag. Take it away, boys."

As the air was filled with the sounds of a distinct lack of any music, with only Dennis's cries of "Bravo" and "Encore" as background, B smiled at Richard, extending a hand.

"Not bad out there, for a newbie," she said. "Most first-timers get nervous. Stage fright. Never had it myself, but I've seen it turn trained professionals into plain train wrecks. Now come on, we've only got a few minutes before we're back on air."

While he could see someone adopting a wild persona to play up a character, this was a lot of commitment for a bit. If Richard had any clue whether she was actually crazy or not, he was less certain now.

But he wasn't sure whether he would be bothered either way.

"Alright then, let's go."

"Wait, Rich. Quick question before you guys run off somewhere. You wanna go on patrol an extra thirty minutes early to try out this new Cash 4 Criminals program?"

Richard raised an eyebrow, impressed at both the name that Dennis had given to the new incentive policy and how effective it was. Who volunteered for extra patrols?

"That's a strange name, isn't it? First time I'm hearing of it," B said, in not quite as bombastic of a voice to her other radio persona, but still quite loud.

"The incentive policy," Dennis said. "It's new so they probably haven't updated the orientation crap yet, but it's a bounty system basically. We get extra money for catching powered criminals now, especially if we manage to recruit them."

"Isn't that what you already do?" B asked, bemused.

"Yup. Except now we get bonuses."

"How much?"

"Ask Rich."

When B looked directly at him, he answered the question. "500$ for capture, an extra 500$ if they're recruited, split among the patrol who got them. Or at least that's how it worked for you."

"Huh? But I'm not a criminal."

"You broke into a store and destroyed nearly all the goods inside."

"It was an electronics store without a single radio in it. I'm a hero."

Richard didn't know how to interpret that, but apparently Dennis did, responding with a laugh.

"I guess the PRT thinks that too," Richard said eventually. "But I still got paid the 500$."

"Oh damn. That's a good load of cash. Been meaning to upgrade my recording studio. Speaking of which, we've got to go, Richard! The band's almost done and we've got to get the people what they promised! To the training rooms!"

As B jogged off towards the Wards Lounge exit, Dennis smiled and gave Richard a lazy salute.

"Good luck," he said. "No pressure to get back early. Just don't be late for the actual patrol."

"Don't know why I'd be late," Richard said, earning an annoying eyebrow waggle and a thumb pointed towards B that Richard did his best to ignore. "But I'll try my best."

Once Richard had caught up with B, she was already at the elevators, with the doors already held open as she kept a finger on the button.

As Richard stepped inside and B let go of the button to close the doors, he was met with a surprising sound.

Silence.

Though in most cases, the sound was something he preferred over anything else, the way that B was openly staring at him was not something he was used to. As someone who often faded into the background and enjoyed it there, this level of scrutiny was bordering on uncomfortable.

"So, B," he asked, just to break the silence, something he never thought he'd intentionally do. "You have a recording studio?"

"Yup. For my radio show. Say what you want, but online radio or 'podcasts'," she says, injecting as much disgust into the word as possible, "if you want to call it by that name. Online radio's pretty neat, if you didn't already know about it. Turns out the internet has some uses, after all. Anyways, Dennis's idea seemed pretty good. You boys mind if I join in on your hunt?"

Trying his best to ignore the casual and complete dismissal of the internet, Richard shrugged. "I'd be down for it, but I don't know if you'd be allowed to. You haven't done all your orientation courses, right?"

"Right."

"Yeah well, you can't go on patrol until you've finished those, and I don't think that they'd let you bounty hunt either."

"Drats. You're probably right."

The elevator fell into silence once again, though B wasn't staring at him anymore. Oddly, this didn't make the silence any less strange. Awkward wasn't the right word, but it still didn't bring the same sense of comfort that he was used to.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to a very utilitarian-looking scene. While he wouldn't call the rest of the building stylish, this floor lacked any sort of decoration or finish, with the walls being simple concrete, lit by dim fluorescent lights.

B didn't move from the elevator, letting Richard step out first to lead the way. He made a left and started to walk through the narrow corridors that would lead to the simulations room, the most visually impressive training tool in the PRT's arsenal.

But when the only sound that followed him was the dull thud of B's footsteps, he spoke.

"Hey B," he said. "Why did you decide to join the PRT?"

"Hmm? I didn't decide to join the PRT. I was perfectly fine with being a vigilante until someone arrested me and said that I wouldn't be allowed to use my power like that again unless I joined."

"Vigilante?" Richard asked. "I guess you didn't hurt anyone, but you were destroying private property."

"We've gone over this already, Richard. I was destroying TVs," B said, in a tone of voice that seemed to imply she was correcting him. "And computers. Vigilante."

Richard didn't answer, not wanting to argue the point.

"Okay, I'll change my question then. Why do you use your powers?"

"Isn't it obvious? To spread awareness, love, and appreciation for the classic art form that is the radio."

The absolute confidence in her voice provided him with the final piece of evidence to irrefutably decide that she was legitimately insane.

And yet... could he really judge her for her inane motivation if he didn't even have one himself?

For the first time in his life, he felt a sudden emptiness within him, or rather he began to recognise it and acknowledge it as something that he wanted to be filled. He'd always known that he lacked drive, but was it really this point, the point at which he was confronted by a mentally insane girl with the most conceptually insane reason for doing what she did, for him to finally want to find a reason for doing what he did?

He let out a loud laugh, though he didn't know why. Why the hell was he laughing when he was realising something so stupid?

His laughter echoed off the concrete walls of the corridors.

When he looked back at B, she didn't seem to care about his sudden and inexplicable laughter. She was staring up at him, in that same intense and open stare that she'd been giving him in the elevator.

This time, Richard took it on with a smile.

"You want to ask me a question?" he asked.

B nodded vigorously. "You want to be on my radio show?" she asked. "We play off each other well, and you take me seriously."

"You mean the one you record?"

She nodded again.

Richard smiled.

"Sure thing, partner."

He didn't know why he enjoyed the idea so much, or what he expected to come out of it, but for the first time in his life, the decision made him fill with the sense of… something. He didn't know exactly what the unfamiliar feeling was, but it excited him all the same.

"Woah, my man. Hold your horses. Nobody said anything about a guaranteed partnership. We've got to put you through a few trial runs, lessons, figure out a long term dynamic, and a name. That's always important, probably more than you think."

Richard laughed again.

-Interlude-

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Topic: Legion

In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay Discussion (Public Board)

RoseBulletin (Original Poster)

Posted on April 15th, 2011:

The man in the smiling mask, or men depending on how you look at it. Discussion thread.

(Showing page 29 of 31)

►Greetings

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

All I'm saying is that even if we don't know why he's doing it, the fact of the matter is that he's done more good than harm, unless you're stupid enough to say that him saving hundreds of people from having their heads turned to mush is somehow a bad thing.

►Frogtruck7 (ABB Abduction Survivor)

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

We have no idea why he's doing it though. Even if he's done more good than harm, until we know why he's doing it, we can't exactly classify him as a hero or a villain. It's still possible that he's trying to take down the ABB just so he can take over their territory. We haven't exactly seen him do anything that wasn't related to the ABB, either, so it might just be a hyperfocused attack on a single group to destabilize them for his own purposes.

Not saying that's actually the case, but we can't blindly label him a hero, especially since he seems to be trying to market himself as a mercenary nowadays. Who's to say his first two appearances were done out of the goodness of his heart or for money?

►Excalibul

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Frogtruck7. Did you even read the post before yours?

everyone. From what we've seen so far, I'd say he's a hero. We barely have any info on his attack on the Teahouse, but his first appearance is enough to convince me that he's a genuinely good guy. If you watch the video of his talk with Win and Clock, he seems genuinely worried and desperate to save the ABB Abductees. And if he had an employer for that job, wouldn't his employer just have called the PRT for him? idk, it really doesn't come across as some kind of a setup or an act.

File uploaded: 4

►Frogtruck7 (ABB Abduction Survivor)

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Excalibul. He posted right before me and I didn't refresh the page before sending my thing.

I admit that I haven't actually seen a video that high quality before today. Every time I tried to find one it was pretty grainy and the audio quality was terrible, but I can see what you mean by Legion seeming genuine. But then again, it could be good acting.

I do want to clarify that I actually like Legion a lot and personally I do think he's a hero (check out my badge), but I'm just saying we don't have the facts. Honestly, if Legion made a public announcement that he's an independent vigilante who likes to make extra cash on the side, I'd believe him in an instant, but I also know that I have a personal bias for obvious reasons.

►TackleTim

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Hero or not, either way he's an ass.

►Denizen

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

! KEK

User received a warning for this post: low-effort post/spam.

►RoseBulletin (Original Poster)

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Come on, guys. Lets not derail every time Tim posts, please.

Tim, we all know where you're coming from, but you should at least try to provide a new opinion or angle. You're just keeping the meme alive by posting anti-Legion shit without explaining yourself.

►Denizen

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

He's clearly embracing the meme if he's literally named TackleTim. Honestly, what do you even have against Legion anyways? You got your minutes of fame, I know you've been using the attention to gain popularity at school, and you're getting fucking royalties from your "official" merch. For what, a few scrapes? Tell me Legion isn't the best thing that's happened to you.

►TackleTim

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

I never said I wasn't embracing the meme, and I'm not trying to say that Legion physically hurt me more than scraping my elbows and bruising my knees, but you weren't there.

Excal's video was the highest quality vid I've seen yet, but even that didn't get a view from up close enough to see into those creepy eyeholes. The reason why I didn't start running as soon as he LITERALLY SAID that he was going to TAKE HOSTAGES was because I saw his eyes. I froze up. I legitimately thought I was going to die right there and then.

Heroes are heroes because they're GOOD PEOPLE. Good people don't make random civilians think they're going to be murdered in broad daylight and never bother to apologize.

►maskedlegion

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Heads up. A few days ago I saw somebody wearing a homemade Legion mask, pretending to be me. You probably don't want to do that. ABB's pretty mad and they're trying to find and kill me. Mostly bakuda.

(Showing page 30 of 31)

►hingephones

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Wait. Is that actually a Legion account or just an imposter?

►Greetings

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Holy shit. It's one of the accounts that posted original Teahouse footage. It's really him.

Legion. Can you please give an official statement and shut down these stupid debates on whether you're a hero, villain, or mercenary? I swear half of this board is full of people just repeating the same shit over and over.

►payaka

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

He's only ever online to push his mercenary service on the boards. What do you think, retard?

►nonecube

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Legion. What were you doing at the PRT HQ on May 2nd? Are you considering membership into the Protectorate?

►duo3

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Wait… is nobody going to comment on how Legion just casually announced that there's a gang war going on?

►Bahamut

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

stfu duo. That's fearmongering and you know it. Legion just said that the ABB was hunting him which should be fucking obvious given what he did to them and that's not what a gang war is. Honestly, I get dressing up as your favourite heroes and all, but if you're going to dress up as Legion, a cape who doesn't have any known powers other than his cloning, some people might actually believe you're him, and if you don't think of the potential consequences that's on you.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Cape Sibling)

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Legion

I sent you a PM a while ago, on behalf of my older brother. Can you reply, please? He's really interested in a potential team-up with you.

►DiscourseDestiny

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Void ?

Is this the start of a new team?

►Bahamut

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Stfu void. This entire site if fucking sick of your troll ass. Idk how you got that badge, but even if you didn't trick one of the admins or hacked the site somehow and your brother actually is a cape, this isn't the place to bring him up. It's a Legion thread.

►payaka

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Stfu void. Stop bragging about your new cape brother on every fucking brockton bay thread. I'm getting sick and tired of your bullshit.

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►White Fairy (Veteran Member)

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Hi guys, just chiming in here, since so many people have sent in reports. I'll confirm right now that Void_Cowboy isn't lying when he says his brother is a cape. I've video chatted with the guy, live, and I gave Void_Cowboy his badge myself.

That being said, Void_Cowboy. Stop harassing other threads just to brag about your brother. If you really sent Legion a Private Message, the key word is PRIVATE.

If I see you ever mention your brother in a context that's not organic, I am giving you a week long ban without warning.

►maskedlegion

Replied on May 4th, 2011:

Please send all business inquiries to tosbuiwpdn . I don't answer personal questions.