Chapter 13
"Good morning, and thank you for joining us today," Legend addressed the crowd of journalists. "On Sunday, May fifteenth, Leviathan attacked Brockton Bay, and a gathering of brave heroes, villains and rogues defended the city. They did so under the protection of a truce, an agreement that everyone would put aside their grievances to cooperate for the greater good, and be free to go afterward. Unfortunately, one individual chose to break that truce. Shadow Stalker attacked another parahuman, grievously injuring them, before fleeing the scene."
Multiple simultaneous questions were thrown his way, and Legend raised a hand to quiet the assembled journalists before continuing.
"Let it be known that the PRT and Protectorate are doing everything they can to bring Shadow Stalker in as fast as possible, so that she can be tried for her crimes. Fortunately, quick intervention kept the situation from turning into a tragedy, and the victim promptly received medical care. You can be assured that we are holding ourselves accountable and are reviewing the safeguards we employ to prevent situations like this."
He quieted more chatter from the journalists.
"I want to reassure volunteering parahumans that we will do everything in our power to better protect them during future fights. We cannot let the choices of one individual undermine our entire defense against Endbringers. The world needs us, and now more than ever, it is important that we stand together for the greater good. Thank you."
He didn't take any questions, as Glenn had advised us that doing so was a recipe for disaster, and ceded the podium to Armsmaster.
"In July 2010, Shadow Stalker was arrested for using excessive force as a vigilante, and was offered to join the Wards as a probationary member rather than go to jail," he recited, his tone clipped. "As a young parahuman with only one known offense, we had good hopes of reforming her. Had we known then what we know now, we would have made a different call. Unfortunately, either because of insufficient supervision or because she was especially skilled at covering her tracks, we had no knowledge of her acting outside the law until her defection, nor did we know of any life she may have taken or injury she might have caused aside from the case leading to her initial arrest. As leader of the Protectorate ENE, I accept full responsibility for the oversight that allowed her to get away with so much for so long, which is why, as of today, I am stepping down from my position. I want to thank the people of Brockton Bay for their trust in me over the years, as well as extend to them my deepest apology for this whole situation. Thank you."
The assembled journalists erupted in a cacophony of questions as soon as Armsmaster finished his speech.
"No questions," he said before leaving the podium.
I couldn't help but feel bad for him despite myself.
I'd asked Clockblocker as we left the lobby, and he'd confirmed that Armsmaster had relinquished most Wards-related duties to Piggot, making her the one whose oversight had allowed Sophia to become such a menace in and out of costume.
Of course, proper accountability was out of the question while Coil loomed over the city, and Armsmaster's head was already on the chopping block. Lucky for them.
Still, it bothered me. It was as if the school's Principal had decided to fire Mr. Gladly in response to the bullying, and then called it a day. He might have let it happen under his nose, but he wasn't the one with the authority to put an end to it for good. It was only for show, rather than actually solving the problem.
The bitter, cynical part of me had toyed with the idea of going off-script and telling the truth, but anything I could say would only help Coil's goal to destabilize the PRT and force a restructuration, and I refused to become his pawn again. Instead, I figured that the more goodwill I earned by playing along, the less scrutiny I would face, especially concerning the use of my power. The happier Glenn and Maureen were with me, the less likely they were to look close enough to see anything but bees.
Miss Militia stepped to the podium.
The speech she — or rather, Glenn — had prepared was short and to the point, so much that I barely had time to stress about being next before she introduced me.
I left my place next to the other Wards and walked to the podium, feeling oddly exposed.
In the meeting room, I'd raised the concern of Coil positioning a sniper to take a shot at me, or sending the Undersiders and Travelers to crash the press conference, or using the occasion to make some kind of move. Miss Militia had called Déjà Vu, who had assured us that none of that would happen, but it didn't soothe my anxiety.
Alone against an army of journalists and flashing lights, I spoke Glenn's carefully prepared words, struggling to keep my voice even.
"You may know me as Skitter, and for that I am sorry. The fight against Leviathan showed me what we are really up against, why heroes are needed, and I cannot in good conscience go on as a villain after that. From now on, you may call me Apiary, and I hope that in time, I can prove myself to be the hero this city needs."
Flashes blinded me, and a flurry of questions were sent my way, only to be dismissed by Director Piggot who brought the press conference to an end.
I gladly stepped off the stage and retreated back to the lobby.
Armsmaster went straight to the elevator, hurrying to close the doors before anyone else could get in.
"That went well, I think," said Glenn, Maureen nodding beside him. They'd been waiting in the lobby, watching the livestream on the front desk's computer. "Apiary, you're already buzzing on the web, pun intended."
It's been one minute, I wanted to protest. And also: "I thought power was out for most of the city."
"Oh, it is, but the livestream is being viewed all around the world, and we had preemptively posted last night's emergency photoshoot on social media to generate some excitement. It's not everyday that a villain openly becomes a hero."
As opposed to secretly becoming a hero, which was apparently much more frequent.
"Speaking of buzzing," Glenn continued, "hives are being installed on the roof as we speak, and the city has agreed to let us install some on public properties, as well as several private building owners volunteering their rooftops. We've also reached out to various nearby farms, which would allow you to make different kinds of honey. Wildflower, clover, buckwheat, blueberry, alfalfa, lavender… Our rush order of bees should arrive tomorrow, once all the hives are installed. I'm hoping to get a nice video of you setting them up, for your social medias."
"You want me to do an unboxing video for bees?"
"That's exactly what I want! I knew you would understand."
There was no arguing with Glenn about the absurdity of it.
The other Wards filed out to the tinker-designed elevator, down to headquarters, while Miss Militia and Piggot waited for the other elevator.
Legend took me aside.
"I'm going back to New York this afternoon," he said. "Before leaving, I wanted to wish you the best, and express that I hope it's only a matter of time before we can fulfill the terms of our agreement and rescue Dinah Alcott.
He handed me his card.
"I can't guarantee that I always pick up the phone, but leave me a message if there's anything, and I'll get back to you shortly."
"Thank you," I said, meaning it, and he squeezed my shoulder before joining the others in the elevator.
Glenn and Maureen stayed with me in the lobby, and an agent joined us. She was a tall, serious-looking woman with high cheekbones, blue eyes and dark hair in a bun, dressed in a navy blue pantsuit.
"This is Agent Lanaro," said Maureen. "She will be your handler, your PRT liaison if you will, and will be escorting you on a spider-hunting trip for the rest of the day. As it turns out, we can't buy black widow spiders by the pound like bees, much less Darwin's bark spiders. We've managed to find an entomologist who should capture some specimens of the latter in Madagascar and bring them here in a few weeks, but you will have to breed them yourself, which will take time. For now, wild black widows will have to do. Bring back as many as you need for a large scale production of silk."
"And try not to terrorize anyone," Glenn added.
We waited until the journalists had dispersed, then I followed Lanaro outside to a van.
Since flooded Brockton Bay was rather hard to navigate by car, Lanaro took the simple option of bringing me to the next town over.
It felt eerily like stepping in a parallel world, untouched by Leviathan's destruction. Buildings were still standing, people walked without a care in the world, and there were even young children running around on a playground under the watchful eye of parents and daycare workers. It was sunny too, sunnier than it had been since the Endbringer came.
Just an ordinary Wednesday.
To think that all of that and more would still be normal, had the Endbringer decided to hit another city. Where would I be? Would I have rejoined the Undersiders despite knowing about Dinah, or would I have tried to strike out on my own? How would it have worked out for me?
I could only speculate.
Never in the world would I have joined the Wards if my back hadn't been against the wall, but it wasn't as bad as I had expected, even if I was still waiting for the PRT to come through about Dinah.
Meanwhile, various flying insects carried black widows to the box I had set out for them. I used a combination of image-friendly bugs, with wild bees, butterflies, dragonflies, and others, in case Lanaro reported anything to Glenn and Maureen. The reasoning was the same as with my speech. I could either drag my feet about the restrictions and PR and be looked at as the next Shadow Stalker, or I could keep them happy and off my back.
Once all the black widows were in the box, I climbed back in the van, and Lanaro drove the equivalent of my range before stopping again, so I had a new batch of spiders to call to me.
A few people waved at me, simply because I was dressed in costume. Technically, this was my first outing in my hero costume — the prototype, at least. The real one was still being made, in several copies.
One of the stops brought me near an elementary school yard during recess, and the children stared and waved as I stood in front of the box to hide what I was doing while I waved back. The last thing I needed was for Glenn to learn of me terrorizing a bunch of ten years olds by confronting them with the reality of the sheer number of venomous spiders in their surroundings. I sent a bunch of butterflies their way to distract them, and they seemed delighted.
Lanaro barely spoke, which was fine with me, but when she did, it was short and to the point. She struck me as a no-nonsense kind of person, and acted nonplussed around my power and the thousands of black widows in the back of the van, which was really all I could ask for.
We covered the whole city before noon, and stopped for the best bao buns of my life at a food truck downtown. One of the people in line in front of us asked for an autograph and a photo, despite not knowing who I was. Lanaro provided a pen, and I signed his napkin, then she took a photo of the two of us and handed the phone back to him.
We ate in the van, with me awkwardly hiding in the back with the spiders since I had to remove my mask, and the radio filling the silence.
In the afternoon, we went to three other cities.
The M.O. was much the same, and by the time we came back to base, I had several tens of thousands of black widow spiders stored in boxes.
Lanaro went in the lobby while I was opening the back doors of the van, and promptly came back with a cart to transport the boxes.
I thanked her, and she led me to my workshop. It was one floor above the Wards headquarters, across from Kid Win's workshop, and both doors were identified with printed signs.
It was a medium-sized, rectangular room that used to be a storage closet for spare furniture, but now, the side walls were framed with shelves holding a variety of plexiglas terrariums to keep my bugs in. In the middle of the space was a large workbench with drawers underneath hiding the handful of tools I'd requested, and Armsmaster's machine was installed in the bottom one, to keep the bugs following my last instruction whenever I fell out of range.
At the back, against the wall, was a massive aquarium nearly the same width as the room, with six horseshoe crabs, delivered and installed while I was spider hunting. Beneath the aquarium were two small vertical freezers, full of shrimps and mackerel, which is what the Maritime Aquarium fed the horseshoe crabs, as well as a large reserve of sugar bags for the bees' syrup.
On the left, below the shelves of terrariums, there was a small countertop with a sink, a portable induction cooktop and a large pot, to make sugar syrup for my bees.
A desk next to the door held a braille computer and printer, as I intended to learn it, and a shelf above it housed a variety of reference books about bugs, as well as a small radio.
There was no window, but a vent on the ceiling had been repurposed into a trap that led outside, so I could bring bugs in to feed the spiders.
"Everything to your liking?" Asked Lanaro.
"It's great," I answered.
She handed me her card. "My number is on it, as well as my office number on the third floor. Don't hesitate if you need anything. That's what I'm here for."
"Thanks," I told her, and she left.
I'd gathered a swarm on the way back, and it filed through the vent and into the workshop, settling on the ceiling while I unpacked the spiders. I opened the boxes and set them on the workbench, letting the black widows crawl out, then directed the swarm to feed itself to the spiders.
My phone buzzed, and I checked it. It was a text from my dad, asking me to call him when I could.
My first thought was to procrastinate, to avoid what was sure to be an awkward conversation for as long as possible. Then, the shame caught up with me. My dad had to leave his life behind because of me, on top of buying a cellphone specifically to keep in touch with me despite his specific hangups against them, and I couldn't even do him the courtesy of calling him back in a timely manner?
I called him right away, and he picked up halfway through the first ring.
"Hey, Taylor. How are you doing?" He asked.
"Okay, I guess. How are you?"
"Fine. I watched the broadcast."
"Oh."
"You were good. Nice costume. Bee themed?"
"It was my idea."
"I see. That's good, that they let you have some input into it."
"Yeah."
Silence fell for a moment, and I wondered what I could say. Dad spoke up again before I could find something.
"The other Wards are treating you alright?"
I could imagine more than hear the worry in his voice; he did a good job sounding casual, but I knew this was the real reason he'd called. Had he spent the last few days imagining the worst, that this was like Winslow all over again?
"Yeah." They resent me because of my past as a villain, but at least they're mostly polite about it. "It takes some getting used to," I answered truthfully.
"I suppose it does. And it's nice? The place you're staying at?"
"Yeah. I have a room and a workshop, for spidersilk production."
"Spidersilk? Wow, I didn't think that was something you could do."
"Yeah. It's how I made my costume. I mean, my old costume."
He went silent with the mention of my former double life, then, just as I wondered if I should come up with an excuse to hang up, he spoke again, quieter.
"How did you manage that? I mean, I never noticed anything."
The desperation in his voice gave me pause. I cringed, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't make him feel bad.
"In the basement. I mean, I can control them from a distance, so I didn't need to be there at all. I was just doing my homework and stuff in my room while they worked."
"I see. Still no news of Shadow Stalker?"
"No, aside from the leak about her actions."
"Right. They said they're doing what they can to ensure that your identity is safe, but that some people might know anyways."
He let the statement hang in the air, not quite a question, but I answered it as one, more for his sake than because I believed it.
"They have NDAs and stuff for situations like that, and they can stamp down online speculation. You're already in protective custody, and I'm sleeping in the most protected building in the city. It's gonna be fine, dad."
"I guess. It's hard not to worry, though."
"I know."
"What are they making you do? Do you patrol like the Protectorate?"
Another hidden question about my safety.
"Not yet. So far it's been search and rescue, and mostly stuff to do with me being a new Ward. Power testing, costume designing, reading the handbook and learning the rules. I went to the aquarium yesterday, to test my power. I can control crabs and other crustaceans too. Today, after the press conference, I went to gather black widows to make spidersilk."
I didn't mention that I would start patrolling tomorrow. I didn't want to worry him.
"How is it going in New York?" I asked to change the subject.
I was treated to a description of his safehouse, of how he was spending a lot of time reading, since he couldn't work, and that the PRT agents were very professional and accommodating.
"It's been nice talking to you, Taylor. I should let you get back to work."
"You too, dad. Have a nice day."
I hung up and put away the phone.
The spiders were full, so I instructed them to start weaving, while flipping the biological switch that urged them to reproduce. They would be ready to lay eggs within a week or so. From there, it would be about three to four weeks before my number of weavers increased to seven digits.
I set them to start working on four suits, one for each of the other Wards, and the last one for me.