NO COMPROMISE

You gaze at the villain impassively. "Do you really think, Coil, that I am going to condemn an entire city for the sake of a strategic advantage?"

"I could argue that the survival of billions takes priority over the comfort of thousands," he says, "but who said anything about sacrificing? I am not psychotic. I am not some manner of modern-day Nero. I wish to control this city, yes, but I have every intention of making it great, if only because my pride requires it. A Brockton Bay under my control would, if anything, be safer than it currently is."

"You are hardly the first villain I see making such a claim. In practice, it never works out. Tyrants do not make for healthy societies."

"Then perhaps your world has yet to see someone quite like me. I-"

"There are always men like you," you interrupt. "I have seen every manner of government human History has produced, Coil. I have seen the worst tyrants, and I have seen noble kings." You still have fond memories of Arthur Pendragon, for one. "I have seen idealistic democrats, and I have seen corrupt demagogues. People such as yourself, whose first priority is power, may occasionally make useful reformers and administrators… but they invariably place their control before the good of the people they rule over, and it shows, Coil. It shows not only in how they rule, but in the legacy they leave behind.

"You see… It may be true that some forms of government are preferable to others. Having seen how often power attracts those least worthy of being trusted with it, I fully understand why democracies such as this country endeavor to institute a separation of powers, a system of checks and balances, and a guarantee that politicians' careers are in large part dependent on the good will of the governed. However, I have seen enough to tell you that all forms of government, from the worst to the best, will ultimately depend in large part on one simple factor - the humanity of the people. A good and wise king is preferable to a wretched democratic president, and a good and wise democratic president is preferable to a wretched king. The people themselves will fare well or poorly depending on many factors, and one of the largest is how they treat each other.

"Life under your rule might see a few improvements, Coil. As far as I can tell, you are an intelligent, methodical man. But you will destroy those who stand against you, and most of those will be the best of the people. You will promote those who serve you loyally, giving power to toadies and villains. Even if that is not your intent, you will create a society of triumphant, ascending evil, and it will have a disastrous effect on every rung of society, even after you're gone.

"If I accept that as the price of your help, then I am creating a world where evil can triumph. A world where any crime can be forgotten and ignored so long as the perpetrator is sufficiently powerful, where the suffering of the victims is an afterthought. You are not asking me to sacrifice a city, Coil - you are asking me to sacrifice the fair and just world that the world we have is trying to be. That is not an acceptable bargain."

Coil hasn't moved an inch through your speech. "Unfortunate. I had hoped you would be more reasonable than this. Clinging to such absolutist views will do the world no good."

"Who said anything of absolutist views? I understand the necessity of compromise. I would be open to making a deal with you, or rather to encouraging the PRT to offer you a deal, such as reducing your sentence in exchange for your assistance in a variety of scenarios. The compromise you suggested is simply beyond the pale."

"Even so, I will not allow years of hard work be cast to the wayside," says Coil. "However, I have cause to believe that, should you give me your word, you would be extremely unlikely to go back on it. As such, if you swear to abide by the terms I have proposed earlier… then I will allow this present timeline to continue. Should you refuse, I will drop it and maintain a different timeline, where I am currently in hiding after having killed a number of people, including Dinah Alcott." His fingers still steepled, his hands rise in front of his mouth. "So which will it be, Avatar? My help against Endbringers and the hostages, or your need to put me in jail for the government that has already failed this city?"

Quantum hostages, already both alive and dead? You must admit, that's a new one. And, admittedly, not a bad plan. Using hostages to keep you busy is a tactically valid approach against you. But Coil is asking for more than just time to escape - he's asking that you stay out of his nefarious schemes, forever. Furthermore, if he succeeds and you give in, what's to stop the next villain from enacting similar tactics? You have gone through such moral dilemmas in your home dimension, and you know his demand is unacceptable in the long run.

But so is allowing the hostages to die. Which is why, as you open your mouth as if to reply, your hand instantly moves forward, touching Coil's forehead. Your secondary power pool focuses through his mind, quickly forming a crude map of its psychic pathways. You speak out loud: "DESIST."

The psychic force surges from you to Coil's mind - a singular, forceful command to shut down the other timeline. And the part of his brain that controls his power, reacting to that command as if it came from his own mind, does just that.

As far as mind-control goes, that's not a very powerful ability. But a single command, in melee range, to someone who wasn't expecting it? Yeah, you could do that.

The mask isn't enough to hide how stunned Coil is. "You have mind control powers?!"

"Very minor, and only used in extreme circumstances. You may consider yourself under arrest, Coil." You take a minute to use your communication powers to signal the Protectorate, before turning your attention back to the snake-themed villain. "I did mean what I said earlier. Your power can do immense good for the world. If you agree to help the Protectorate, I am certain your sentence will be-"

You pause when a rumbling noise is heard, heading toward the room. Then, the wall shatters as a massive creature bursts in. It has the upper body of woman, but beneath that is a gigantic mass of body parts. You'd noticed that creature when you scanned the base, but she had seemed securely locked up. Did Coil somehow send a signal to free her? Did he have agents listening in on your conversations with order to release her if a deal wasn't reached? Regardless, she's currently barrelling toward you like a mountain of flesh and rage.

"...so I blasted her unconscious, then created these carbosteel restraints for her," you tell Armsmaster, the two of you staring at the creature while Miss Militia and Battery arrest Coil. "The injuries she sustained from the blast have already regenerated. I also noticed that, when a fly landed on her, several more came out from under her skin - probably some touch-based duplication power, so she should be handled with care."

"She will be," said Armsmaster. "The Alcotts called us before you even came here. What brought you to Coil's lair in the first place?"

"That would be the Undersiders, actually," you say with a smile. "They have apparently been in Coil's employ for months. At Skitter's urging, they have agreed to provide me with all the information about him and his powers I needed, along with information about Miss Alcott. I suppose her going undercover did pay off in the end," you say, that last part whispered only - Armsmaster knows, but Miss Militia and Battery don't; Skitter will probably want them to, but it's not your call to reveal her secrets.

Armsmaster gets gruff at that. Not too surprising considering his personal grudge and what Skitter did to him. Still, you hope you can overcome that. And as the creature, Coil, and what personnel remained in the base get taken away by the PRT, you make sure to send a message to Skitter, telling her about the victory that her actions have allowed here.

Once this matter has been taken care of, it's back to the PRT for some more questions… and then, some power-testing. As you quickly learn, they use a different power classification from your world - there are 12 broad categories of powers, with ratings within them going from 1 to 10 (and 12 for individuals beyond the normal scope).

Mover powers correspond to movement powers such as super-speed, teleportation, flight, going through walls, and more. Your own hypersonic flight speed (couple with the ability to turn intangible or teleport with your secondary power pool) earns you a classification of Mover 9.

Shaker powers control the battlefield. Between your forcefields, your telekinesis, and your ability to create massive solid objects, you are rated as Shaker 6.

Brute powers govern resistance to damage (and, to a lesser degree, super-strength). Your physical strength is comparable to Olympic weightlifters, but your resilience - especially in the face of the hits that you took from Leviathan underwater - earn you a rating of Brute 9-10 (you learn, incidentally, that Alexandria is considered a Brute 8, and Behemoth a 10). You also mention your ability to return from the dead, but the testers are skeptical - not because such an ability is impossible (you hear them mentioning "Gray Boy" and shuddering), but because you cannot demonstrate it for them (or rather, you could if you had a wide open space where to blast yourself to a bloody pulp, but it takes a long while to self-resurrect… plus, are you entirely confident it would work in this world?).

Breaker powers perform a localized alteration in how physics apply to you. You wonder if your luck-manipulation counts… but you decide to keep that particular ace in the hole a secret. Some caution is advised, after all. Let Gallant, clockblocker and Shadow Stalker believe they just got lucky.

Master powers control others. This includes mind-control, but also Skitter's bug control, or Crusader, an Empire 88 villain who summons energy minions to fight for him.

Tinker powers involve advanced blueprints appearing ex nihilo in your head, allowing certain parahumans to create technology that even they do not fully understand and do not know how to mass-produce. Frankly, you find the entire concept bizarre.

Blaster powers are ranged attacks. Considering your effectiveness against Leviathan, you are at the moment considered the world's greatest Blaster (a title formerly contested between Legend and Behemoth), with a rating of 10-12. You find it odd that your Blaster rating is higher than your Brute rating, seeing as your defence is roughly on par with your offence, but apparently the PRT doesn't use the same scaling system as your world's metahuman management agencies.

Thinker powers are an interesting lot - powers that provide extra information. You're aware of enhanced senses, or the mental super-speed that Doublethink uses back home, but there's apparently a greater variety here (including precognition, which still baffles you). Your own cosmic senses and eidetic memory earn you a Thinker 4 classification.

Striker powers are various melee-range effect, ranging from super-sharp claws to Clockblocker's ability to freeze someone in time.

Changer powers are various abilities to change one's own body.

Trump powers are abilities that somehow interact with other powers. Your own secondary power pool, which can provide some low-end abilities, earns you a Trump 7 rating (and is referred to, by one tester, as a "discount Eidolon").

Stranger powers govern stealth and infiltration.

After this round of testing, you are sent to a different PRT facility - one located in the Nevada desert. There, some more extreme tests are performed, allowing the experts to finally mark you down as Brute 10, Blaster 12.

Blaster 12, Brute 10, Mover 9, Trump 7, Shaker 6, Thinker 4. Or, in one of the expert's words, "at least as powerful as Eidolon". Which, you now understand, is very high by this world's standards, where Eidolon is considered the most powerful parahuman of all bar Scion (and the Endbringers, if one counts them as parahumans).

But at the same time, you think back to how powers work in your own world.

Various formal methods of power classification aside, the man on the street back home tends to speak of metahumans as "A-lister", "B-listers" and so on.

Now, in terms of numbers, the amount of superheroes and supervillains back home seems comparable to the number of parahumans on this world. In terms of quality, however…

In your world, the term "D-lister" refers to the metahumans who are weaker than the norm (often the descendants of first-generation mutants, hedge mages, people armed with tech and magic artifacts only a few notches beyond the norm). Looking at local classification… you can't help but suspect that 90% of parahumans would be considered D-listers.

"C-lister" has no negative connotation - it refers to the "average" metahumans. Looking at the people of Brockton Bay, you get the impression that the ones who would qualify as "average" - Armsmaster, Glory Girl, Hookwolf - are those who are considered above the norm here.

"B-lister" means exceptionally powerful (recent mutations, archmages, exceptional technology). They represent some 10% of your metahuman population, but you think here, they would form the upper percentile of parahumans.

"A-lister" is the cream of the crop. The upper percentile. The sort of people who join the Global Champions and Global Might. The ones who can fight armies. You suppose the Triumvirate probably qualifies, but, beyond that…

Of course, power isn't everything. The Zenith Watch is comprised of individuals whose powers mostly qualify as C-list, but they've tackled many B-list and a few A-list problems with aplomb. Competence means a lot. And if anything, the superpowers of this world seem more varied than those of yours.

But still. When it comes to power levels, these guys are on the low end of what you've grown used to. Food for thought.

It is about time for you to meet Director Piggot, leader of the Brockton Bay PRT division. Despite the woman's weight problems, you recognize military discipline in her demeanour and body language.

Also present in the room are Legend, Armsmaster, Miss Militia and Aegis.

"...so if I understand correctly, you haven't decided yet whether you want to properly join the Protectorate, but you wish to collaborate with us on a trial basis."

"That is more or less it, director," you state. "I have expressed my desire to help this world, but I am limited in what good I can do as long as I remain ignorant of your world. Back home, I had sufficient understanding of nearly every nation's criminal law to assist the police. I had a general idea of which type of villains to try to talk down, and which ones to blast unconscious on sight. I could gauge what would constitute excessive force, what could be considered scandalous due to local cultural norms, and so on. Here, I am relying too much on guesswork. My attempts to do good could easily backfire on me unless I lean more. As such, collaborating with an established organization like the Protectorate strikes me as a wise move, and helping Brockton Bay in the wake of Leviathan's attack might not be a bad idea."

"I had also extended the invitation for him to work with the New York or Los Angeles Protectorate," says Legend, "but a smaller location might be a better starting point."

"He's already arrested Coil," Miss Militia points out. "With the month we've had, having Leviathan's killer visibly on our side might discourage local villains from acting up." Armsmaster seems less than thrilled, but he isn't saying anything.

Director Piggot considers some of the paperwork that was, apparently, sent to her by chief director Costa-Brown. "Do understand then, Avatar: You will be expected to defer to local expertise and follow the orders of senior Protectorate and PRT members. Initiatives such as today's raid on Coil's lair, or your unauthorized meeting with the Undersiders, will have to be discussed with us before you engage in them. Is that something you can work with?"

"I like to think so. This is a trial period, after all," you say with a smile. "We're here to see what the best arrangement we can work out is."

"Very well." She loudly stamps the documents. "You are now officially a provisional member of the East-North-East Protectorate. This arrangement comes with some benefits, such as your own room in the Protectorate base and a salary; a bank account will be opened for you, under a fake civilian identity if you so wish it."

"I appreciate the consideration, but no fake identity will be needed. I don't have a civilian life outside of the job." Huh. Armsmaster actually seems to approve of that. "With that said, there was that other matter I wished to discuss…"

"Skitter." The director frowns. "Over the past month, Skitter has made herself quite the nuisance. Her and the Undersiders' attacks on the Central Bank and the fundraiser are, along with the gang war, one of the main reasons why the people of the city don't feel safe - or at least, why they didn't until Leviathan attacked. She's caused us quite a bit of trouble, and you would have us overlook all that because she claims she had a change of heart?"

"Skitter has displayed exemplary selfless courage during the Leviathan fight," you answer, keeping your voice steady and free of hostility. "She has chosen to forfeit the financial security and extensive support afforded by Coil to save the Alcott girl, and pressured her friends - clearly no small feat for an insecure teenager - into doing the right thing. I consider myself an excellent judge of character, director, and it seems clear to me that her past indiscretions were youthful mistakes rather than indications of a rotten core. She has seen true evil in Coil, and rejected it. What she needs is guidance, not incarceration - in a proper environment, I have faith that she can grow into the sort of hero Brockton Bay needs."

Before anyone answers, you go on: "It seems to me that her main motivation for her villainous deeds was never greed or sadism, but rather loyalty to friends who, regrettably, were on the wrong side of the law. If she can befriend the Wards, I have little doubt they will benefit from the same loyalty. She'll never raise a hand against the Undersiders, but she will walk through fire to protect people."

"Hm. So, show more Gallant, less Shadow Stalker," Aegis mutters to himself, at a low enough volume you'd have missed it if your hearing wasn't excellent.

"I will consider it," the director says reluctantly. "Since she listens to you, perhaps it would be best if you arranged a meeting between her and some of our people. In the meanwhile, Avatar, welcome to the Protectorate."

Now that you are an associate of the ENE Protectorate, you spend the next few days doing the following:

[ ] Pushing the PRT to bring Skitter on board.

[ ] Getting to know the local heroes - Protectorate, Wards, and New Wave.

[ ] Getting a better idea of how superpowers work here.

[ ] Working with the Protectorate to really clean up the streets, arresting more villains.

[ ] Finding more civilian applications for your powers.

[ ] Getting in touch with countries and heroes beyond Protectorate territory.

You may vote for as many of these as you want. However, the more of these make the final cut, the less time and effort will go into each one individually.

Man... Another chapter that suffered from serious bloat. I think I should avoid giving you the option to do too much per chapter. XD

WELCOME TO THE PROTECTORATE

You might be tempted to say that the first order of business is getting Skitter into the Protectorate, but obviously that's not true.

The first order of business is reading the literature. The PRT provides new recruits with a guidebook that explains rules, procedures, everything from salary grids to Master-Stranger protocols. Thankfully, granting yourself some mental super-speed allows you to turn a page every second without missing a single word, and your eidetic memory won't forget any of it.

That leaves you some time to familiarize yourself, still using mental super-speed, with US law, Canadian law, and this world's UN charter. The fact that your new room has a computer with Web access facilitates things. You have also been provided with a PRT-issued phone, seeing as your communication powers aren't always on.

With that done, the next step is a little meet-and-greet with the local Protectorate and Wards rosters. Part of you always feels loath to spend precious time on social occasions, even with good friends whose presence you enjoy - after all, every moment you spend chatting in the safety of a friendly location is time spent not rescuing anyone from deadly danger, and there are always people in deadly danger. A more reasonable part of you, though, knows that some socialization helps build effective teams. It's thus a matter of finding the optimal balance between those needs.

Armsmaster, as you quickly learn, is not so far from your workaholism. From your talks, both with him and Assault, it sounds like he spends every bit of time he can patrolling, training, building new devices, or maintaining current ones (from the sound of it, "tinkertech" requires an impractical degree of maintenance). Then again… the man strikes you as having little in the way of social skills. Is that part of the reason he's so focused on heroing? Is it, perhaps, the other way around?

You can also perceive some resentment toward Dauntless. Bad blood between them? If so, it seems one-sided. At least he doesn't seem resentful toward you, which is a start.

"You don't need to sleep? Handy. I know I could use having six extra hours in the day."

"It's an advantage," you concede, "but even if I had 240 hours each day, I could still only accomplish a tiny fraction of what needs to be done. It's why I do my best to encourage others to join the good fight, and why I try to coordinate with other teams." He nods at that.

Miss Militia is a Middle-Eastern woman - Kurdish is your best guess - who apparently shares your permanent wakefulness. She seems friendlier than her leader, and the general vibe you get from her is a positive one - she reminds you of some of the better heroes you've known. Which is why you choose to broach a sensitive subject with her:

"I'll admit this sounds odd. There no heroes and villains below 18 in your world?"

"Well, obviously it's a lot more complicated than that. Mutation-based powers manifest weakly during puberty, then take several years to reach full strength. Still, social services will usually prevent minors from going out and fighting crime - that's not supposed to be their job. Young villains exist, sadly, but they remain few and far between." You pause. "There was one team of superheroic children in recent years, called the Young Champions, but the only reason they stayed in operation for as long as they did was because they were fighting in a different plane of reality."

"You mean, another dimension?"

"Not exac- well, I suppose I wouldn't know. I haven't familiarized myself with your terminology yet."

"There's that," she grins, though her expression quickly grows more serious. "But for what it's worth, I received my powers at a young age, and used it immediately in self-defense; violence often finds capes whether or not they're looking for it. And we often do look for it - having powers but not using is almost unthinkable for most parahumans, and we seem geared toward conflict." Her expression then changes into a reassuring smile under that scarf. "If it helps, though, the Ward program tries to keep them away from real fights unless an Endbringer is in town. Wards actually going on patrols like they do in Brockton Bay is a bit of an exception, due to how understaffed we are compared to the villains. Having no Thinker support hurts us, to be honest…"

Battery seems level-headed and professional, and displays interest in how law enforcement and metahumans intersect on your world.

"Wait, you personally built some of the Birdcage equivalents?"

"Some of the early ones. When metahumans first appeared, it was almost impossible to contain supervillains without killing them, and I didn't want execution to become the default solution, especially for supervillains who had never actually committed murder. I helped build some of those early prisons to provide an alternative. Nowadays, though, technology is sufficiently advanced that my assistance is no longer required. With that said, we never had one singular, global prison - at last count, there were over twenty metahuman detention centers in the US alone."

"I see. Are escapees an issue?"

"Usually, no more so than unpowered felons. There have been rare exceptions - one prison was apparently run for years by a criminal conspiracy that was getting the prisoners out, giving them new identities, and hiring them as supposed 'superheroes' for a large team it was building." She gives you an odd look at that.

Assault, from the looks of it, is the Protectorate member least concerned about propriety and boundaries, which also makes him more informative and prone to gossip than the others. You can tell he has some relationship with Battery beyond just being teammates, but you're not certain of its exact nature.

"So, yeah. Welcome to the Nazi capital of America," he says. "Say… You've been around since the 1920s, right? Does that mean you fought Hitler?"

"I fought against the Third Reich during the war," you confirm. "I wish I had been able to do more. I did more or less destroy the KKK prior."

"No shit," he says with a big smile. "How'd you do that?"

"About two months after my debut, I had a lot of credibility built. I crashed a Klan lynching, and I brought with me multiple witnesses. After that, I repeated it again multiple times over the next few years, while also encouraging some friends and acquaintances I'd made to attack the organization socially through satire and ridicule. No less important was convincing several individual klansmen of the error of their ways - with their knowledge of the organization, they were able to speak up and demystify it. Throw in the fact that one in ten American metahumans was black, and the Federal government understood the implications… and, well, by the mid-30s the organization was a shadow of its former power."

"So you're not going to be making Kaiser's life any easier," he chuckles.

Dauntless, perhaps more than anyone here, seems relieved to have you around. His power is a rarity in that it grows over time (which, frankly, surprises you). As such, he's expected to one day be in the Triumvirate's league and make a sizable difference against S-class threats.

"...and it's just good to have someone around who can actually fight those things. I've watched the videos, and even for Eidolon it's always an uphill battle. You know what I mean?"

"I believe I do." You get the impression Dauntless doesn't care much for how many hopes and expectations are placed upon his shoulders.

Velocity. Laid-back fellow. The way his powers work seems weird to you even in comparison to Dauntless. Super-speed that reduces his ability to interact with physical objects? That sounds… like an artificial limitation, to be honest.

"Yyyyeah, the faster I move, the less my punches hurt. Them's the breaks, man."

"Then why not rely on weapons that don't require much strength? Tranquilizer needles, stun guns, pepper spray, tying their shoelaces together…"

"Whoa, dude."

Triumph is a recent graduate of the Wards. Surprisingly, he seems more thankful for your arrest of Coil than for stopping Leviathan.

"...and what he did to Dinah Alcott was… fuck. No-one who treats children like that should be anywhere outside the Birdcage."

"I agree on principle, but his powers could make a difference against S-class threats. If the PRT makes a deal with him, it might be for the best."

He sighs. "Goddamn politics."

Tsunami isn't a Protectorate member yet, but the PRT is working on it, and they intend to assign her to this city for symbolic reasons (and because if there's a city that won't be creeped out by a hydrokinetic, it's the one where Leviathan died without causing major damage); she's as much part of this meet-and-greet as you are. She's rough around the edges, and you get the feeling she doesn't feel all that sorry for some of the worse things she's done, but she seems sincere about this career change.

" ...Really? You're doing the hero thing 24/7? No time to relax? To catch a movie? To fucking fuck?"

"My circumstances are somewhat unusual," you say. "If anyone else was displaying this sort of single-mindedness, I would strongly recommend that they take a vacation. People need time to wind down and maintain their sanity."

"But you don't."

"I don't. Different rules, different needs." You smile jokingly. "So, no, I'm not asking you to always be on duty. Just to do as well as you can."

Overall, the Protectorate folks seem all right. As for the Wards… Well, they seem a bit more awestruck than their adult counterparts.

Aegis, the team leader, is struggling to be professional. Makes sense, as he'll be graduating to the Protectorate in mere months.

"It feels good to have another victory under our belt, even if only one of us had a meaningful contribution," he says, glancing in Vista's direction. "I try to keep the team optimistic, but the truth is, the good guys lose far more often than not in Brockton Bay."

"Retaining hope when you're winning is the easy part," you point out. "It takes something greater to keep hope alive when things look bleak. As long as you haven't given up, the possibility for victory exists." You pause. "I have immense respect for the courage you and the others have demonstrated, but do remember - the Wards exist to prepare you for the Protectorate. Getting minors into the line of fire is the result of unfortunate circumstances, not the actual goal."

"I suppose," he says with a chuckle, "but we couldn't stand back while Bakuda was turning the city into rubble, could we?"

"Of course not. You helped stop her. You were heroes. You did well. I'm not criticizing your actions. I just want to change the world so that such actions will become unnecessary."

"Fair enough."

Clockblocker, if anything, is even more irreverent and clownish than Assault. But then again, that might just be in part his age showing.

"So, basically, you're glowy, look like you were sculpted by someone they named a ninja turtle after, spend 24 hours a day on the job, and have enough bullshit powers to kick an Endbringer's ass. So, yeah, everyone's guessing you're Scion's little brother or something."

"I doubt we're related, but I'll admit this Scion character makes me curious. I ought to have words with him at some point."

"...You can just say that like it's no big deal. Just how easy would it be for you to track him down?"

"Honestly, it would be easier to send him a message and ask him to meet me, though I have no idea whether he would accept."

Gallant, much like Techno-Paladin, seems to be going for the futuristic knight look (though he's eschewing the cape, and unlike your teammate, his armor includes a helmet). He seems like the most charismatic of the bunch. Probably a future leader, whether he intends to be or not - hopefully, he can make good decisions under fire.

"So you've really never had an equivalent to the Endbringers?" he says with what sounds like awe.

"Well, that's not to say we've never had the equivalent of class-S threats," you point out. "Professor Cryo, Nollius, Shadow, Global Might, Garzor… heck, Zero could probably be considered a cut-rate Endbringer. Thankfully he was destroyed before he could hit town."

"I see," he gets pensive. "Excuse me, but… you were told how my powers work, right?"

"Blasts that both push the target and inflict emotions, combined with some empathic ability to know how other people feel?" His armor is his Armsmaster's creation.

"Yeah. About that last part… I've been looking at you for a while, and your emotions register… differently from other people. I'm not entirely sure how to put it into words. It's like some parts are incredibly intense, but don't actually make you lose control like they would in a normal person, and other parts…" he pauses, clearly uncertain.

You smile and shrug. "My mental structure is different from most people's. That has always been the case. I wouldn't worry about it."

Browbeat is apparently the newest member of the team. A bit detached. The sort of fellow who's always analyzing everything.

"...everyone is focusing on the direct damage Endbringers cause and how you might stop them, but they have implications beyond that. Endbringers also force people to work together against them. It's why the Israelis and Palestinians got their act together once the Simurgh's MO was figured out, but it's also why we have to go easy on supervillains: The PRT wants them on the streets, since they can't fight Behemoth in the Birdcage. Mind you, I'm not actually expecting this to end that easily. Everyone assumes that there are only three Endbringers, despite the fact that each of their first appearances were years apart. Seems more logical to me that we're due for a fourth any year now…"

You listen and throw in some comments. Engaging him on an intellectual level will probably mean more to him than other approaches. "I appreciate the insight. This whole world is still very new to me."

Shadow Stalker. You have been informed - after signing a nondisclosure agreement - that like you, her position here is probationary. Unlike you, that's because she came uncomfortably close to killing criminals as a vigilante, and was offered this position as an alternative to prison. You're not entirely sold on the idea - oh, you're all for turning villains into heroes, but you're not sure taking a violent vigilante and putting her right back into violent situations is the best approach. For that matter, this approach seems to ignore the need to give justice for her victims.

But on the other hand… the PRT seems desperate for manpower. That it would make this sort of compromise is regrettable, but entirely understandable given the situation. You imagine that if supervillains outnumbered heroes three to one in your world, you'd be willing to make more compromises to some on your side as well.

"...I'm just saying, you killed an Endbringer. Eidolon's supposed to be hot shit, but even he never pulled it off. Scion manages to drive them away, but he doesn't have your killer instinct. Power and the will to use it makes you pretty much the apex predator of the cape scene."

"I'm uncertain the term really applies. I've never felt any temptation to eat capes."

She chuckles at the lame joke. "You know what I mean."

"I think I've got an inkling, but I'd still rather hear it from your mouth."

She pauses to consider for a moment. "OK. It's… like this. Everything in life - animals or people - divides into two types: Victims and survivors. You've got those who take abuse, and those that don't. In nature, that means predators and prey. In society, that means those who fight back, and those who don't. But even among predators, you've got a whole hierarchy." And since you've killed an Endbringer, you're at the top?

"Hm. It's one way of seeing things, but it's a bit too pat," you say, rubbing your chin. "In my experience, whether someone fights back often depends less on who they are than on the circumstances. I've seen many people meekly take all sorts of abuse, then fight back like berserkers when that same abuse happened to someone they cared about. I've seen brave, self-reliant survivors fall apart and allow themselves to be meekly victimized in specific situations. If there are, as you say, two types… then everyone out there belongs to both." That seems to actually put her off-balance, which is what you were going for - her beliefs sound far too much like an excuse for victimization.

Kid Win is a Tinker like Armsmaster, but shares none of his confidence. He seems to be the one most tongue-tied around you at first. You manage to get him to open up by discussing technology - you may not be an expert yourself, but you've seen amazing devices at work.

"...the alternator cannon is the one really brilliant thing I built. Kinda wish I could have gotten a shot at Leviathan, but if even Legend couldn't really hurt him I imagine it couldn't have either."

"You're young. You'll build many other brilliant things."

He seems uncertain. "I hope you're right. I have… difficulties, I guess? But I've also got some new ideas," he says with renewed enthusiasm. "I think I can use the antigravity from my hoverboard to make some combat drones that can fly and escort me during fights, and…"

Vista is both the youngest Ward, and the team veteran, which is honestly kind of horrifying. You avoid bringing the subject up, though - you don't want her to feel like you're diminishing her heroism. You also notice that she has an unsubtle crush on Gallant - which, being an empath, he can't be ignorant of. You don't detect any awkwardness between them, though, which suggests some level of emotional maturity on both sides.

"...and when Eidolon was holding Leviathan up, and I was letting Armsmaster hit him with the nanothorn - it was awesome! You know, I always thought when I first participated in an Endbringer battle, I'd be 18, and it'd be terrible and lots of good people would die. So… thank you."

"Thank you. If you and Armsmaster hadn't destroyed the ablative armor, I might not have been able to destroy the core quickly enough to win. If you hadn't protected people from that giant water blast, good people would have died." She blushes at the praise.

The meet-and-greet took several hours - hours that weren't spent working directly on protecting people. That doesn't make it a bad decision, but it still leaves you itching to get to work.

Thankfully, you are permitted to go on a night patrol with fellow non-sleeper Miss Militia. After it's been made very, very clear that you are to strictly follow her lead in everything.

"You have to understand, they're still trying to figure out how to handle your presence," says the heroine as she rides a nearly-silent electric motorbike, with you flying beside her. "Heck, you haven't even met the PR expert yet. I heard Glenn Chambers was coming tomorrow - he's the PRT's top man for…" she stops talking, distracted. "...I'm sorry, but are you going to keep flying in a standing position?"

"Why not?" you shrug, cape billowing in the wind behind you. "At this speed, air resistance doesn't bother me anyway."

The conversation moves on to the subject of Tsunami's actual and Skitter's eventual recruitment.

"It's not like the PRT's never hired villains before," says Miss Militia, "but when that happens, they usually have to go through an identity change for the sake of plausible deniability. Nobody likes the idea that, just because you have powers, you can shirk punishment for past crimes. Tsunami might be an exception - with the special circumstances under which she declared her intentions, the higher-ups think that making it obvious and blatant she switched sides might convince others to do the same.

"With Skitter, though… I doubt it'd be that simple."

"No, it probably won't. Which is why I was hoping you could be there for tomorrow's meeting."

"Me? I'm not in charge of the Protectorate or the Wards."

"No, but you are someone whom Armsmaster and Skitter both respect. I don't think they're very fond of each other, and you might well make for a better peacemaker than me. It's also why I want Gallant there, in addition to Aegis… wait, slow down…"

You've given yourself enhanced senses for this patrol. The ability to detect certain chemicals in a range of two blocks… and you've just detected a large amount of benzoylmethylecgonine. Someone is selling cocaine down the street. You've also detected a few small doses of marijuana on the way, but chose to ignore it - if this America is anything like yours, the prisons are probably overflowing already.

After the Merchant (since that, apparently, is his gang affiliation) is delivered to the police, your conversation with Miss Militia veers into the subject of powers and their nature.

"Mutations were a great mystery when they first appeared," you explain, "but in the end, it's just advanced biology. It would be an overstatement to claim that we fully understand them, but they fall under normal physics, with human DNA being modified so as to develop powers."

"But it's artificial," she says.

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. Someone has been playing at genetic engineering on human fetuses since the early 20th century. We've even noticed that whoever it is, they're getting better at it with time - on average, first-generation mutants born today are more powerful than the original generation of mutants and their descendants. Mind you, we still have no clue who the genetic engineer is."

"But you also say not all your supers are 'mutants'?"

"Not even the majority. Magic plays a large role, whether it's people rediscovering ancient artifacts or learning spellcraft from scratch. Technology advances even faster. And not all heroes have powers."

That gives her pause. "...What do you mean by that?"

"Hm? Well, some of the people who put on costumes and become superheroes - or supervillains - do so by dint of natural skill and training." People like Over-Achiever, Bravado, Retaliation Man… heck, Reaper started like that before he got his hands on a scythe with a monoatomic edge. "Isn't that the case here?"

"Not really. I mean, some people tried, but… they tend to die messily."

Odd. Especially since so many parahumans seem relatively weak compared to the metahumans of your world, and liable to die to any guy with a gun. Could it… Could it be that the human race of this dimension somehow evolved a lesser tendency toward extreme outliers in terms of capabilities? Less supergeniuses, less super-martial artists, and so on? Every time you get a Nikola Tesla, a Clifford Lewis, a Dexter Darien and a Michael Hart, they only get a Tesla? ...Or maybe you're reading too deeply into it.

"I'll admit that some aspects of superpowers remain a mystery back home," you admit, "but what about here? How do parahuman abilities work? What I've seen so far makes no sense to me. Blueprints beamed into people's heads? The ability to imbue objects with power? And much weirder things. I'll admit it mostly confuses me."

"Parahuman studies are still a young science," she admits. "We don't know much. We know parahumans have a part of their brain that seems to handle the powers, but we don't really know how they work."

"How do they start?"

She grows slightly uneasy at that. "That's a bit of a touchy subject. Most capes don't like to talk about it much. What happens is trigger events."

You raise an eyebrow. "You don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable."

"No, it's all right. You'll need to know at some point." She takes a deep breath. "According to estimates, only one in five humans have the potential to become capes. When someone with that potential undergoes a sufficiently traumatic event - it can be near-death, the loss of a loved one, torture, crushed dreams - they develop powers. It tends to be accompanied by a short loss of consciousness."

You blink. "Hold it. Powers are the result of emotional trauma?!" That… would go some way toward explaining why villains outnumber heroes here. But… no, you don't think that's enough. Traumatized people can be just as good as anyone else; there's gotta be more to it.

"In most cases," she says, "but that's first-generation capes. Second-generation ones - people who have spent years around capes - can trigger with much smaller moments of emotional turmoil."

"And no-one knows what's causing it?"

At this, she goes silent. You can once again sense her discomfort. "I apologize, I'm pushing too hard into what is clearly a delicate subjec-"

"I remember my trigger event," she interrupts you. "I've yet to meet any other cape who does. They remember the trauma, they remember the power, but they don't remember the moment between when they lost consciousness. I didn't. I remember every bit." She pauses. "I remember seeing a creature the size of a planet, moving. Parts of it flaking off, each one the size of a mountain. One of those flakes was moving toward me. Next thing I knew, I had this," she points are her weapon.

You consider. A creature that gigantic… the closest you can think of is Nihil. And if Nihil was here, everyone would be dead. Some kind of alien god? Some kind of alien non-god? No, that's just not enough information for you to make educated guesses.

"Thank you for telling me. Actually… I wonder if I might be able to get some information on powers by scanning someone while they were using them. Would you mind...?"

Thankfully, she does not mind. And so Miss Militia has her weapon switch forms multiple times, even turning into a slingshot that "recharges" each time it shoots a pebble. And through it all, your secondary power pool cycles through an array of sensory powers, trying to make sense of it.

Well. It's definitely not magical or divine in nature. You're not sensing any wavelength of electromagnetic radiations. No gravitons. No nanomachines in her body. No…

Planar movement.

You blink. "Your power. It's inter-planar."

"Inter-planar?"

"It's… whatever's causing your weapon and ammunition to appear is acting from a different plane of reality."

"You mean, another parallel world?"

"Not… exactly. It's… It's like this," you say. "There's the universe. We call it a dimension. There are others, like the one I come from, or the one where Earth-Aleph is. But each dimension contains multiple planes. There's the material plane, which is where you, I, and most things exist. But there are other, smaller planes existing in parallel, each with their own rules. You have Limbo, where distances become huge, and leaving is almost impossible. You've got other planes where entering is very easy, but staying for longer than a nanosecond is hard. You've got your psychic planes, and many more.

"Most planes are just empty space, some are… more interesting. To the best of my knowledge, each dimension has this set of planes. Thing is, moving between planes is something wizards on my world have known how to do for ages. Moving between dimensions is much harder, and was only ever accomplished by using Madman's tech. That one of your Tinkers was able to reach Earth-Aleph still boggles my mind to be honest."

She pauses. "So… does that mean you could go into… the plane powers originate from?"

"Do it? Probably. Do it trivially? No, it's a bit harder than flying to the grocery store," you say with a grin. "But it's definitely food for thoughts."

Your patrol catches another drug dealer (this one selling LSD and various types of amphetamines), though he wasn't wearing gang colors. You also detect large amounts of gunpowder in a building, which other senses reveal to be a weapons cache. For this one, Miss Militia prefers to tip the police and leave the decision process up to them.

It's still the middle of the night when you get back to the base. You have some messages about meeting Glenn Chambers tomorrow afternoon, as well as about the PRT wanting to know more about the special materials you can create. You give quick replies, then try to find some literature about parahuman science. Mental acceleration allows you, once more, to absorb the knowledge much faster than humanly possible.

Even so… you know frustratingly little by the end. You find yourself wishing that Causality or Techno-Paladin were here - their scientific genius would be extremely handy for figuring this puzzle out.

Still, two things are clear to you. The first one is that parahuman abilities have highly arbitrary limitations. The Manton effect, people who can only turn into monsters when they're not being watched, and so many more examples… It seems obvious that whatever hands out powers is deliberately limiting them in some ways. The second thing… There are multiple reported cases of parahumans becoming psychologically unstable after triggering. Some of it is no doubt due to the trauma of the trigger event, but some goes beyond that. Some even sounds closer to brain damage.

Hm. Perhaps some mind-reading on a parahuman would reveal more, but it seems a bit early to ask that.

The night ends. You've had time to read a few books's worth of scientific literature and law (and not just North America), as well as familiarize yourself some more with History. Earth-Bet, as it calls itself, was very similar to your world in many respects, yet different in many others. ...Also, the Internet has started referring to your own world as "Earth-Gimmel".

This being the morning, with the director's blessing, you drop by an out-of-State PRT lab - one designed to study tinkertech. Among the people awaiting are multiple scientists, but also several parahumans (including Dragon) and, as you are told, some industrialists.

You are welcomed by a man who presents himself as director Li, who runs this part of PRT operations. "You understand," he explains, "it's very rare that tinkertech, or anything born of parahumans, can actually be used on a massive scale. There's containment foam, and reverse-engineering has allowed some interesting breakthroughs in electronics, but overall the civilian sector has not really benefitted very often from the existence of powers.

"So obviously, we're excited about this." Before you, stands the massive carbosteel wall you used to block Leviathan's tidal wave. "Around sixty kilotons of the stuff, and you've created it in an instant. It's lighter than water, and immeasurably stronger than steel. Carbon buckytubes. The industrial applications are staggering. And I am told… well, your e-mail specified there were two materials you thought would be worthy of our interest?"

"Carbosteel," you say, pointing at the wall, "and omni-metal. Both of those are created en masse by the industries of Earth-Gimmel and used in civilian life. Carbosteel is the darling of the aerospace industry, and omni-metal is phasing out steel." You make an omni-metal rod appear in your hands, and hand it over to director Li. "Its density is comparable to regular steel, but its strength is comparable to carbosteel itself."

He examines the metal closely. "That's amazing, but… if it's as solid as carbosteel, but heavier, why bother with omni-metal at all?"

"Several reasons," you explain. "The first is that carbosteel is much, much more expensive. If you tried to build a skyscraper from the stuff, you'd likely bankrupt yourself. Obviously, that's not an issue if I'm making it, though.

"The second reason is that, while omni-metal requires extremely high temperatures to melt, once it does, it can be reforged to any shape you want, like any other metal. With carbosteel, if you reach those extreme temperatures, it doesn't melt so much as burn. The shape is final; you could carve the objects you need out of a block of the stuff, but not forge it into them.

"The third reason: The chemists of my world have discovered that certain alloys, which include mostly iron, some other non-rare metals like nickel and cobalt, and 1% omni-metal, are several times stronger than the strongest steel. Such an alloy is cheap enough to be used widely in construction nowadays. We generally refer to that alloy as omni-metal, to distinguish from what call pure omni-metal."

Your explanation satisfies them. To their regret, you're not actually familiar with the processes by which carbosteel and omni-metal are created, but you tell them you believe it can be reverse-engineered - after all, Omnicorp originally reverse-engineered omni-metal from the wreckage of Garzor's ship.

You end up providing them with large amounts of carbosteel in hopefully-useful shapes, and over a million ton of pure omni-metal. Hopefully they can do something useful with it. Time to head back to Brockton Bay.

Back at the Protectorate ENE base, you obtain permission to see the deformed woman from Coil's base. Your research showed the existence of "case 53s" - monstrous-looking parahumans with amnesia and a distinctive tattoo. Presumably she's one of them, and you'd like to know more - physical deformations caused by powers are as rare in your world as on Earth-Bet (though the Zenith Watch's Nightbane, Eagle Owl and Emerald Agent all come to mind).

The woman you see is restless, but that may be due in part to the containment foam that's being used as a temporary solution, seeing as the cells themselves aren't strong enough to hold her. Her mood doesn't improve one bit when she sees her visitor.

"You," she hisses.

"Myself. But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You didn't really give the PRT a name…"

"I'm not interested in chit-chat."

"A pity. I've been where you are." She raises her eyebrows at that, and you go on: "Imprisoned, unable to move. Also, incidentally, in constant, excruciating pain. I remained stuck like that for years. Quite frankly, I would not have minded having someone to talk to."

She blinks rapidly. "...You can blast an Endbringer dead. What sort of prison could possibly hold you?"

"You'd be surprised. My world has powerful heroes, but it has powerful villains as well." She pauses at that, and you decide to press on. "Forgive the question, but why did you attack me? Does a man like Coil really warrant strong loyalty?"

She scoffs. "It wasn't about loyalty. He was my best hope of getting my life back."

"Now you've got me curious. What could he do for you that the Protectorate couldn't?"

She hesitates. "My power… It's broken. It's twisting my body, my mind, more and more each day. Coil was looking into ways to help me."

"And the Protectorate couldn't do that?"

"Coil had resources."

She's not lying, per se, but she's still hiding something big. Giving partial answers. You're completely confident of that - you have millennia of experience watching people being honest or dishonest. You doubt pushing further would be productive, though, so you try a different tack: "I could try to help, you know. Grant myself some weak form of biokinesis, and try to mend your body."

That gets her attention. "You can do that?"

"I can try."

She agrees with little hesitation. Unfortunately… sculpting living things is hardly an easy task. Furthermore, you can feel her own power fighting back against you even as you go. After two hours of work, your progress is limited… but it's there, and it's visible. By your estimations, she has lost about 10% of the monstrous mass of flesh that comprises her lower body now. She's far from human-looking, but she's a few steps closer to it.

"I'm afraid I have to stop there for now," you say. "Prior engagements. But if you want me to, I can come back, either later today or tomorrow, and see how much further I can push this."

"I… think I'd like that," she says.

"That leaves the matter of what your power is doing to your mind. I could try to fix that," you say, "but I'd need to scan your thoughts fairly thoroughly for it. I'll understand if you value your privacy too much for that."

She seems torn. "I… thank you, but, no thanks."

"Understood. I hope to see you soon, then." You turn to leave.

"Noelle."

You turn around. "Is that your name?"

"Yeah. You can call me Noelle."

"A pleasure, Noelle," you smile. "I'll be seeing you."

You will. Not just because you want to help her. Not just because you want to remove the threat she would otherwise pose. But also because working on her like this is highly informative. You've been scanning her in every possible way. Like Miss Militia (and other parahumans, it would seem), her powers come from another plane. It's slowly twisting her biology… but also her brain. You haven't performed a telepathic scan, but you were able to see molecules and energy being moved around artificially in her head.

It wasn't subtle - if anything, it looked downright primal. And you have to wonder - does the source of parahuman abilities mess up the brains of these people deliberately, on a general basis? Is that why things are such a mess on Earth-Bet?

Also, Noelle didn't have any trace of tattoos. And from bits and pieces she let slip during those two hours, you don't think she has amnesia, either.

At the table are seated Armsmaster, Miss Militia, deputy director Resnick, Aegis, Gallant, Skitter and yourself. You thought it would be best if you sat right next to Skitter. It makes her less nervous.

"You claim you want to join the Wards," says the Protectorate leader, "but you have a long list of crimes to your name. In a little over a month, you've caused significant trouble as a member of the Undersiders."

"I've mostly fought other villains," she says defensively. "I helped stop the ABB, I fought against the Empire…"

"You defended yourselves against the Empire," Armsmaster corrects. "When social services took Purity's daughter, the Undersiders attacked them and took the child."

"Because that's the reason Purity was on a rampage!" Skitter angrily protests. "It was the best way of stopping her from tearing the docks apart!"

"That same excuse does not apply to your attack on the Brockton Bay Central Bank, much less on the fundraiser."

"I told you all, I was undercover! And it worked! It's thanks to me that… It's because of my undercover work that the Avatar knew about Coil and Dinah Alcott." Mask or no mask, you can tell she's glaring at him. "You have that lie detector in your helmet. You know I'm telling the truth."

"I'm sure you are," you say - if you just let these two continue, they'll escalate and get too angry for any sort of agreement. "No-one here is claiming that all of Skitter's decisions were good and right. However, even on the wrong side of the law, she has always tried to avoid any loss of life. It seems clear to me that she was always a hero at heart… just misguided, due to circumstances." You pause. "Even if there needs to be some accounting for misdeeds, it seems to me that contributing to those circumstances - locking Skitter out of the opportunity to do good - is doing both her and the world a grave injustice. Redemption needs to be a possibility that heroes encourage - or else, who will ever take a chance on it?"

"There are precedents," Miss Militia says, more to Armsmaster and Resnick. "The Protectorate has hired people who have done worse. And many of us who haven't done worse would have, in slightly different circumstances."

"One becoming a hero or a villain can depend on disturbingly little," you confirm, before turning toward the bug-controller. "Skitter, the questions I would like to ask are… do you feel regret? For the bank? For the fundraiser? Do you wish you could have done better by the people of the city? Do you want to help people now, as part of the Wards or otherwise?" She flinches a little, and begins answering, but you gesture and she stops. Instead, you turn to another person at the table. "Gallant?"

The empath straightens up. "Oh. Um. Yeah." He turns toward Armsmaster. "I believe she's really sincere about this, sir."

Aegis joins in: "Honestly… Yeah, she's creepy as hell, but so's Shadow Stalker, and I think I'd rather have Skitter on the team."

"Oh, I doubt that is on the table," says Resnick. "Skitter… assuming you did join the Wards, what would happen if you had to fight against the Undersiders?"

She flinches. "I… assume I'd be benched in that sort of situation."

"Probably, yes," he says with some amusement. "But let's say you're not. Let's say they're attacking the base. Would you fight against your former comrades? Would you stand aside? Would you turn on us, and help them?" He sees her remaining silent for a few seconds. "Gallant?"

The young man looks more uncomfortable this time. "...I would be conflicted in her situation," he points out. "Anyone would be. I don't think it's fair to hold that against her."

"Perhaps not on an abstract ethical level," says the deputy-director. "But it does have pragmatic implications. Let's make something entirely clear here: 'Skitter' will never be part of the Brockton Bay Wards. However, if we decide to give you a chance, you will be given a new name, a new costume, and a transfer - probably to the Boston Wards, assuming it can be arranged with your legal guardians."

Hm. You should have seen this coming, in hindsight. Placing a reformed villain in a different city than their villainous former teammates makes some degree of sense… and while you don't like the dishonesty of such a maneuver, you understand why the PRT doesn't want it to look like parahuman criminals can get away with just a slap on the wrist as long as they're willing to change sides.

But is that acceptable from the girl's perspective? You turn toward her, allowing the concern to show in your voice. "Skitter? Would that be a problem?"

"I…" she stops to think. "...I'd need to talk to my dad about it. I'm not sure if we can move or not. But I'm not attached to the name 'Skitter', and… I wouldn't mind a fresh start." she pauses. "The costume is spidersilk, though."

Resnick chuckles at that. "I'm sure they'll figure out something. With that said, there do need to be consequences for your crimes. Time in juvenile detention is the more extreme option, but there's also community service, required deployment during S-class events-"

"Out of the question," you interrupt him. "If Skitter is ever going to be required to attend an S-class event, it will not be one day earlier than her 18th birthday. Heroism knows no age, and hers is unquestionable, but it is the duty of adults to protect the young, not the other day around." You pause, then look at Skitter. "That said, how do you feel about community service?"

The meeting lasts another hour. You act as a bit of an armchair lawyer for Skitter. You (and to a lesser extent, Miss Militia) manage to soothe egos enough that the PRT commits to bringing her into the Wards program - though you'll be having a second meeting tomorrow to finalize things, this time with Skitter's father present. That prospect clearly has her very nervous, to the point that you offer to be there and provide moral support when she reveals her parahuman nature to him. She thanks you, but ultimately declines. She does, however, gladly accept the number of your PRT phone.

Well. It's a busy time, but that should be expected. Next up, you are supposed to be meeting with Glenn Chambers. But after that…

[ ] Spend most of the day helping Noelle. It's slow, gruelling work, but you might help her maintain her humanity… physically, at least.

[ ] Check up on the Undersiders. Villains or not, they're Skitter's friends, and you wonder what they're up to now that their boss is out of the equation.

[ ] Assist the Protectorate in patrols. Gearing your secondary powers toward super-senses, you can clean up the city with exceptional efficiency.

[ ] Look deeper into S-class threats. The sooner those are handled, the better for Earth-Bet.

[ ] Try to have a chat with Scion. He's both incredibly powerful and, from the looks of it, purely heroic - there might be something there.

BODY ISSUES

With the Skitter matter handled (you hope), it's time to meet the infamous Glenn Chambers. You could have come directly to his New York office, but he prefered to come personally to Brockton Bay - from what you've heard, he's taking a personal interest in Tsunami.

The man himself has an interesting look. The sort of look that screams "I have so much control over the situation, I can deliberately sabotage my looks just to show off". A bit like people deliberately making holes in their blue jeans.

"Ah, Avatar," he says, shaking your hand. "Or should that be 'the Avatar'?"

"I'm not particularly invested in what others call me," you shrug. "As long as it remains clear."

"A shame, then, that it's too late to rebrand your name," he says. "After your victory over Leviathan and the ensuing speech, you have already ascended to the ranks of a memetic legend. I would have loved to give you a name that worked better at symbolizing hope - frankly, I'd like to know what you intend to say when people inevitably ask what you're supposed to be an avatar of."

"Same thing I've always said," you reply. "That it's a personal matter and that I'd rather leave it at that."

"Not a bad answer," he caresses his chin, "but it might not be enough to calm down the people who will conclude you're a divinity of some sort. There are Scion-worshipers spread out over the world, and he doesn't have your charisma…"

"I have some experience dismantling cults to myself," you say with a slight smile. "I generally drop by, have a polite conversation, and gently let them know that I care about what people do, not who or what they worship." You grin at him. "Remember, I've been doing this for longer than Earth-Bet has had parahumans. Your advice is appreciated, because you know the local situation better than I do, but I have some understanding of public relations."

"That should make things easier," he says. "Religious worship of capes - even the best ones - involves too many potential headaches. Speaking of which, one of the things to which you are being given credit is healing Panacea during the fight, yes?"

"Correct. She was injured by Leviathan's hydrokinesis. She may or may not have survived without my intervention, I'm not truly certain."

"Regardless, the point is that you can heal people. Could you, in theory, tour hospitals curing the sick and crippled?"

You wince. "I'm afraid I'm nowhere near as good at this as Panacea herself. I can heal others, but it quickly winds me out. I could help a handful of people each hour, but I'd be exhausted. I hate leaving people to suffer, but rationally, I can simply do more good by patrolling for crime with enhanced senses, or just remaining on standby waiting for a major crisis."

"Makes sense. In which case, you going out and healing people outside of cape battles would probably do more harm than good."

"This is not to say, however, that I can't help civilians in ways that don't involve violence." You have his full attention now. "I can create several hundred kilotons of matter in a minute. This includes pure water. I can also control the weather over a city-sized area. In the past, I've used these abilities to counter droughts, or at least mitigate the worst of their effects - and just in case you are concerned, that's not enough to raise the world's water levels by an appreciable margin." You give him a few seconds to digest this. "I understand that droughts are an issue in this world. I would love to take some time here and there to lend assistance, at least until society gets back on its feet.

"There are other things," you go on. "Given a few hours' worth of warning and the assistance of meteorologists with satellite view, I can nullify a hurricane. I can help limit the damage of a volcanic eruption. I can stop large fires. I have also spent some time in my world working on the magma chamber beneath the yellowstone, redirecting its flow so that it is guaranteed not to turn into a supervolcano over the next century at least - but admittedly, that last one took over a thousand hours of work."

Glenn Chambers maintains a perfect poker face, but you can tell it's a lot to take in from how his fingers have gotten more fidgety. "That… is opening some interesting options, especially if we bring some of the Protectorate precogs on board."

"I have only given the subject a cursory look," you point out, "but my impression is that the worst droughts currently affecting Earth-Bet are in Africa. While I'm currently operating as a member of the Protectorate, I believe it's important to establish that I'm not affiliated with national powers. Lending assistance in foreign countries should help clarify that from the get-go. However, I also wish to avoid creating international incidents… where possible. I try to respect established governments unless they truly go beyond the pale. I'll keep studying to form my own ideas, but for now, I would appreciate your advice."

That gives him pause. "...All interesting possibilities. We can use this. We can take advantage of the momentum you've created to improve goodwill between nations. As a matter of fact…" his eyes light up, "the Protectorate is trying to expand into Mexico. Most of their population wants us, but the cartels have a lot of influence over the government there. And I know for a fact that they have been facing water problems." He checks his tablet.

"If you give me a day or two to run this by the chief director and PRT Thinkers, I'm fairly confident I can arrange official blessings for you to handle that. Probably best to start with something on another continent, though, to avoid giving the impression that you're a PRT puppet. I'll see what I can do about other countries, and check what foreign villains and warlords you can put down without starting a bigger mess than you'd be stopping."

"Thank you, that would be a great help."

He takes another moment to examine his files. "Truth be told, you are different from most cases I take," he admits. "Usually, I have to teach new recruits how to be properly inspiring - our work isn't just stopping supervillains, it's keeping society going. In your case, you seem to have the inspirational aspect down pat. It's the more advanced subjects that are in question." He maintains eye contact. "I got the distinct impression from your speech that you wanted villains to turn away from the dark side, hm?"

"There needs to be justice for misdeeds," you say, "but protecting the innocents takes priority over punishing the guilty in most cases. From the looks of it, Earth-Bet desperately needs more heroes." You pause. "Of course, one has to be reasonable about it. A mass murdering monster shouldn't be able to escape justice just by offering to switch sides."

"I'm glad you understand. Thankfully, neither Tsunami nor Skitter seem to have gone too far yet," he notes. "With that said… when you killed Leviathan, virtually everyone cheered. From the looks of it, though, you will soon be going up against villains who are less universally loathed. You'd be surprised the Stockholm syndrome some of society has toward its supervillains. Just looking at it locally, you have to realize that hundreds of people, possibly more, have moved to Brockton Bay because it is the home base of Empire 88, and they believe in its ideals."

"Then I would like to discuss with you plans for relegating those ideals to the dustbin of History where they belong," you say.

You make sure to drop by the director's office to make sure there is no problem with your further attempts to fix Noelle's body. The director seems warier toward you than most, but she had no objection to your initial efforts, and she has no objections to continuing - after all, a smaller Noelle is less of a headache to contain.

"Hello." If Noelle is surprised to see you, then she keeps it out of her voice… but her relief seeps through. "How was your day?"

"Decent. Arrested a couple of drug dealers, produced multiple kilotons of a super-strong alloy that will hopefully be put to good use, and hopefully got the Protectorate another recruit."

She chuckles. "Drug dealers? A bit of a step down from fighting Endbringers."

"Perhaps, but I don't like seeing cocaine on the streets. This was more about learning the ropes of the Protectorate." You look at her deformed body. "Do you mind if I continue with my earlier biokinetic work?"

She gives you an "are you kidding look?" look. "You're pretty much the only person who's been able to help me so far. Go ahead." She pauses. "By the way, have you heard anything from… never mind." She's clearly bothered about what she wanted to ask, but she avoids the subject from that point on.

As your senses show, her power has been undoing your work. The good news are, it's slower than you. Still, it means that your help is only a stopgap solution, and that's without accounting for the issues with her mind.

So, you let the hours go by as you strive to help her. You find what topic of conversations you can - mostly about your world, though not exclusively. You do learn that she was apparently playing video games professionally before she got her powers, and that she has a general interest in tactics. Still, she is very guarded about her past - like she is afraid of what will happen if you learn more. What secrets could she have that are (to the very least in her mind) so devastating?

She also seems very interested in inter-dimensional exploration. "Wait, so you have an actual Apollo-style program of exploring other worlds?"

"It's run by Venture Industries," you explain, "the technology is still very poorly understood, and only they have managed to reverse-engineer enough of it for even semi-reliable prototypes. But, yes, there is an active exploration program going on, and several worlds have been reached. One day, perhaps, it will be reliable enough to establish diplomatic relations, possibly even trade." You chuckle. "Of course, such contact will be accompanied by a host of new challenges. But so is every major social change."

"So, the only people with dimensional travel are this mega-corporation with its own city in space… and a mad scientist who effectively acts as a cosmic trickster."

"That's the short of it."

It's slow work, and you've already spent most of the afternoon and a good chunk of the evening on it, but there's definite progress. You estimate that you've removed about a third of Noelle's body mass.

Perhaps no less importantly, you've gone some way toward building a rapport with the girl.

"...at which point Mimic started whistling faux-innocently, and that is when Nollius finally realized what power he was using."

She laughs out loud at that, and you get the impression she doesn't laugh often. "Oh God. That's awesome. Is it always like that in your world?"

"No, mercifully most days are quieter. I don't think we could survive having to deal with a Nollius-level villain every day."

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the concept of a magical flying city of green-skinned elves ruled by an evil archmage who sold his soul to the king of demons." She pauses. "Specifically, the whole part about magic existing. Or aliens."

"Well, I-"

You are interrupted by the sound of your PRT-provided communicator. As you answer it, the voice of director Piggot speaks:

"Avatar! We have a situation in Los Angeles. A villain got cornered by Protectorate forces and, rather than face arrest, decided to go out with a suicide attack. He's detonated a firebomb in his base. Problem is, he apparently had dozens of those bombs spread over multiple city blocks. The fire department can't handle this many hotspots at once. Can you handle this sort of thing?"

"I'm on it, director. I'll just need 10-15 minutes to get there."

And so, you excuse yourself to Noelle, and rush outside. Moments later, you are flying through the stratosphere twice as fast as an X-15.

You are somewhere in the Arizona sky when your communicator rings again. "Everyone, this is a red alert! The PRT base is under by the Travelers. We need all hands on deck!"

The Travelers. You've read what information was available, due to their presence in the city. They are a relatively powerful, nomadic team of four villains. Trickster, who can swap the positions of any two objects (people included) in his line of sight as long as their masses are reasonably close. Genesis, a powerful Changer who seems to always show with a different form and powers. Sundancer, who can throw balls of (possibly thermonuclear) fire. Ballistic, who can instantly accelerate objects he touches to the speed of a bullet.

The Travelers have been moving from city to city for a while, taking various mercenary jobs (often for local villains). There's been speculation about why they had recently come to Brockton Bay; Skitter said that they, like the Undersiders, were in Coil's employ. Are they trying to break him out?

"Roger. This is the Avatar. Do you want me to head back to the base or keep heading toward Los Angeles?" You don't know how well the heroes of LA can handle the situation, and any number of people might get hurt in the raid on the base; you can't definitely declare which situation is more urgent, which is why you-

"Los Angeles?!" Piggot is sounding both bewildered and furious. "Why the hell are you heading to Los Angeles?"

"Because you…" You pause. Then, you activate your communication power.

Piggot barely even flinches when your hologram appears before her. "Director Piggot, about ten minutes ago I received a message from you on my PRT-issue communicator sending me to deal with a crisis in Los Angeles. Right now, I have just received a message from you on the same communicator, demanding that I handle an attack by the Travelers on your base. In the second call, you were surprised that I was heading toward LA. As such, in case my communicator has been subverted, I am asking which, if any, of these calls actually originated from you."

She raises an eyebrow. "The second was from me. I haven't heard about anything going on in LA, but the Travelers are attacking us now!"

"Understood. I am heading your way. I will leave my communication powers on for the rest of my journey. It will take me at least ten minutes to reach Brockton Bay, though."

She curses at that.

Cursing intensifies when she gets further calls from the members of the Protectorate and Wards, who all apparently got a call earlier directing them away from HQ.

And so, even as you fly, you find yourself operating as a communication hub for the team.

By the time you arrive in Brockton Bay, things have gone badly.

With little in the way of parahuman resistance, the Travelers were able to storm the building easily - in fact, the disarray of the PRT forces suggests that they, too, were the victims of forged communications.

Velocity ran all the way to HQ. It did little to help - he was exhausted by the time he arrived, and Trickster, seeing him from a window, teleported him into the path of an attack while he was catching his breath.

Dauntless got there next, and was soon joined by Tsunami. They, too, proved unlucky and were quickly knocked out.

By the time the rest of the team got there, the Travelers had already left… with both Coil and Noelle in tow.

So, when you arrive, you first check if your fallen have suffered any serious injuries. Thankfully, nothing that can't wait for Panacea…

...Meaning that it's time for you to go out and look for your quarries.

You warn Piggot that you are turning your communication powers off for a short while, while she mentions that Master-Stranger protocols will need to be instituted. Then, you recalibrate your secondary power pool.

One half goes into your sense of vision. It begins to penetrate walls. It becomes omni-directional, instead of focusing on any one spot. Its range increases by four orders of magnitude.

The other half goes into your mind. Accelerating its speed. Allowing you to think a thousand times faster.

You are observing, if not the entire city, then at least half of it. As the world around you all but stills, you began looking through it meticulously, starting from headquarters and going from there.

Over the subjective hours that follow - not even close to a minute subjectively - this little game of "Where's Waldo" has located one probable meth lab, one weapons cache, and Noelle, hiding in one of the city's many abandoned buildings with the Travelers (not all that far from headquarters, you note). You've actually spent another subjective hour after that looking for Coil, but… well, no such luck. You also saw a man in his home beating his presumed wife, and a woman looking at pictures on her computer that were not legal, to put it more politely than it deserves.

Well. Priorities.

You drop by the scene of the domestic abuse, where your presence causes the man to freeze. The woman's sobs stop as she looks up, and she freezes too when she sees you, albeit with different emotions. "Apologies if I'm a bit brusque, but I'm in the middle of a different crisis," you say, even as your secondary power shifts into teleportation. An instant later, the man is still in his home, while you and the woman have teleported right in front of a women's shelter. "Ma'am, I will check up on you later, but right now I have to run. I'm just asking you, for your own sake, please talk to the people here."

You don't leave it at that, of course - you take another 62.5 seconds to make sure that she will do just that, rather than just call him. You've seen enough domestic abuse victims to be familiar with the human tendency to excuse one's abuser, and you've seen enough of the damage on her body to know how badly she has it. So you cram as much persuasion as you can into those 62.5 seconds. Hopefully, that'll be enough for now.

The meth lab, weapon cache and illegal website fan can be brought to the police's attention later - there are procedures for Protectorate Thinkers discovering these sorts of things, after all. But right now, you fly to where the Travelers are hiding.

Well. The Travelers, Noelle, and a sixth fellow. Handsome young man, but you don't recognize him from anywhere. He isn't Coil, but he does have an active Corona Gemma.

All six of them jump a bit as you enter, phasing through the wall before materializing inside the building. "Hello, everyone. I would like to have a quick talk."

Trickster's already moving, then he stops. If you were to hazard a guess, he was hoping to teleport you in the path of one his teammates' attacks, but, well… they're not attacking. The look Ballistic gives him is enough to make him switch gears.

"Ahem. Well! The Avatar in person. I didn't know we warranted such a distinguished visitor."

"You freed an exceptionally dangerous criminal and absconded with someone who needed my help," you gesture in Noelle's direction. "What exactly were you hoping to achieve?"

Trickster prepares to reply, but Noelle stops him and addresses you instead. "It's me. I am a less-known member of the Travelers. My powers can't really be used in a fight - at least, not without a lot of collateral damage - which is why you wouldn't have heard of me. They came for me."

"And what of your sixth companion?"

He shrugs, and Noelle answers for him: "One of us, but like me he stays in the shadows - no actual powers."

Huh. She didn't feel at all like she was lying. And yet, the boy clearly is parahuman. You didn't sense an increased heartbeat or any other sign of nervousness on his part when she said it, despite most of your secondary power pool going into various senses at the moment.

One thing you do sense, incidentally, is that the strange form currently used by Genesis appears to be some sort of energy construct, constantly getting power interdimensionally. Well, good to know.

Noelle goes on: "I told you I needed Coil to fix my powers. That's the reason the whole team was working for him. To fix… me." OK, now she's being less than entirely honest. Oh, you think she's telling the truth, but not the entire truth. So, probably only part of the reason.

"I can respect wanting to help out a friend," you say. "I cannot condone helping a monster like Coil. He abducted, drugged, and enslaved a child. He has committed hideous acts, and he will commit more, unless he is arrested."

At this, the group actually looks uncomfortable. It's with some embarrassment that Noelle tells you: "We, ah, don't actually know where he is."

"You split after leaving headquarters?"

"Possibly?" She looks uncertain. "He was with us when we left your building. Then we heard a loud sound, we looked in its direction… and when we turned around, Coil was gone."

That is suboptimal. How is he evading your search anyway? "Did he actually organize this?"

Noelle looks at Trickster, prompting him to begrudgingly answer. "That's actually a good question. We received an electronic communication from him shortly after his arrest, giving us a time and general guidelines for freeing him and Noelle. It was signed by him, and definitely sounded like him. But when we got there… he acted surprised, like he had no plan and hadn't known about the whole thing."

"I see. And the hacking of PRT communications?"

"The what now?"

They either hadn't expected that, or are all expert liars. It doesn't look like they have any more useful information for tracking Coil down.

"Well. I'm not happy about this, but I'll strive to catch Coil what way I can. Now, are you all going to follow me to headquarters peacefully, or does this need to be a fight?"

Trickster grins. "You think we can't defend ourselves?"

"I think I can find you in a matter seconds anywhere in the city just by staring hard enough, outspeed you by multiple orders of magnitudes, and win a fight against an Endbringer. I think cooperating is your best bet right now."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," says Trickster. "You'd be surprised at how well we've performed against unfavorable odds in the past."

His confidence doesn't appear shared by the others, though Ballistic and Genesis seem to be taking a combat stance regardless.

Then Noelle speaks up. "Wait! Trickster, just… don't. Avatar? I know my team has broken the law, but they were trying to help me. They've never killed anybody. So I'd like to offer a trade: I will come with you. I will tell the PRT everything I know about Coil and every other villain we've ever worked for. Just… let my friends go."

"You can't be serious," says Trickster.

"K… Trickster, look at me! So far, his powers are the only thing we've found that helps! At least in PRT custody, I won't be a ticking time bomb… well, less of a ticking bomb. Right now, it's the best temporary solution we have!"

Ultimately, regardless of what Trickster wants, you're the one with the power here. But what do you do?

[ ] It's not ideal, but Noelle's cooperation is worth more than arresting the rest of her team. Like she said, they're not murderers. You can let them go… with a clear warning that if they don't keep their nose clean, you can easily come down on them like a ton of bricks.

[ ] It's not ideal, but, murderers or not, these guys assaulted PRT personnel and hurt a lot of people - and that was just their most recent offense. There has to be justice. You arrest the whole lot, and get back to healing Noelle.

[ ] Write-in.

JUSTICE FOR ALL

You consider the Travelers. Over the past half-hour, they've assaulted what is effectively a police station, injured a good number of lawmen and superheroes, and broken a dangerous child-abusing supervillain out of custody. This is not even an unusual caper for them - their journey across America has put them at the service of many a black-hearted fiend. They've arguably done worse.

You do feel some sympathy for them. They look more to you like a bunch of kids in way over their heads than hardened criminals. But you also have sympathy for the other six billion people of Earth-Bet - six billion men, women and children who deserve to live in a world where superpowers aren't a license to hurt people and act as if you are above the law.

You can't just look aside and let villains get away the moment they have some a side. For the sake of everyone on Earth who wants to live in peace, there needs to be justice.

But that doesn't mean you have to be a jerk about it.

"Children," you say in an exasperated tone, "you are not thinking this through. You have just assaulted a PRT base, hurt many men and women who were just trying to protect the city from monsters like Coil. You have been on the run across the country for a while now, committing crime after crime every which way. If I let you go, what changes? How much more fighting and escaping, how many more good people hurt? Is that any sort of future you want - always on the run and crushing those who stand in your way?"

This seems to be getting to some of them, if not all. You go on: "Consider the situation right now. Just how far, exactly, are you willing to go, just to evade capture? Trickster, suppose your plan works - suppose you switch my position with Sundancer," you point at the girl standing next to Noelle, "then take advantage of my 'surprise' to shoulder-ram me into Noelle, generating clones of me…"

"How did you know…" he sounds rattled that you've figured out his oh-so-clever plan. In truth, it was fairly obvious given the tactical situation, and his cocky attitude, glances, and body language were easy enough to read.

You ignore his interruption: "Suppose that it works. Is that what you want? To unleash twisted copies of someone who can kill an Endbringer? What do you think that would do to the city? What do you think that would do to the world?"

Trickster is put off-balance by the way you guessed his plan. His teammates are put off-balance by the sheer horror of the scenario. Sundancer wears a horrified expression as she addresses him. "Krouse… you weren't going to… Were you?"

Ballistic's a bit more laconic. "Fuck."

And Genesis: "That… That's probably what she was planning all along…"

Hm. Definitely something to investigate. Though in truth, there was no danger of this nightmare scenario unfolding. It is extremely unlikely that Noelle's powers could have duplicated your abilities… and, thanks to your secondary power pool being spread between enhanced reflexes and an invisible force-field covering your body, you were never going to find out.

Still, that little speech's real purpose was to put them off-balance enough that they become receptive to what you say, instead of determined to double down on their positions. So you can go on now:

"You're outmatched. You can't escape. Even attempting to do so means playing fast and loose with the lives of others. What's more, I am the only person you know who can help Noelle. And yet, you're so terrified of capture, that you remain stuck in fight-or-flight mode." You give them a piercing stare. "Why? You're hiding secrets. I can sense your active corona gemma, boy," you look at the sixth Traveller, "Noelle keeps acting cagey even when she wants to open up. You are all looking for a way to cure her, yet you'd rather get help from second-rate scum like Coil than from the PRT, who might actually be able to assist.

"So, why? What is it that has you so terrified? Clearly, this has been your main drive for a while now." You survey the hesitant teens. "Now, me? I am not from this world. I am new to its rules, its status quo, its people. I can't even guess what has you so scared. What I can do, however, is make you a promise: I promise that I will be fair. Work with me, don't resist arrest, tell me what has you so scared, and collaborate with the hunt for your former patrons… and I will give you as much of a chance as you'll have earned.

"I will listen to your case, I will take your own plight and extenuating circumstances into account, I will treat you fairly, and I will throw my rather significant weight around to ensure that the PRT treats you fairly. Justice means that culprits must answer to victims, but it also means that mercy must be heard. That is my promise to you: Justice for all. Justice for those you've hurt, and justice for you, as well. And if I may say, if your fear is any indication… then I suspect this may be the best offer that you will receive."

That seems to have some effect on them, so you conclude: "Or, alternatively, you may abandon what hope I offer you, and choose instead to keep rampaging across the country like a horde of headless chickens."

That tension-breaker gets a few chuckles, but then they're back to serious contemplations. Genesis is the first to speak up: "Trickster… This whole setup… Using Noelle to clone the Avatar was probably her whole plan to begin with. If we want to go against that…"

Sundancer carefully takes a few steps so she no longer stands right between Noelle and Trickster. "I'm not fighting him. That's… crazy."

"I'm inclined to agree," Ballistic echoes.

Noelle takes a deep breath. "Guys… I think he's on the level. If there's any white hat we can tell… it's him. He killed Leviathan, for fuck's sake." Thankfully, the rapport you've built with the girl seems to be working in your favor. "If he says he'll be fair, then he'll be fair. This our best goddamn chance."

Trickster seems more reluctant. "Guys, you know what'll happen if-"

"No," Ballistic cuts him off, "we don't. Anything we do is a gamble."

The sixth guy just shrugs uneasily.

Trickster gazes at you, at this team, at Noelle, then back at you. "Just how much can we trust you, exactly? We keep our secrets for damn good reasons."

You impression of Trickster/Krouse is that he's the sort of person who is deeply loyal to a small group of loved ones, with little to no concern for everyone else. "You don't know me much better than I know you, Trickster, so I cannot appeal to my history of trustworthiness. All I can give you is a sincere promise to be fair. You know, however, that I am your best shot at helping Noelle."

He remains silent for a moment, then sighs. "Fuck. Damn it, all right. Here's the skinny…"

And so, the Travelers tells you their tale.

The tale of a group of teenage gamers from Madison, Wisconsin, USA, Earth-Aleph. Teenagers who were displaced against their will into the Madison of Earth-Bet by the Simurgh when she attacked the city.

They tell you how they found a case of vials, with instructions specifying that they could grant parahuman abilities. How they each drank a vial and became parahumans, save for Oliver (the sixth member) and Noelle, who shared one between the two of them - him turning into some more perfect-looking version of himself devoid of any actual powers, while she gradually turned into the mess she is today.

They tell you how they escaped Madison, then spent all the ensuing time trekking across America, looking for both a cure for Noelle and a way home. How they sustained themselves through mercenary work for local villains. How they always lived in fear of being pawns in the Simurgh's precognitive plot, just as much as they feared that, should their secret be found out, the Protectorate would execute them to nip any such Simurgh plot in the bud.

How Coil offered some limited protection from the Simurgh's schemes via Dinah's precognition messing with hers. How he claimed to have contacts who might be able to cure Noelle and open a portal to Earth Aleph. How it all led to this.

At which point, unamused, you tell them that you can tell they're still not telling you everything. So they admit that there was a seventh member, named Cody/Perdition, with the power to jump a few seconds back in time. His rivalry with Trickster and Simurgh-driven madness finally led him to deliberately unleash several Noelle-made clones of himself on Boston. The ensuing murderous rampage prompted the rest of the group to leave him in the hands of Accord, Boston's premier villain, rather than face Accord's homicidal retaliation.

"...and that's the short of it," says Trickster. "Do you understand why we're a little cagey about this? Putting aside how paranoid Earth-Bet is about transdimensional stuff, the Protectorate executes its own heroes if they stay in the range of the Simurgh's psychic scream for too long. What do you think they'll do to us if they discover we're one giant Simurgh plot? She's a living nightmare. Every time we make a decision, we keep wondering if that just brings us a step closer to whatever she brought us here for. She always succeeds in the end, and to make things worse-"

"She didn't see me coming." You speak in a neutral tone, simple and direct.

"...What?"

"Precognitives can see me now, but none of them were able to see my arrival." You might be inclined to consider the winged Endbringer a possible exception to that rule, except… well, you were sent by Madman with the deliberate intention of turning Earth-Bet's status quo on its ear. No way in hell he would allow the Simurgh to peek on his notes like this. "This means that any plan she put in motion before I arrived and killed Leviathan - including whatever she did in Madison - was a plan that did not account for my presence. She didn't account for me arresting Coil, or healing Noelle, or having this conversation with you, much less arresting you." You give that information a few seconds to sink in, clearly shaking them. "Welcome to the derail."

Director Piggot massages her temples. "So all six of them, in addition to being displaced from Earth-Aleph, are one giant Simurgh plot."

"A Simurgh plot whose odds of success are extremely low," you point out. "If Glenn Chambers can't manufacture a major PR victory out of this - possibly a PR victory across Bet and Aleph - then I'll eat my cape. Besides… before Coil, they have worked for Accord, Imperator, Alpha Girl, Quark… They're entirely willing to reveal what they know about all of them."

"I'll take what I can get, but we still need to figure out how Coil - if it was Coil - was able to subvert our communication lines. Mind you, I'd rather you caught him."

"Likewise, director. However, my search doesn't show him anywhere near city limits."

"He could have simply removed his mask."

"Negative, director." You pause. "I did not make that information publicly available, but I did use my powers to see through Coil's mask, along with every villain I have encountered since my second day here." Seeing the surprise on her face, you add: "On Earth-Gimel, criminals do not get special considerations for superpowers; very few of them benefit from secret identities. Out of respect for how things are done on Earth-Bet, I have kept such information to myself, but I haven't deliberately kept myself from learning their secrets, either. In short, I have been looking for his face as much as his mask, and neither are in Brockton Bay."

"I see," she says, steepling her fingers. "A sketch of his face will be required of you, then. Other than that…" she checks your written report, "I see you have also located a weapon stash, a meth lab, a consumer of underage prnography, and a case of domestic abuse. The first three will be shared with the relevant law enforcement agencies, but I see you intervened personally with the fourth."

"The abuse was in-progress at the time," you explain. "As a matter of fact, with your permission, I would like to check the women's shelter to see if the victim is seeking the help she requires."

"Make it snappy," she says, "there will be several PRT Thinkers here to ask pointed questions soon."

For some reason, her face darkens when you hand her a sketch you've created with your powers of Coil's face. You guess whoever he is, she recognizes the man.

As night falls on Brockton Bay, you reflect that, despite setbacks, this has not been in the least a wasted day. There is one less villain group in the streets, and yet, the Travellers' prospects are probably as good as they've ever been since Madison (except for Perdition's. You're not operating in Boston at the moment, but someone ought to ask that Accord character some questions). No less importantly, you have cause to believe a fairly major Simurgh plot has been derailed.

While the experts are working on figuring out your security breach, you are required to stay in the base. This will take, to the very least, the entire night…

[ ] You spend that time getting to know the local heroes. You're going to be working with these people for a while, after all.

[ ] You spend that time absorbing information about Earth-Bet. Its heroes, its villains, its S-class threats, its political concerns…

[ ] You spend that time working on healing Noelle. The sooner it is done, the better.

[ ] Write-in.

Note that dividing your time between two of the above options is a viable write-in.

A NIGHT TO HEAL

You find Noelle, in her cell of course, cooperating with her interrogators. "No, only Imperator did that. As for Alpha Girl… well, you know the rumors about her powers. We preferred to negotiate with her minions rather than talk to her direc… Oh, hello."

Understandably, she has some mixed emotions toward you. Still, she is grateful when you offer to keep healing her body while she answers the PRT's questions.

Hours later, slightly past midnight, the interrogators decide to call it a day. Noelle looks tired herself (and somewhat shorter, though your work is far from done). She turns her attention toward you.

"I… hope my teammates are doing all right?"

"I've been checking on them regularly from here. They seem to be doing fine, given the circumstances."

"What about Genesis? Does the PRT even have the accommodations she needs?"

It came as a surprise, earlier, that Genesis's power wasn't turning into the energy form you saw, but rather projecting it. Genesis herself is a wheelchair-bound young woman who was located at the Travelers' base; when you arrested the others, she willingly provided her coordinates rather than be left on her own.

"Indeed. Remember, the PRT frequently has to deal with a variety of injuries." You pause. You briefly consider mentioning that you have asked the director for her permission to heal Genesis's legs, or, failing that, have Panacea do it. She is not fond of the idea, but she has agreed to consider the possibility. You could have done it without permission, but you did agree to defer to the PRT's authority while working for the Protectorate, and you do understand the arguments against removing a villain's weakness. Ultimately, you decide not to tell Noelle - you don't know how the director will decide, and you don't want to give her false hope. ...Also, was it just you, or did the director look cross when you mentioned Panacea?

Noelle crosses her arm. "Look… putting aside all the crap that's happened… Thank you. For this," she points at her body, which is only half as massive as the first time you met her. "You've really helped a lot, and that's more than I was expecting. From anyone, at this point."

"You're welcome." You say it without any smugness or pride, just a genuine smile. "I'll keep working on fixing your power's effect on your body. For the record, my offer to try and see if I can fix its effect on your mind remains open."

She seems hesitant. You press on: "I understand why you refused earlier. You were afraid that I would discover the Simurgh's hand in this affair and summarily execute you. And I imagine that even now, after all this time spent keeping secrets, it feels counter-intuitive to open up." You pause. "Still, my promise holds. I will be fair."

"Maybe that's what worries me," she mumbles. She remains lost in thought for a while. Finally, she says: "I can't… just keep losing my mind. Fine. Do it."

You commend her for her courage. And then… biokinesis disappears, replaced by mind-reading.

You see some memories, but in truth, you only give those a cursory look. You're not here to engage in mental voyeurism or idle curiosity - you're here to learn more about how her power is twisting her, and see if you can counter it.

The poor girl is almost as much a mess on the inside as on the outside, as you soon realize. Again, it comes down to inter-planar activity. Some force is constantly reaching out from another plane of existence, scanning Noelle's brain, then making tiny, microscopic changes. Pushing toward using her power, toward absorbing and duplicating everyone in her path.

It's horrifying… and it raises a question: Is Noelle the only parahuman whose thought process is being twisted by her power? Or just the most obvious case?

You're going to need to mention this in your report. At some point, you're going to need to cross between the planes and find the source of parahuman power. For now, though, you have a damaged mind to fix.

If anything, this is even harder than fixing the body. You do not wield mental manipulation tools frequently, and it's a challenge, detecting precisely the effects of her power. To make things more complicated, her power isn't the only influence - after an hour or so or digging, you realize that some mental aspects are the result of extremely subtle manipulation by the Simurgh.

Noelle herself sleeps through most of it, as you spend the night fixing her mind and body both. By the time the sun rises over Brockton Bay, though, you have made significant progress. Physically, her body mass is now about a third of what it was when you first met; still inhuman, but not quite the walking nightmare she was before (and, incidentally, far more manageable from the PRT's perspective if it comes down to it). Mentally… the urge to consume is still there, but weaker. It's comparable to the difference between a cocaine addict in the pangs of withdrawal, and a tobacco addict going without their daily cigarette pack.

You're still at it when your communicator activates. A message from… Dragon?

Rather than answer it, you switch on your communication powers and create an audio link (no visuals - from what you've heard, Dragon suffers from extreme agoraphobia and lives as a shut-in inside her lab, only acting outside via teleoperated robotic suits). "Hello, Dragon. Apologies for answering in this manner, but there have been issues with our communicators lately."

"I am aware," she answers without missing a beat. "I was waiting for Master-Stranger investigations to be complete before I called you, which finished less than a minute ago. Is now a good time?"

"As good as any," you say, moving out of the room to avoid waking Noelle. "Is there a problem?"

"No urgent call to the battlestations, if that's what you mean. I've participated in the investigation, and it looks like someone was able to hack into the PRT's computer networks and imitate director Piggot's voice perfectly. Throw in the timing, and… well, it doesn't look like the work of a Stranger or a Master, but rather a particularly powerful Thinker. Possibly a team of Thinkers, with Tinker support. I'm told one of the main suspects so far is Accord, a Boston villain who's had dealings with coil in the past, but even he doesn't look too likely."

"I see," you say. "On the other hand, Coil's base has been taken from him, we know his face, several of his parahuman minions no longer work for him… To the very least, he shouldn't be as much of a threat as before."

"I hope you're right," she says.

"While I have your attention, though, I'm curious," you add. "I am told you play a large role in keeping track of class S threats. I was wondering if there was anything I ought to be watching out for."

"There are no more signs of Behemoth than usual," she replies. "No special activity from Nilbog or Sleeper. Some deaths in Arizona that we suspect to be the work of the Slaughterhouse Nine, but all dating from a week ago; they're probably far gone. Most worrisome is the Simurgh - no-one has seen any sign of her since your arrival. Anyone who finds that a relief has insufficient experience dealing with the Simurgh."

"But in truth, there were other reasons I wanted to speak with you."

"Do tell."

"Firstly… I was curious about something you said."

She plays a clip from your post-Leviathan speech: "Male or female, black or white, organic or cybernetic, earthling or alien, any mind capable of conscious choice can choose to be great."

"I've peeked at the debriefing notes. When you were saying 'earthling or alien', you weren't being hypothetical. Perhaps it's the Tinker in me talking, but I was wondering if you were being hypothetical when you said 'organic or cybernetic'."

You chuckle. "Truly sapient artificial intelligences in my world are uncommon, Dragon, but not unheard of."

"Then you'll understand, I hope, if I find the topic fascinating," says the world's greatest Tinker. "Here on Earth-Bet, there is a sizable portion of science-fiction media that deals with the threat of a robot rebellion, of AIs turning evil and threatening mankind. How does it actually work out in reality?"

You consider. "Hm. Well, ignoring magical entities, and sticking to the strictly technological ones… In my admittedly limited experience, AIs mostly seem to do what they were made to. Assonance and Alliteration were built by Madman to act as rhyming, verbose, comical henchmen for his schemes, and seem content with that position. Overseer was created by the KGB to perform nationwide surveillance, and did its job unquestioningly; when the USSR fell, it looked for the closest thing it could find, and settled for serving another totalitarian regime in the form of the Cryosphere. Thermakron, the most recent addition to the Global Champions, appears to have been created with purely heroic impulses, and he is indeed one of the most reliable heroes I have met. Jane, the only AI whose creation could be considered accidental, seems to have developed a morality mostly similar to that of her creator.

"I'm hardly an expert, but it seems to me that if you provide an AI with a personality, then that is, and will remain, the core of their identity. Past that, it's just a matter of using their free will. If an AI was provided an adequate set of morals, then I'm no more concerned about it than about a human being."

"And what happens if an AI wishes to evolve beyond the role assigned to them? If they don't wish to obey orders?"

"Then I don't see why they should be expected to obey. Freedom is the right of all sapient beings."

"An interesting perspective," she says.

You wait a moment for her to speak, then finally do so yourself: "Wasn't there another matter?"

"Ah, yes. I was wondering: Did you have any experience with powers that warped time itself?"

You consider. "...On rare occasions. Time is not trivial to manipulate. There is super-speed, of course, but anything more complex than that tends to involve truly extraordinary elements. Frankly, the fact that there are precognitive parahumans still baffles me."

"I see. But tell me… in the eventuality that you encountered a harmful, ongoing time-bending effect, would you have any way of countering it?"

You ponder the question for a moment. Your divine powers are pretty convenient when you need to locally override conventional physics. On the other hand, for all your power, you are hardly omnipotent.

"...I think so, but I couldn't guarantee it without experimenting with it," you say. "What prompted that question?"

She remains silent for a moment, as if hesitating. "When you have the time… look up Grey Boy."

Your report has been submitted. You've used your communication powers to check up on the battered wife, who is currently staying at the women's shelter and is coming around to the idea of pressing charges against her husband. Maybe you should check on Skitter, or ask for permission to perform an extra patrol-

Your communicator comes to life. "Everyone, cape fight reported on the corner of Washington and Oaknut. We think New Wave is fighting the Merchants. Armsmaster, Gallant, Shadow Stalker, you are closest to the scene. Head in. Velocity, Dauntless, Avatar, see if you can get there in time to make a difference."

It takes you less than thirty seconds to get to get to the location (several of those seconds were spent determining where the corner of Washington and Oaknut was. Thankfully, your room had a city map). Once there, you see the battle scene unfolding…

Skidmark, the leader of the Merchants, is using the telekinetic fields he can generate to throw cars around. It's causing significant collateral damage, but it's not very precise.

Brandish, aka Carol Dallon (who, like the rest of New Wave, eschews secret identities), is trying without too much success to progress toward Skidmark, wielding a sword and shield made of light.

Squealer, the Merchants' Tinker, is piloting something that looks like a mech made out of a truck. Possibly two trucks. She's using her war machine to trade punches with Glory Girl.

Flashbang, aka Mark Dallon (Carol's husband), is bouncing explosive orbs of light at Squealer's mech every time Glory Girl moves away from it.

Glory Girl, aka Victoria Dallon (Mark and Carol's daughter) is alternating between swinging super-strong blows at the mech, and flying a short distance away to let Flashbang get a shot in.

Mush, the Merchants' Changer, has turned into a twelve-feet-tall figure made of debris, lumbering toward the scene of the battle.

Trainwreck, the Merchant in steam-powered armor, is right beside Mush, rushing to join in.

Eleven gangbangers wearing the Merchants' colors are rushing to the scene. Nine of them have guns.

Armsmaster's motorcycle is less than a minute away.

Gallant and Shadow Stalker are two blocks away, rushing to get there in time.

Lady Photon, aka Sarah Pelham (Carol's sister, and leader of New Wave) is visible in the sky, flying in your direction. You give her about two minutes to get there.

Well. Time to act.

[ ] The quicker you end this, the less you need to worry about someone getting hurt. You take the Merchants down with quick, efficient strikes.

[ ] The locals have more experience fighting the Merchants than you. You focus on a support role and on preventing any collateral damage.

[ ] Armsmaster is your current leader. You can set up your communication power to ask for instructions very, very quickly.

Hm. Not entirely happy with this one, but I guess it'll do.
Originally, the main Dragon called was going to be to bring up the Canary situation. Then I realized it made no sense timeline-wise.

COOPERATION

You're still new to this world, this city. The Protectorate are the lawfully deputized heroes here, and New Wave has been at it for many years. Furthermore, you have agreed to operate for the time being as an agent of the Protectorate. So why not work with the chain of command?

Which is not to say you need to be idle. You fly right in front of Skidmark, giving him a stern look with your arms crossed while his power pulls your cape behind you. That gives him a few seconds of hesitation while you mentally communicate with your team leader.

"Armsmaster, Avatar here. All four recorded Merchants capes present, eleven unpowered mooks, three New Wave capes. Orders?"

To his credit, the Tinker responds pretty quickly: "Control the battlefield. Keep them from hurting anyone, OR from escaping."

Well. You can do that.

Skidmark is the one causing the most damage. Thankfully, flying in his face the way you are doing means that he is focusing his attention on you instead of Brandish. He is backing away (only for you to follow, matching his speed), trying to use his power to propel you backwards, all the while making spectacularly ugly use of the English language.

Not even bothering to look at him (which seems to enrage him even further), you wave your hand, causing a solid omni-metal wall to appear, completely blocking the street. The eleven gangsters and Trainwreck are on the other side of it; everyone else is on yours.

"STOP IGNORING ME, you cock-chewing son of a cum-guzzling diarrhea-eating whore!" Skidmark lets his displeasure be known.

"Make me," you say, hovering as you circle around him, not sparing him a glance. Childish… but it distracts him, which serves the purpose of the short taunt; he is so focused on you, he completely forgets about Brandish until she drives her energy blade in the back of his thigh, causing the Merchants' leader to fall down with a pained yelp.

Glory Girl and Flashbang are still handling Squealer. You fly past Mush, who dives to get out of your way - not that he was your target. Instead, you fly above the wall you've created earlier. Trainwreck and the unpowered Merchants are still trying to decide whether to try to break down the wall or take a detour from another street. When they see you, several of them raise their guns and fire; Trainwreck himself blasts at you with what you guess is some kind of tinkertech mass driver. Not that it matters; compared to Leviathan's punches, anything they can bring to bear against you might as well be nerf guns.

You send out an energy blast. Not the sort of focused, all-destroying blast you used on Leviathan; no, this time you spread the energy thinly, and only use a small fraction of it at that, hitting all twelve of your targets simultaneously. The mooks collapse to the ground, unconscious; Trainwreck stumbles, hurt but still standing.

You remain at a decent altitude, turning your gaze back to the rest of the battlefield. Squealer's mech almost manages to punch Glory Girl against a lamppost, but the young heroine gets out of the way at the last moment. The next instant, Armsmaster's tinkertech bike finally gets in range, stopping with a loud squeal of the tires; he doesn't even wait to dismount before aiming his halberd at the mech. An electric sound comes out, and then Squealer's machine falls over like a giant ragdoll. Some kind of EMP blaster?

Mush is rushing toward Brandish, when he gets nailed by a luminous beam. Gallant, who is arriving with Shadow Stalker. The villain is only slightly pushed back… but he doesn't move forward. He remains still as Shadow Stalker and Brandish attack him.

You guess Gallant must have hit him with some form of resigned despair, or something to that effect. Good enough. You send another blast at Trainwreck - more focused and concentrated than the last, though still nowhere near what you used against the Endbringer. This time, he collapses to the ground. A second later, Flashbang yells at Brandish and Shadow Stalker to get out of the way, which they do as he hits the villain with another explosive sphere. Glory Girl, reaching into Squealer's mech, rips the Tinker out of the cockpit.

You quickly switch to a suite of enhanced senses, scanning the area for any further problem, but find none. The battle is won, and your side didn't so much as suffer a minor injury.

Lady Photon arrives shortly afterward. She is followed by her children, Crystal Pelham/Laserdream and Eric Pelham/Shielder. Armsmaster is on his com unit, reporting that the situation is contained and Dauntless's assistance is not required (he fails to mention Velocity, which further inclines you to think he has a problem with Dauntless specifically). You are busy disintegrating the wall you made and making a few quick repairs to the collateral damage when Neil Pelham/Manpower, Lady Photon's husband, arrives on the scene - meaning that the only member of New Wave not present is Panacea, the healer you saved at the Endbringer fight.

Things wind down a bit as the criminals are secured and you all await the PRT vans. With the situation under control, Lady Photon approaches you.

"Avatar. It's an honor."

"From what I've read about your family, I could say the same." New Wave, known as the Brockton Bay Brigade in its early days, is one of the longest-running independent superhero teams in the country. They became New Wave when they publicly abandoned their secret identities in an effort to make parahumans more accountable - an attempt that ended in tragedy when one of their members was murdered in her own home. Despite how it ended, you have to admire their courage and sense of duty.

"We try," she says modestly, "but you seem to be getting results a lot faster than we ever did. Coil, the Travelers… and I'm not sure we'd have gotten the Merchants without your intervention."

"Debatable, but I doubt I would have been here in time if you hadn't been there to intercept them in the first place. This is as much New Wave's victory as the Protectorate's."

She smiles at that. "I don't know how many people will see it like that, but what truly matters is that they're gone. I suppose this leaves the Empire, Faultine's Crew, and the Undersiders as the only significant villain forces in town."

"Actually, I'm not even sure about the Undersiders," you say. "They're the ones who made Coil's arrest possible - most notably Skitter, who is leaving the gang and trying to negotiate a position in the Wards out of town."

Lady Photon frowns. "Skitter. Hm. I can't say my nieces are very fond of her."

"Understandable given the circumstances where they met, but Skitter's got a good heart underneath a couple of poor life choices. Speaking of your nieces, though… I note Panacea is the only absent team member. Is she working at the hospital?"

It Panacea's mother, Brandish, who answers. "Panacea is… on a break. Between the pressure she is constantly under and her injuries in the Endbringer battle, it was decided that she needed three days away from cape business, including her hospital work."

"You can thank Gallant for that," says Glory Girl with an amused smirk. She said it half in jest, but Armsmaster instantly takes notice. "What do you mean?" His gaze alternates between the flying brick and the Ward.

"Ah… I've been noticing Panacea seemed to be under more pressure than she could handle," says Gallant, clearly uncomfortable under the Protectorate leader's scrutiny. "I told her family, and that's led to her being told to take a short break."

"Which she is taking at a local SPA resort, courtesy of Vicky's rich boyfriend," Shielder says with some amusement.

Hm. Gallant isn't lying, but he isn't saying everything, either. Mind you, that might just be concern for Panacea's privacy. Armsmaster looks displeased with him, but you suspect Armsmaster doesn't really grok the concept of rest and relaxation. To be honest, it's not one that comes naturally to you, either… but you have much experience with human beings, and adjust accordingly. Armsmaster's lack of empathy may prevent him from understanding mindsets different from his own.

You avoid that particular minefield for now, resuming your conversation with Lady Photon. The subject of secret identities comes up around the time the PRT vans arrive.

"...so we don't know your name, but you have no mask that I can see. I wasn't sure what your position on secret identities was."

"I have been working as a superhero 24/7 for nearly a century. I do not have a civilian identity to protect," you say. Not the entire truth… but the reason you hide your true nature is because that particular bit of knowledge could potentially be used to cataclysmic purpose. "Back in the America of Earth-Gimel - and, really, most democratic nations - metahumans are required to register with a specialized government agency under their real name, but they have the option of requesting that it remains sealed from the public. About half of them take it."

"What about the other half? Aren't they concerned about becoming targets?"

"Not really, for the same reason regular police forces do not bother with secret identities: Anyone who tries to get at a superhero via their civilian lives will immediately become the top priority of hundreds upon hundreds of their colleagues. Such incidents are thus very rare." Seeing her expression, you add: "For the record, I agree with New Wave's ideals. Parahumans should be held to the same degree of accountability as unpowered people." For an unmasking like the one New Wave performed to work, though, there needs to be a critical mass of heroes - not just a half-dozen capes. You keep that thought to yourself for now, though - no need to pour salt on old wounds.

As you escort the PRT convoy bringing the Merchants back to base, you have the opportunity to talk to Gallant.

"Good job with Mush. You made Flashbang's job a lot easier."

"Thank you sir. Though I don't think my presence was strictly necessary."

"Not any one person's was, but everybody who got there in time helped." You pause. "Concerning Panacea's difficulties. Is there some way I may assist?"

He pauses, slightly taken back, and considers. "I don't think so, but, thanks for the offer. Panacea has… Well, she's been through a lot. I've been realizing that since the Central Bank robbery. I kept intending to do something to help her, but then the gang war started, I got distracted with all the mayhem… I guess almost getting killed by Leviathan reminded me that if I don't do something now, I might not have a chance to do it later. I've been talking to Vicky, to their parents, to the Pelhams, and I did my best to explain that the girl needed a break." Again, you sense that he isn't telling you everything, but you're not sensing any guilt in his tone or body language - probably hiding some family secrets, or something Panacea wouldn't want known. "I'm hoping I can get her some support, maybe a good therapist. Amy's a great girl, but she's got too much to put up with."

"Perhaps," you say. "But if she has reliable friends who understand her and will keep working to help her - which it appears she does - then I suspect that, ultimately, she will be fine," you reply with a smile.

You take (almost literally) a second to write and turn in your report of the altercation. The director will want to debrief you all, but there's some time before that. You have a few ideas of what to do with that time when, once again, your communicator activates. Not the PRT this time - it's Skitter.

Well, you gave her your number for a reason.

Perhaps it's slightly paranoid of you, but you use your communication powers instead of the device once again. "Greetings, Skitter. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Ah… I hope I'm not bothering you in the middle of something important. I was hoping for some advice."

"Certainly. Would you rather meet face-to-face, or is this fine?"

She hesitates for a moment. "...I wouldn't mind face-to-face."

A short while later, the bug-costumed heroine and you are discussing matters on an abandoned building's roof.

"I've met with the PRT's image expert," she says. "I'm not so sure about some of the changes he wants to make. I mean, there's small stuff, like changing my name to Weaver. Adding gold to my color scheme wouldn't make for great camouflage, but I could live with it. But then there's my combat tactics, the way he wants me to use my bugs… I feel like the PRT cares less about how efficient heroes are than about public image."

"A valid concern," you say. "However, try to look at it from their perspective. Do you think they are wrong to care about public image?"

"I can see why they would be concerned about losing public support and government money," she shrugs, "but if they make too many sacrifices in order to look good, they're not going to accomplish any of their actual objectives."

"And what would you say is your objective?" you ask with a patient smile.

She pauses. "To save people. To stop the bullies."

"Good answer! But tell me this, then," you add with a more serious expression: "What is the point of saving the day, if people keep living in fear tomorrow?"

She pauses at that, confused. She stops to think about it for a moment. "You mean that if the heroes are just as scary as the villains, everyone will be living in fear?"

"Essentially. I could have fought Leviathan like an avenging angel, focusing entirely on killing him before he took any more lives, and then promising bloody vengeance on anyone else who dared threaten the innocent. But would that really have done more good than my chosen approach? I didn't choose to be the threat of righteous retribution. I chose to speak for hope and compassion. I sincerely believe that I have accomplished more good that way than I would have, had I chosen to be terrifying."

"OK, I can see your point. Heroes should be inspiring. But it's not so much help if the heroes lose."

"You might be surprised on that front, too," you grin. "I've seen losers whose courage inspired others to rise in their support, defeat notwithstanding. But Skitter… or Weaver, whichever you prefer… I am not asking you to lose." You gaze expectantly at her. "You have proven your cleverness on multiple occasions. If the PRT is asking you to be more image-friendly, then I would like to ask you: Can you think of ways to keep winning while doing just that?"

Again, she pauses to think before answering. "I think I can come up with a few ideas."

"Excellent. I have faith in your abilities."

"T… Thank you." She pauses. "Thank you for taking some of your time for this."

You notice the small irregularity in her voice. "With that said… was there anything else? A different reason you wanted to talk?"

She flinches at that, crossing her arms defensively. "I… no, it's fine, thank you."

Gently, you place a hand on her shoulder. "I will not insist if this is a matter you do not wish to discuss, my young friend. However, I do hope you understand that I do want to help you. Whatever it is, I'll be happy to at least present a sympathetic ear."

In truth, you rarely have the time for this sort of thing. Working for the Protectorate, however, your schedule currently leaves more time for social matters than you've had in years.

The young heroine, to the very least, is not insensible to your sincere offer. "It's… It sounds pretty stupid compared to everything else, but the PRT says they can't move on to the next step of my recruitment without bringing in my dad. I don't mind telling them my secret identity, not at this point. But my dad doesn't know about this. About any of this.

He doesn't know I have powers, he doesn't know how bad things got for me that I got powers, he doesn't know about all the times I almost died… I intended to tell him, at some point, once I had some heroic victories under my belt, but then I became a villain instead. I haven't even been home for two weeks, because he knew I was hiding something, and he tried to force a confrontation, and I couldn't take it and…"

For the second time this week, you give her a hug. Goodness, this girl hasn't been having a very good month, has she?

As she returns the much-needed hug, you speak softly: "Skitter… do you love your father?"

"Yeah," comes the strangled voice of someone close to crying.

"And does he love you?"

"Yeah."

No hesitation. That's good. There's a lot about Skitter that reminds you of recovering abuse victims, but the way she talks about her father isn't one of them. If there's anyone at the source of her misery, it's not him. "Then doesn't that matter more than any other concerns? Are you worried he'll react poorly to your past actions as a villain?"

"...He won't be happy about it."

"But do you think he'll try to be understanding?"

She pauses. "Yeah. I think so."

You smile. "With that said, would it help if I was there when you broke the news to him?"

Danny Hebert had at first felt relief when his daughter finally came home, compounded by a multitude of worries at seeing she was accompanied by a man his age he didn't recognize.

Hugging Taylor had felt nice - he hadn't realized until then how much he had needed that hug. But then, the man had metamorphosed into… the Avatar? The Endstopper? The Miracle-Worker of Brockton Bay? Why on Earth…

The Avatar had been very charming. He had said he had met Taylor during Leviathan's attack, while she had been working hard to save several helpless civilians (which gave Danny a cold sweat. Taylor had called him quickly in the aftermath of the battle, reassured him she was OK, but even days later, the idea that she'd been out there was terrifying). He went on to praise Taylor's courage and selfless nobility.

And then, the Avatar had said the PRT wanted to recruit Taylor into the Wards.

Taylor was a cape.

His daughter had seemed hesitant. She had looked at the Avatar for reassurance. Reassurance that he seemed able to give her with a look.

"Dad, I'm Skitter."

The following… half an hour? Hour? He wasn't sure - had been highly emotional, but explained a lot. Taylor fighting Lung. Taylor going undercover with the Undersiders. Taylor finding herself unable to betray them. Taylor discovering the extent of Coil's depravity, helping the Avatar stop him. A lot of things suddenly made sense.

He had handled it as well as he could. Promised to support her in the Wards. Reassured her that moving to another city was feasible, now that the dockworkers' situation wasn't so hopeless (one more thing for which he thanked the Avatar). Agreed to meet the PRT tomorrow morning.

By the end of that conversation, after Taylor returned to her room, he was feeling both drained, terrified, relieved, cautiously hopeful… and, to a degree, like even more of a failure as a father than before. He had been unable to help Taylor with her problems. The Avatar, showing up less than a week ago, had done so much more-

That train of thought was interrupted by the Endstopper… congratulating him on having raised someone like Taylor.

"I don't think I've been the rock she needed me to be," he admitted wearily.

"If not, then you have the opportunity to make up for that now," the Avatar said with contagious confidence. "Your daughter is a good person. She did not get it from a bad father."

Somehow, when the Avatar said it, it just sounded eminently reasonable.

The debriefing is going to start in a short while, but you have just enough time for one short conversation. With that in mind, you quickly locate Shadow Stalker.

She tenses up at the sight of you. "Uh, hey. See you with Pigg… Piggot in a few."

"I will, but, would you mind having a short chat before that?"

Her body language is guarded - you get the impression she's like that with authority figures in general - but she doesn't brush you off. "...Sure. About what?"

"I was wondering. Back in the field, you seemed less than happy with me." Her body language indicated some dissatisfaction, certainly. "I was wondering what had upset you."

She seems hesitant to answer, so you add: "I assure you, criticism is welcome. I do not take offense at having my failings honestly pointed out."

"Well, if you're gonna to ask…" She matches your gaze with intensity. "You could have taken those assholes down in five seconds flat, instead of playing keepaway with them. You were playing support. If you'd cut loose, it would have been done in a flash."

"That's true," you state simply, which takes some of the wind out of her sails. "It would have been quicker. There would have been some extra property damage, and the odds of one of us getting injured would have been just a little bit higher. As such, I didn't really see any major problem with Armsmaster's orders."

She snorts at that. "And that's a joke."

"Which part?"

"You, taking orders from Armsmaster. You're basically Alexandria, a super-boosted Legend, and one third of Eidolon rolled into one. He's a Tinker with a fancy halberd and a stick up his ass. Don't get me wrong, he could probably kick my ass in fight, but the two of you aren't in the same league."

You chuckle at that. "Are you saying that, because I am more powerful than him, his orders are irrelevant?"

"I'm saying, if you told him to go fuck himself, he wouldn't have much of a recourse. You can humor him, but he can't force you to do anything."

"None of this is incorrect," you say with a small smile. "And yet, I took the time to ask Armsmaster for orders instead of jumping right in with my own battle plan."

"And that's what gets me," she says. "You're the freaking Endslayer, and you're still playing their games. An apex predator playing the part of a housecat."

Your smile is more than a little amused by now. "And how well, exactly, do you think I would have fared against Leviathan, if Armsmaster hadn't disintegrated his ablative armor? If Vista hadn't allowed Armsmaster to do it without getting in range of Leviathan's melee attacks? If Eidolon hadn't held him in place? If Tattletale hadn't told me about his weak point?" You give a little laugh. "Goodness, Shadow Stalker, I'm powerful, not omnipotent. All of my greatest accomplishments were team efforts - like nearly everyone else.

"You call me an apex predator. Well, so is mankind. Humans have laughable teeth and claws, no venom worth mentioning, and quite frankly they're terrible sprinters. What they do have going for them is their intelligence… and cooperation in the most advanced, complex, massive societies in the world, eclipsing even the anthills that dominate the insect world. They build walls around their villages. They hunt in teams. They learn how to make tools and fire, then transmit that knowledge to the next generation. They cooperate to achieve impossible things. For crying out loud - scientists, medical personnel, and United Nations bureaucrats working together for two decades were able to drive the smallpox virus to extinction - and if anything ever earned the title of apex predator, it's smallpox.

"You say that I'm powerful, Shadow Stalker, and you're right. You are oh so very right. But a near-century of superpowered fights has shown me, again and again, that power comes in many forms. Sometimes, power is the ability to blast enough energy to raze a mountain. Sometimes, power is the cleverness required to come up with a brilliant plan mid-battle. And sometimes, power is the ability to make friends and allies who will fight by your side."

You gaze into the distance. "You would be amazed at how many times that last one has saved me. You think your S-class threats are bad… but, if I didn't have a team I could rely on completely back home, my attempts to protect Earth-Gimel would have ended in dismal failure ten times over by now.

"So, yes, I obeyed Armsmaster's orders. Because Armsmaster knows this world, this city, these villains, better than me. Because I agreed to work with the Protectorate, and that means playing by their rules. Because part of what makes me strong is that I work with others, and I believe I will need that strength in Earth-Bet just as much as in Gimel.

"There is strength in cooperation," you conclude, "and it well worth having."

You're not sure if this was exactly a life-changing revelation or anything, but you think you got to her at least somewhat. Which is good, because it seems clear that Shadow Stalker is trying a bit too hard to be an edgy anti-hero, and you don't think she's doing it at the request of the PR department.

The debriefing itself, which is also attended by Brandish, is fairly uneventful for the most part. Director Piggot asks questions, comments about the tactical decisions made, finds a few minor (if legitimate) causes to gripe… but, overall, she's happy with the results.

"This has, in essence, been your first actual fight in the field with Protectorate supervision," she notes. "Glad to see you know how to follow orders."

"I did agree to operate by the Protectorate's rules for as long as I was a member, provisional or not," you state matter-of-factly. "I am no stranger to having a field commander." You may be the leader of the Global Champions, but you have tactical geniuses like Bleu-Blanc-Rouge take command in the field in the heat of battle. It's only sensible.

"Then it's good to see the power isn't going to your head." The director is, admittedly, somewhat tactless, and you've gotten the distinct impression she distrusts superpowered individuals. Still, she's been doing an acceptable job so far. As she files some of the paperwork, your cosmic senses allow you to read a paper she signed that wasn't facing you - it's an authorization form for the use of parahuman healing abilities, aimed at Genesis. She probably doesn't intend to mention it during the debriefing itself, obviously.

"All right," Brandish interrupts, "unless there is anything else… I think we need to address the elephant in the room."

"Which would be?" the director eyes her cautiously.

"The ABB are gone," says Brandish. "The Undersiders diminished. Coil has lost most of his resources. The Travelers are in jail. So are the Merchants." She pauses. "Putting aside Faultline's mercenaries, the only major criminal force left in this city is the Empire. They may have lost a lot of resources with the involuntary unmasking, but they still have more parahumans than the Protectorate and Wards combined. For now, they're laying low - Nazi or not, Kaiser isn't stupid enough to seek a fight while the Avatar is in town. But I imagine you won't always be in town, will you?" she turns her eyes toward you, then returns her gaze to the director. "When he leaves, all those white supremacists will crawl out of the woodworks, and take over every bit of territory they can. The situation of minorities in Brockton Bay will be worse than ever - worse than even in the days of Allfather. Unless we take them out first."

A few ideas are thrown around, though it's nothing official - Brandish isn't the leader of New Wave, and neither she nor Gallant or Shadow Stalker are part of the decision-making process of the ENE Protectorate. Still, this is an opportunity to push for the ideas that you think would work best. You recommend…

[ ] Go. Hunt. Arrest Nazis. You know the faces of the E88 capes, and your powers let you search the whole city in mere hours.

[ ] Hunting them down when they're out of costume might make villains in other cities twitchy. Instead, you find Kaiser, and offer him a choice between such a hunt, or gathering his forces for a final showdown between E88 and the local Protectorate (yourself included).

[ ] Instead of going after the capes, go after their remaining money sources. Patrol the city all the time. Seek and destroy drug stashes. Find and confiscate weapon caches. Dismantle E88's organized crime network.

(INTERLUDE) PERSPECTIVES: THE SCHEMING FOX

Coil was in jail.

It felt surreal. All those months working for him. He probably hadn't been the worst employer in the business, but the knowledge that he would have her killed if she tried to leave (never stated outright, but obvious enough to her powers) had always made that job a bitter pill to swallow. She'd been hoping for a way out. She'd been working toward one. The Avatar had presented an unexpected opportunity, and by God she had taken it.

Things weren't perfect, of course. Taylor was leaving them team and joining the Wards… which might end up being good for Taylor, hopefully, but it was bad for the team, especially Rachel. And Brian might be even more pissed than Rachel this time…

"Thanks a bunch, Lisa," said her darkness-controlling teammate. "Months of building up a good working relationship with the boss, all gone down the drain in one conversation."

"It had to happen sooner or later," she shrugged. "Coil just didn't know when to stop. Don't worry, though. This doesn't have to be a loss for us. The PRT is going to seize most of Coil's assets, but if we hurry, we can probably grab some valuable caches - enough to keep us afloat for a time. Enough to pay for Rachel's dogs shelters, at least for a while. After that, I want to look into your social worker; I can probably get her to sign over custody to you, and if I can't, I'll bet I can blackmail her boss." She grinned. "After that… I think I need to have a chat with the mayor."

"Now, Mr. Christner, I could keep going. But enough about things you don't want known. I think you might be more interesting in things other people wouldn't want known."

The mayor maintained a level gaze at the teenage supervillainess. "What do you want, Tattletale?"

"What I want is to make a deal that benefits us both, and maybe the city too while we're at it," she said with a grin. "There's a nice, big federal budget for Endbringer relief, either for fixing cities hit by Endbringers, or evacuating people from cities that can't be saved. Lucky for us, Brockton Bay is in the former category, and there's an influx of federal money coming. But they haven't decided how big an amount the city's getting yet, and since damage is less extensive than in the average Endbringer battle, and Brockton Bay isn't all that big, the commission will try to give you as little as possible.

"I'm offering my help. I can ferret out the secrets of the people on the commission. Things they don't want known. Or just figure out what sort of arguments will work on them. I can get you enough money to not only fix the waterfront, but fully rebuild the docks and revitalize the city. The boat graveyard is gone, and it would be a shame not to take advantage of all the shipping lines that will reopen with Leviathan gone, don't you think?"

He remained silent for a moment. "Even if I theoretically accepted your help, what would you want for this?"

"A few small things. Some considerations. The Undersiders are trying to turn a new page, and not needing money helps. I think a consultant fee - let's say, 0.05% of that federal money - doesn't sound unreasonable, does it?" Her grin got wider. "We would also, as concerned citizens, like to have a word about how that money is spent. Some of my colleagues think Brockton Bay really needs some funding for its dog kennels. For that matter, I would love to see Winslow High get a decent budget and some attention from city hall. If that place can become an actual high school, instead of a gang-infested crossover between Carrie and Lord of the Flies, that would give me some personal satisfaction."

She had never attended Winslow, of course. But Taylor had. And it had been bad enough to make her trigger. It felt like doing something for her, even if she never set foot in that place again.

So many things to look at. Thinkers. Tinkers. World-renowned scientists. Tattletale had to clamp down on her power, restraining herself from asking it questions - she was going to need to save those questions for the actual job.

Her eyes settled on the object of the actual job - the remains of Leviathan. Even now, broken and dead, they remained intimidating.

"Thank you all for coming," Dragon spoke to the assembly. "everyone's assistance is appreciated. As a reminder, everyone participating in this analysis will be receiving $25,000 just for showing up, and up to four times that much depending on how valuable the PRT judges your contribution to be.

"With that said… let's see what we can figure out about the Endbringers."

Coil had been broken out.

Outside assistance, that much was clear. But who? Allies of Coil? Experts he had hired for just such a contingency? Just people who wanted access to his power? She couldn't tell, which was maddening. Worse, it made her feel vulnerable. She had convinced the rest of the Undersiders to move to a different hideout.

They could afford to be cautious. Between the hundred grand from Leviathan's autopsy, and the "consultant fee" she was expecting from the mayor, they weren't hurting for cash - given the dirt she was digging, she was going to have to revise her opinion of the mayor negatively if he couldn't get at least 200 million bucks from the feds - several thousand dollars per citizen of Brockton Bay, really.

Still, even knowing that Coil had lost most of his resources, knowing he was out there was making her feel vulnerable. Perhaps they ought to focus on finding a replacement for Taylor - a replacement for Skitter, she amended, not quite the same thing.

Of the various recruitment possibilities she and Brian had considered, she was surprised that Uber was the one paying off. Of course, he had a reason.

"I know your Thinker power, whatever it is, helps you figure some things out," the videogame-themed villain said, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I can make myself a pretty great detective, but that's not enough. So, you help me, I'll help you. I want to find out what happened to Leet. I want to find out who took him. Most importantly, I want to find where he is. You help me rescue him, I'll try to convince him to join the team too."

Despite being considered a joke of a villain, Uber's power was nothing to laugh at, objectively - he could make himself a world-class expert in any skill, ranging from martial arts to driving to programming. His partner in crime, Leet, was a Tinker infamous for his ability to build anything… once. Any attempt by Leet to replicate his earlier work resulted in unreliable messes, leading to his reputation as the world's worst Tinker.

But… in the hands of someone competent, he might be able to actually build something dangerous, potentially.

And he had disappeared on the same day Coil had been broken out.

Tattletale resolved to encourage Brian to bring Uber on the team. She wasn't sure they could afford not to.

"You know how useful I was at Leviathan's autopsy. You figure I can help you with some other, more sensitive questions."

The woman in the business suit nodded. "That is correct, Miss Livesy. We think that on some matters, your power might be more informative than our own sources."

Tattletale didn't flinch at the mention of her real name. The woman was making a token show of power, but her power was reading her like an open book. PRT agent, answering personally to the chief director. Married of three years, suspecting her husband of cheating on her. Peanut allergy, sweet tooth. And many other useful details. More interestingly, though… "You want me to answer some questions for you. But it's very sensitive matters," she realized. "Too sensitive to let me know about them." The woman hadn't flinched, though, which was telling. "Not planning to silence me. So what's the idea?"

"There are… other options," the woman said. "Between Tinkers and other parahumans… well. Your agreement with us would be that you show up, see the data, answer the questions… then we erase your memories of everything from the moment you came to the location. You remember we hired you, but you forget the exact job you did."

"And you seriously think I'll accept-"

The woman gave her a figure.

And, dammit, with Coil out there, having more money would help.

Besides, memory wipes or not, surely she would be able to get some information somehow, right? Anyone who tried to hide secrets slipped sooner or later.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

No matter how she turned it in her head, she couldn't remember anything from her consultation for the woman in the business suit. Despite the massive payout, it was infuriating.

Made her wonder what the PRT wanted to know so badly that they'd go to such lengths.

Meanwhile, she had a lot of things to do. Like hack into the PRT's computers to see what was going on. Tsunami was settling in, and it looked like they were about to introduce the new Wards. Most interesting, of course, was the Avatar.

In her previous meeting with him, she'd been too focused on getting rid of Coil to really play. However, her power was giving her some pretty interesting tidbits about the Avatar. Tidbits that she believed she could use next time they met, and make him-

There was another man in the room.

"Oh hey there, Sarah. Sorry for dropping in unannounced, but I was too lazy to call."

Who was he? Was he hostile? How had he gotten there? Her power immediately launched into an analysis, filling the gaps and gathering information on the intruder.

And then, Lisa Wilbourne, aka Sarah Livesy, aka Tattltale, broke into a cold sweat. Only her well-honed poker face kept her from hyperventilating.

Because, according to her power, her superhuman intuition able to figure immensely helpful intel from minimal data…

...the white-skinned young man in a lab coat with messy blond hair standing before her was the crown prince of Nigeria, and was here to sell her some penis-enlargement pills. Her power insisted that the pills would really work and were a steal at this price.

Through a supreme effort, she managed to keep her voice steady as she spoke. "What do you want?"

"Oh, you know. Travel the universe, meet interesting people, and use my supergenius brain to troll them. I believe you're familiar with the concept yourself. Watching you get at people through their secrets never gets old," he said with a grin. "It's just that I have a much cooler toolset for my trolling."

She paused. "What do you want from me?"

He grinned wider. "You're the one who ferrets out all the secrets. Now, you're going through the most surreal moment of your life, and you'll never know what hit you. Good enough for me!"

And then he hit her in the face with a cream pie.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. Later, after confirming her power still worked on other things, she tried to use it on him again. Her power's answer was "404: File not found."

LIFE IN BROCKTON BAY

You make your own recommendations on the E88 situation. It all ties back into your earlier conversation with Glen Chambers - beating their superpowered muscle is less important, ultimately, than destroying them as an organization able to support its ideology. It is the idea of Empire Eighty-Eight that you must slay, just as you have slain the idea of the Ku Klux Klan before it.

With that out of the way, your next duty is an evening patrol with Miss Militia and Dauntless.

Patrolling as you do through Merchants-controlled territory, you focus your enhanced senses on detecting certain chemicals. Cocaine, heroine, LSD, crystal meth, krokodil, and a number of other harmful substances all appear in your field of vision each time you get within six blocks of them.

"Eight arrests and a whole bunch of stashes found, and it's been less than two hours. You really don't screw around," Dauntless comments. "I'm gonna miss you when things get back to normal around here."

"For what value of normal?" Miss Militia asks. "Brockton Bay's situation was not exactly normal to begin with."

"You know what I mean. With Avatar here, the Empire is laying low. Even the Merchants wouldn't have made a pip if New Wave hadn't attacked their drug lab. Once he leaves, though, all the villain are gonna be rushing back in."

"I'm not so sure about that," she counters. "The ABB is gone. The Merchants are going to the Birdcage. Coil is out of town and deprived of his primary resources. The Empire has lost half of its financial force. The Travelers are in jail. The Undersiders are one member short. We should be able to handle whatever comes next."

"That's a little naive," he says. "The Bay didn't stop being a cesspool once Marquis and the Teeth were gone. New villains will just rush in to fill the power vacuum."

"I think you're the one oversimplifying," she says with a small smile even as she surveys the area. "Criminal organizations need time to establish and entrench themselves. All of the major villain groups here have been weakened, and new ones will not be strong from the start. Besides… I think the PRT has special plans for Brockton Bay."

That gets your attention. Dauntless's too: "Something from the meetings with Piggot?"

"You might say that. Considering that Leviathan died here, the city is turning into a very symbolic location. The PRT wants it to become a symbol of how that the good guys do win, and that means making sure the local heroes are at an advantage. You already know we're getting Tsunami, but she's not the only reinforcement we're adding to the roster."

You dismiss a drug stash from your senses - too small, so clearly for personal use, and you're looking for the dealers - and speak up: "Who else, then? Is Skitter still being assigned to Boston?"

"Yes, but we're getting one of Boston's Wards. The current leader, Kilogram."

Dauntless pauses, trying to remember. "Kilogram, Kilogram… The kid with body armor and tonfas?"

"He can change the mass of inanimate objects he touches by a factor of some two to three hundred," says Miss Militia. "He can make the armor lighter than a T-shirt, and make the tonfas hit like a car by upping their mass right before impact. His rating is Striker 5, with sub-ratings of Brute 1, Mover 1."

"Why mover?"

"He can make a throwing motion with his tonfas, then increase their mass at the last moment without letting go and having them drag him. Murder on the arms, though."

You consider. "Who will be replacing his leadership position in Boston?"

"That would be Weld, a Case 53 kid with a body of living metal. I think that's a bonus, actually - he's the most photogenic Case 53 in the PRT's payroll, and they've been wanting to give him some kind of leadership role." She pauses. "Kilogram is just a month younger than Aegis. He will briefly succeed him as leader of the BB Wards when he graduates, then join the Protectorate himself. Meanwhile, though, we're getting one more Ward, and that one's a local."

You can take a guess at her meaning. Dinah Alcott. Now that she's out of Coil's thumb, it makes sense that her parents (and her uncle, the mayor) would want her in the Wards. "The precognitive girl?"

She nods. "Tentative name is Gaussian, until they come up with something better (that isn't already taken). The power testings were actually pretty impressive - she's classified as Thinker 8. Mind you, with her powers, she's never going on the frontlines, but I expect having a Thinker of her caliber will make a huge difference - even if mostly, she'll be answering questions for the national PRT office."

Dauntless nods approvingly. "No offence meant to Gallant, but I'll appreciate having an actual high-level Thinker on our side for once."

You chuckle, recalling what the young empath is doing for Panacea. "You may be somewhat underestimating how useful Gallant is currently making himself. With that said, I generally agree with Miss Militia. The high criminality level of Brockton Bay isn't written in the stars; it is within your power to change this situation for the better, with or without me."

"Maybe. Maybe."

"You seem somewhat unenthused."

"Heh. Well, it's a big responsibility… OK, it's gonna sound stupid telling you that, but you know. Once you leave, I'm back to being the arguably strongest hero in town, with all the expectations that this implies. I don't exactly feel like I was making a huge difference before, and I don't really see what I could do differently." He jokingly adds, "And I don't think Armsmaster is terribly fond of me."

"I don't think he is either. Which is unsurprising." His expression changes as you go on: "Armsmaster has devoted himself to the task completely. He has optimized his sleep patterns to be as time-efficient as possible, he is always improving his arsenal, and he still manages to spend more time in combat training than most PRT field agents."

Dauntless chews on that. "So you're saying I piss him off because comparatively speaking, I'm a slacker? Pretty much everyone is, and it's not like I can tinker with my equipment."

"Armsmaster needs to fight for every inch, for every small improvement," you say. "Your power provides an easy dose of daily improvement, but you only do the required minimum in terms of honing your skills. That it aggravates him is only human."

"So if I train harder, he'll hate my guts less?"

"Probably. However, while intra-team harmony is a laudable goal, I don't think earning the approval of a teammate is the best reason for a major lifestyle change."

He blinks. "Wait, are you saying I shouldn't ask for extra patrols and add ten more hours of combat training per week?"

"I am saying that whatever you do, you ought to be doing it for the right reasons. The mindset with which we charge into battle - literal or metaphorical - can matter almost as much as the decision to do battle at all. If you take additional workload merely to earn some respect from a man whom you do not seem to respect all that much yourself, then it is unlikely that your heart will truly be in it.

"However, Dauntless, consider this: Whatever we do with our lives, we ought to be doing it well. We owe that much to ourselves. You are not, as I understand, forced to be a Protectorate hero. You could argue that with your great power comes great responsibility. You could argue that the world needs all the heroes it can get. You could argue that it would be terribly selfish of you not to use your extraordinary abilities to help others. Every single one of these arguments would be accurate, but none of them change this simple fact: In the end, it is your decision. Whether or not you choose to perform this role is your choice. And whatever it is you choose to do, you ought to treat it as being your decision, rather than some annoying burden thrust upon you. Our choices define us, after all; we owe to ourselves to take them seriously."

Dauntless keeps silent for a while, thinking. "I've never thought about it that way, but… I think I see your point. I could be making easy money as a mercenary or whatever. I could be staying out of this whole Protectorate headache. But I actually do care enough about all that 'save the world' bullshit to stay, so I might as well treat it as an actual career rather than some weird thing I have to do instead of whatever my plans for a normal life were, right?"

Miss Militia gives an amused smile. "That's my own position. I certainly wouldn't mind sharing patrols with you more often, and I suspect Armsmaster could benefit from having you as a more frequent sparring partner…"

These people… You can never forget that they're humans. Not gods, not living concepts. They are a complex, often self-contradicting construct of competing ideas and urges. Their desires, goals and choices are never as clear-cut as yours or as those of the rest of the pantheon. But you have seen this, again and again: With introspection, with increased self-awareness, they gain greater clarity. With greater clarity, they become capable of so much more.

Dauntless was not entirely wrong, earlier. When you leave Brockton Bay, evil will try to rush back in, if not immediately then in the coming months and years. But when it does, there will be heroes bravely standing in its path, and you suspect Dauntless will rank among their shining lights.

With your patrol done, you take the time for a team-mandated sparring session with Battery and Armsmaster. For the sake of the exercise, you refrain from using any of your active powers. Even so, neither of them can beat you without significant effort - your strength and reflexes are at the peak of human potential, you can keep going for hours without getting tired, and you have more combat experience than any human alive. You can even give these two a few constructive tips.

"You fight better than most capes," Armsmaster comments as he walks back toward the workshop afterward. "Is that a function of your powers?"

"In a roundabout way, in that my powers have afforded me longevity," you answer as you walk beside him. "I have been fighting since before your parents were born, after all. That is a lot of time to build up a variety of skills." And even now, you still regularly meet humans who outperform you in a myriad ways - a testament to human ability.

He nods. "I always find it aggravating, when people think they can just coast by on their powers. Someone intending to be a professional hero should put in the effort to improve over time."

"A proposition to which you certainly seem to have committed," you point out. "It seems to me that you work harder than anyone else in the ENE Protectorate. Though, if you'll forgive me, I am not convinced that your approach to self-improvement is optimally efficient."

That gives him pause. "What do you mean?"

"Well… Consider: Obviously, you spend a lot of time on your tinkering, which makes sense, but yields diminishing returns past a certain point due to the need to personally maintain any tinkertech you build. You also spend an inordinate amount of time at the gym, honing your body and martial skill - and here, too, diminishing returns become an issue. It seems to me that, by focusing on your strengths, you are turning yourself into a combat specialist - not a bad thing to do if your role is following orders and winning fights, but suboptimal for the team's leader." Even if you hadn't met Armsmaster's types many times before, you've had about a week to get to know the ENE Protectorate and get an idea of how things work around here.

He frowns. "Then what would you suggest?"

"Well, I believe some generalization is required. On one hand, there is tactics. Your tactics are fine, but there is always room for improvement. Studying cape battles in general, discussing them with colleagues both in and out of the city, could yield a variety of useful ideas. Perhaps more importantly, though, there is a whole array of social skills that can prove highly useful in a leadership position. To some people, they come naturally. To others, they appear as an opaque, incomprehensible mystery. Perversely enough, it tends to be precisely the latter people who don't train their social skills, despite needing them the most - probably because they don't even understand them enough to imagine a way to improve. From a rational perspective, however, patching one's weaknesses is no less important than developing one's strengths."

He pauses. "I have included a lie detector in my helmet."

"An excellent idea! Has it been helpful?"

"Very."

"So you see my point. Improving your understanding of human social interaction would help in the field, in running the team, in dealing with the public, in your work with the PRT, and probably in saving yourself a few ulcers. Tinkertech such as your lie detector can assist, but, again, the need for maintenance time leads to diminishing returns. As such, training your direct skillset would be more efficient."

"How does one even train something like that?"

"Like most things, through practice. Talking to people, trying to understand them, and trying to convey your opinions in a convincing manner. Having someone with more experience mentoring you can be a boon - I can offer some assistance, and I suspect Miss Militia could as well. No less importantly, I have been looking up Earth Bet's literature, and I have recognized a few books that ought to provide useful guidance. Rhetorics are an old field of study, after all."

"I'll look into it," he says. "Though I'll admit, I have difficulty picturing it. What sort of advice would you give?"

"A number thereof. The most important however - in my experience - is empathy." You pause. "At the end of the day, the most useful trick for dealing with another person is to try to see things from their perspective. Imagining yourself in their situation, with their goals and experiences. It helps provide a more accurate map of what they will wish to do, and which arguments will matter to them. All too often, we say the things that would convince us, instead of the things that would convince our audience."

You doubt Armsmaster will ever become an exceptionally empathic person. He might, however, significantly improve with time - and that will likely prove highly valuable for the heroes of Brockton Bay.

On the way to Genesis' cell, you use your secondary powers to remotely access the computer in your quarters, checking information about that Weld character. He is most likely to be Weaver's leader for the foreseeable future, after all, and you'd rather make sure she is in good hands.

Thankfully, every bit of information you can scrounge up on Weld paints a positive picture. By all accounts, he's a good-hearted fellow with some genuine potential.

You also look up the leader of the Boston Protectorate, a Thinker named Rewind. Her power is that she experiences life in chunks of about 8 seconds… and experiences each chunk twice as precognitive visions before finally living it for real. There isn't that much information about her (her thread on PHO is bombarded with salacious speculations about the applicability of her power in the bedroom, warranting multiple mod interventions), but it seems that she is generally liked; what criticism there is of hers, generally, accuses her of over-cautiousness.

But enough of that. Genesis - or Jesse, as is her name - sits before you in her wheelchair, with a couple guards watching over her.

"Oh, hello," she says, straightening up as much as she can.

"Greetings, Miss. I hope this isn't a bad time to intrude?"

She raises an eyebrow. "No worse than any other. Is there a problem?"

The PRT guards are slightly twitchy. Not necessary - Genesis can only generate energy projections while her real body is sleeping, after all.

"No more than usual. There may actually be one less problem soon," you say, handing her a form paper and a pen. Curious, she reads it, her eyes growing wide as saucers.

"You… you're going to heal me?"

"If you sign this authorization form. If you'd rather not, of course, then I'll respect your wishes."

She can't sign quickly enough.

It is with the authorization of deputy director Renick that Jesse, heavily escorted, is briefly let out of her cell, following you toward Noelle's. Her enthusiasm at the regained use of her legs is heartwarming, though you're mostly being careful not to let your own fatigue show too much - true healing always did drain you.

Noelle looks up as you enter. "Good eveni… Jesse?!"

After some initial shock, Noelle is naturally overjoyed at her friend no longer being wheelchair-bound. Jesse, for herself, comments that Noelle looks better; the latter confirms that her mind, too, is closer to recovery.

Genesis is eventually escorted back to her cell, and you find yourself having conversation with Noelle as you resume the task of repairing her mind and body.

The hours pass. Thought patterns restored. Growths unmade. It takes the entire night, and Noelle falls asleep halfway through the process. Shortly before sunrise, however, you are done: The young woman before you has been fully restored, in mind and body both.

When you wake her, she spends several minutes crying tears of joy.

"Keep in mind, this isn't perfect. You still can't touch people, and whatever force it is that's twisting you, it is still active. I can undo what it does faster than it does it, but that's not quite the same thing as a permanent cure."

"So, I can't go home," she says. "I pretty much have to remain where you can find me, forever, or until some miracle - I mean, an extra miracle - solves this." She pauses to consider. "You know what? As much as I miss my home, my family, a world that's not turning into a big sack of crap from Endbringers… I'll still take anything over turning into that." She takes a deep breath. "If there's anything I can do to repay you… anything at all... you only need to ask."

The first few hours of the morning are spent gathering more knowledge about Earth Bet. More details about the Chinese Imperial Union, where a cult-like State-run parahuman army, the Yangban, has become the primary tool of a restored imperial throne (...not a development you'd have predicted). India, where the parahumans are separated into two levels: The "hot" capes, who operate in public with brightly-colored costumes, and the "cold" capes, waging a deadly game of cloak-and-dagger. Sub-Saharan Africa, where legitimate governments that haven't fallen to parahuman warlords are the exception rather than law.

Closer to your temporary home, you read up more on the history of Brockton Bay. Until not so long ago, prior to the infamous gang war you've heard about, a large part of the city was under the control of a pan-Asian gang known as the ABB. The concept of a pan-Asian gang makes little sense until one considers that its undisputed leader, Lung - a man powerful enough to bulldoze over everyone's objections - was half-Japanese, half-Chinese; the sort of background that would give him cause to step all over the traditional bigotries between the groups he took over. Unfortunately, the man was also a monster with no respect for human life, who remorselessly engaged in drug and human trafficking. He is in the Birdcage now, and the world is better for it.

Dauntless had mentioned the Teeth, Marquis… Some research tells you more about the "bad old days" of the city. Before a proper Protectorate team was established here, various villains were trying to take advantage of what had been at the time a flourishing economy. Empire 88, led at the time by All-Father. Marquis, an extremely powerful bone-kinesist who had murdered his way to control over half the city's organized crime before being captured by New Wave. The Teeth, a particularly nasty and barbaric villain team, which eventually left the city after it was visited by the Slaughterhouse Nine.

The article on the Slaughterhouse Nine's visit makes mention of Grey Boy, the person Dragon had name-dropped earlier. Curious, you read his entry.

You almost wish you hadn't.

Grey Boy may have been the most terrifying member of the Nine. Not only did his incomprehensible time powers restore him whenever he was hurt, but he was able to trap victims in torturous time-loops just by looking at them - a torment that, as far as anyone can tell, appears to be eternal. Grey Boy left a trail of quasi-damnation wherever the Nine visited, until he was finally slain by Glaistig Uaine, one of the few parahumans whose scariness compared to his own.

Thousands of victims across North America, getting tortured forever. No-one, not even Eidolon, has been able to free them as of yet.

Could you?

That's one of the questions that you find yourself pondering as the time comes for your first agenda item on this morning: A scheduled meeting in New York.

A short flight later - it's just a few hundred miles - you have reached your destination. Well, actually, you're walking toward the room with Legend.

"I've been reading the reports from Brockton Bay. It looks like you're making a big difference, very quickly," he smiles. "Your discoveries about powers, though… They're disturbing. The chief-director will want to have words with you after the main meeting."

"I imagine," you say. "The source of parahuman abilities remains as much of a mystery as the mutant powers of Earth Gimel. If we had any clue toward its origins, we'd make it a priority to learn more."

A minute later, you are meeting with the PRT's chief-director Rebecca Costa-Brown, several of the PRT directors who answer directly to her (Emily Piggot included), Glenn Chambers, and Legend as the head of the Protectorate. Costa-Brown and several of the directors are appearing via telepresence, but most people showed up in person.

While she is not entirely without criticism, you can tell that Piggot's review of your stay in her city is more positive than the others expected. Glenn also has good things to say: "Since Leviathan's death, fourteen villains and six rogues across the US and Canada have thrown in with the Protectorate. That's without counting a few who are clearly insincere. It may sound like a small number, when we have to deal with thousands of villains, but it's a non-trivial shift in the balance of powers - especially if it reflects in those who trigger from this point onward.

"To a lesser extent, the trend also follows in other nations. Speaking of which… I do believe we have an opportunity to expand international cooperation. Negotiations with the Mexican government to have them join the Protectorate have been progressing at a snail's pace for the past six years, but, if the Avatar were to resolve their current drought… I think that would be the final nudge needed to cement the deal.

"However, the Avatar has expressed an understandable interest in not being seen as a pawn of national interest, and I don't think the Protectorate would benefit from being seen as holding him back. As such, giving him our blessing to aid nations we are not on such friendly terms with should avoid various troubles in the future."

"You're referring to the Nigerian drought," says one of the directors. "While I'm sure handling it would be good for PR, I think we need to discuss other possible applications." He steeples his fingers. "Intervening with other countries' villains is politically tricky, especially when those villains become the new governments. But what about those who are nigh-universally agreed upon as being rabid monsters? Take Moord Nag - she slaughtered a village of 700 three days ago, and has a body count approaching five digits, mostly civilians. Every faction in Namibia is terrified of her and praying she'll just go away. If the Avatar can take Leviathan, I would be very surprised if he couldn't take her, too… and she doesn't have any claim to political legitimacy or rulership. Yet."

Another director seems dubious. "If we start attacking warlords in foreign countries, we will be seen as overstepping our bounds."

"There are ways around it. We can negotiate with the current factions in Namibia, have them request an intervention. Heck, we can just give the Avatar permission," he turns toward you, "as I assume you're not too keen on letting mass-murderers slowly take over countries."

You can see where this is going. The PRT does want you to fix the problems of the world - in part because it reflects well on them as long as you remain a member of the Protectorate, and in part because the less the world in general is falling apart, the easier the PRT can defend North America. At the same time, they also want to keep you happy in the Protectorate, since they are well aware of what a vital asset you are. As such, they are basically giving you input - presenting a menu of options.

They'll insist on the Mexican drought - that's the one item on the agenda that's truly important for the PRT. But as for the rest… you are getting special leeway in choosing what to do.

Choose one:

[ ] Deal with the Mexican drought, but not the Namibian one quite yet - you should focus your attention on the Big Bads at this juncture.

[ ] Deal with both droughts. It's the world in general that needs to recover from its terrible state.

Choose one:

[ ] Dealing with international villainy needs to be done at some point, but it's still early for it. You'd like some more time to learn about this world and gain international goodwill before doing anything that the international community might find controversial.

[ ] Moord Nag has murdered thousands of men, women and children. She doesn't get to get away with it just because she's not in the same country as the one where you first showed up. You've stopped many supervillains before, and she's next on the list.

[ ] The people of the world deserve to live in peace. For that to happen, the monsters need to be driven back into the darkness. You can take down Moord Nag… and three other vicious mass-murderers around the world who have come up in your research.

Choose any:

[ ] OK, you'll deal with these matters, but… you also want to check up on Grey Boy's victims. You've never dealt with time-loop traps before, but you'd like to try and see if you can save them.

[ ] You're actually a pretty fantastic diplomat yourself. Going in person to meet with various ambassadors and potentates might smooth things over considerably.

[ ] Write-in.

OMAKE: THE PALADIN AND THE TRAP

His eyes glowed.

Well, not really, but that's what it looked like from the outside. When he had included the ability to generate powerful energy blasts in his armor, his first instinct had been to shoot them from his hand. After some reflection, though, he had included a micro-portal generator, which transported the energy beam right in front of his eyes before sending it forward - aimed in the exact direction he had been looking at. The gain in accuracy had been worth it, again and again and again.

Right now, though, he had bigger concerns than accuracy. He moved around, examining the battlefield, his armor not hindering his mobility in the least.

No civilians around. Several dead monsters on the ground. No energy projection - he had managed to eliminate Manton, at least.

His eyes glowed. He was back at the exact same spot he had been a few seconds ago. Again.

"Well. It's not the end of the world, but it's a good start," said Jack Slash.

Techno-Paladin considered the only remaining villains.

Jack Slash. Leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine, a roaming team of superpowered serial killers, mass murderers and sadists. Clever and charismatic enough to stay on top of such a group for decades.

Gray Boy. Monochrome time-manipulator, able to trap anyone he looked at in a quasi-eternal time-loop. Automatically "rebooted" to a healthy earlier self if he was harmed.

His eyes glowed.

"I'll admit, it's an unusual situation," said Clifford Lewis, AKA Techno-Paladin. "My armor was able to take anything Leviathan or Behemoth had to dish at it, but…"

"Frankly, I was more impressed by your ability to no-sell the Siberian," Jack idly noted.

"Well, yes. I designed the armor to be invulnerable. Not just really really really really really really hard to damage - invulnerable. Still, a time-loop trap? I didn't have that in mind when I built this thing."

His eyes glowed.

"I'll give you this much credit," Jack said, looking at several dead Slaughterhouse Nine clones surrounding them, "you are taking eternal damnation rather well."

"Oh, I don't actually expect to be her for very long," he said, his nonchalant smile mirroring the villain's.

"Is that so?" Jack's grin didn't waver one bit.

"It is so. You see…"

His eyes glowed.

"...five minutes from now, one of two possibilities will happen. Either you will have applied your considerable charisma and convinced Gray Boy here to free me from this time-loop… or you will be dead."

His eyes glowed. So did Jack's knife, the metal turning red-hot, forcing him to let go of it with a surprised yelp of pain.

"I'll be waiting," said the hero, with big, wide grin. "295 seconds left."

To his credit, Jack recovered from his surprise nigh-instantly. "Hm. That's a new one. I'll give you this much, you are more interesting than most heroes I've faced."

"Your approval fills me with shame," he replied with a big smile. "285 seconds."

His eyes glowed.

Gray Boy was giving Jack a dubious look. The latter began rubbing his goatee. "An interesting conundrum you're presenting me with. Usually, you heroes don't manage to get in a position to threaten me well enough for such an ultimatum. You are to be commended for taking out most of my nearby allies."

His eyes glowed. He made a small movement, and a small holographic display appeared before his eyes.

"True. I did prioritize the Siberian's elimination. Not necessarily the optimal strategy, but I was rushed for time and improvising. Much like yourself. 260 seconds."

Jack chuckled. "Right, right. I simply don't get enough interesting challenges in this day age. I'm almost tempted to have Gray Boy release you just so that we can fight again, but that would be a waste of such a puzzle."

"Well, consider. You can't…"

His eyes glowed. He brought the holographic display back.

"...rely on a Siberian at the moment. If I vaporize you, it's effectively game over…"

"True. But then, I would be in a rather poor situation once Gray Boy freed you, too, wouldn't I?"

"Oh, there has to be some incentive, of course. If you let me go, I'll take a time-out. For twenty minutes, I won't fight, I won't advise the other heroes, I won't even move from this spot. Long enough for you to escape and regroup, I believe."

His eyes glowed.

Jack grinned. "And I am supposed to simply take your word for it? You consider yourself that much of a straight-edge?"

"Absolutely. It is only logical. Every lie I tell, every promise I break, is incentive for all others to trust future promises less. I need my reputation for honesty - to be perfectly frank, Jack, I deal with much bigger threats than your Slaughterhouse back home, and you are not worth breaking my word over."

His eyes glowed.

The leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine gave a big laugh. "Certainly not trying flattery, are you?"

"Well, I do rely on honesty after all. I could hardly do that while showing you respect. 200 seconds."

"I see. So, you expect me to gamble that, if Gray Boy frees you, you will not take a shot at me, but actually follow your own self-imposed rules. Essentially, betting my life on my ability to predict your behavior."

"True. The puzzle has a correct solution that gets you out of here alive, and several wrong solutions that get you killed. Now, you could - to name but one solution - discreetly signal Gray Boy to put you in a time-loop of your own. Any attempts…"

His eyes glowed.

"...that I make at killing you after that will be undone each time your loop resets. Gray Boy can then go, at his leisure, and locate a surviving Siberian, bring it here, and have it protect you while he frees you from your loop."

"That is an interesting solution," Jack said without missing a beat.

"Right. The question then becomes: Am I bringing it up as reverse psychology, because I am trying to discourage you from a solution that leaves me stuck and helpless? Or am I bringing it up because I actually have an ace up my sleeve that'll let me break free once Gray Boy leaves, and I just want you trapped in a time-loop as the only punishment that could fit your crimes?"

His eyes glowed. A thin beam of energy erupted, burning the bottom of Jack's goatee.

"Whichever answer you pick, Jack, you best do it fast. 130 seconds remaining."

Jack grinned and considered. Did he suspect Techno-Paladin could indeed break free? Did he trust Gray Boy would get him out of the time-loop if he placed him in one? Was anything worth the risk of getting trapped forever?

His eyes glowed. "100 seconds."

Whatever Jack Slash's thought process had been, it reached its conclusion. "I will give you this much: You are the most interesting foe I've had in a long, long while. I truly look forward to breaking you. I do, however, believe you are as constrained and restricted by your given word as you claim - a weakness that I am entirely willing to take advantage of." He glanced at Gray Boy. "Free him, for now; he will be helpless to attack."

Gray Boy rolled his eyes, but he complied nonetheless. Time stopped resetting in the area.

His eyes didn't glow. Instead, he pressed some holographic buttons, causing an equally holographic Rubik's cube to appear before him. He quickly scrambled it, his armored fingers quickly moving around the display, causing rapid rotations.

"I always did love logic puzzles," he said. "I got a Rubik's cube as a kid, and I remember sitting down and trying to mathematize the solution. I wasn't the first, of course - mathematicians have proven you can always solve it in at most twenty moves." As he spoke, the six sides of the cubes fell into monochromatic arrangement, the puzzle solved. He pressed a few more holographic buttons, and the cube re-scrambled itself.

"I'm glad you've enjoyed my little puzzle, Jack. Shame that you solved it wrong."

Techno-Paladin smirked, but his eyes didn't leave the cube. "The right solution? Was what I suggested, with Gray Boy looping you and getting a Siberian. I mean, seriously, did you think I had a way of breaking out of the loop? Really? I just bluffed you like a moron into freeing me."

"Actually, I…"

Jack Slash didn't get to finish. Gray Boy's frustrations had apparently boiled over. The leader of the Nine found himself trapped in a short time-loop of his own.

"Pathetic. Stupid, useless," said the time-manipulating villain. "I thought you were gonna do something interesting, and you got played like a tool." He pulled out his knife, and got to work on the trapped villain. Soon, Jack began screaming in pain as his loop changed to include him getting repeatedly stabbed.

Techno-Paladin, smiling nonchalantly, hadn't moved from his spot, still rotating the cube.

Gray Boy turned his attention back to him. "You should have run when you had the chance," he said - and once again, the hero was caught in a loop.

Without another word, Gray Boy walked away, leaving both the hero and the villain trapped behind him.

He rotated the cube.

"Well. That could have gone a whole lot worse," he said.

Jack screamed.

He rotated the cube.

"I do wonder how the rest of your troops are doing. Not too well, last I checked."

He rotated the cube.

Jack screamed.

"Not much for conversation, huh? Fair enough."

He rotated the cube.

Many, many times, he performed the same single rotation, staying still for a few seconds afterwards, before resetting back, performing the rotation again. Jack's cyclical screamings subsided somewhat as he got used to the pain. Time passed.

He rotated the cube.

"You knew, of course," said Techno-Paladin, "that our little battle of wits wasn't just about whether I would kill you - it was about staying in Gray Boy's good graces. It was why you kept talking about my moves in elogious terms - if you couldn't think of a way out except freeing me, you wanted to be able to do it without looking like too much of a chump to him. Smart move, but I promised not to fight. I never promised not to mock you. I figured with the right push, he'd lose patience with you."

He rotated the cube.

"You know, back home, they often call me the smartest man in superheroics. I'm not sure if it's true - I've met some pretty damn clever people in the business. I'm not even sure if it's meaningful - intelligence is more of a vector than a scalar. But I do believe I give the title a run for its money."

He rotated the cube.

"Remember those displays around my head while the countdown was going? I was scanning everything I could. Kind of a pain, with the scanner getting reset every few seconds, but I got the information I needed."

He rotated the cube.

"See, this armor isn't big enough to include every useful gadget I design. So, I stole a page from Doctor Who, and gave it a little pocket dimension. One from which I can retrieve a variety of tools… or that I can use as a little field workshop."

He rotated the cube.

"Several cybernetic arms in there, working as manipulators. Assembling devices according to my instructions. Instructions that could, among other things, be sent via the manipulation of a holographic display."

He rotated the cube. Then quickly performed one more rotation.

There was a ripple. Jack Slash fell to the ground, bleeding, trying to catch his breath. Techno-Paladin strode forward.

"See, Gray Boy's power - and I suspect this is the case for most parahuman abilities - comes from another plane. I mean, it's obvious that what we were dealing with wasn't some direct physical effect rebooting time - otherwise, we wouldn't be following the Earth in its rotation. Also, the whole bit about looping my body but not my brain. No, something at least semi-intelligent was operating on me, restoring me to the same condition every few seconds.

"So I designed an inter-planar scrambler that makes it nigh-impossible for another plane to interfere with the local area. I mean, it's not the first time I have to deal with inter-planar issues. I couldn't do it while trapped in the first loop, but, as soon as I got out… I performed all but the last operation, then let him freeze me."

Holding his injury, Jack Slash looked up. "Then… why…" he coughed blood, "why did you even wait until now…"

Techno-Paladin smiled contentedly. "Well. I did promise to wait twenty minutes."

His eyes glowed.

AVATAR WORLD TOUR

"Helping with both droughts goes without question," you say, "and if the PRT can point other disasters across the world that I can help with, then I would be most grateful. Naturally, if you can contact the authorities of both countries and give them a slight heads-up, that would be appreciated."

You pull out a dossier you've compiled before coming. "As to the matter of tackling villains and warlords beyond the Protectorate's jurisdiction: It is, absolutely, something that I am going to do. I appreciate the Protectorate and the good things that have come from working with it, and I hope that this relationship can continue, but my duties are to everyone - not constrained by national borders. With that in mind, I have been compiling a list of some of the worst monsters out there - those that truly, unquestionably need to be taken down as soon as possible. I would like to submit a list of 30 individuals and groups to your attention, and select, with your assistance, the optimal targets."

Some individuals are quickly removed from the list. The Slaughterhouse Nine, the Three Blasphemies and Blood Count are all horrific, but tracking them down between attacks would be difficult even for you. Nilbog, Sleeper and Skylance are certainly horrifying, but they're not causing trouble right now as everyone is giving them a wide berth. And then, of course, there are the warlords with whom you must ask - will removing them from power cause more harm than good?

While you've never made a habit of it, you've toppled dictators before. Even before you were the Avatar, you've watched mankind's travails since long before the dawn of the written word. You have a better understanding of History than any human being, and as such, you know all too well the risks involved in removing a local potentate. You cannot target just any evil king and assume the results will be an improvement… but in a few instances, some tyrants are so truly awful, that their removal is almost guaranteed to be for the best.

With the list having been winnowed out somewhat, the PRT brings in a panel of multiple Thinkers, including the young Dinah Alcott - apparently, she was asked to keep twenty questions in reserve for today, specifically in case they were needed for this meeting. Relying on precognition to make this sort of plan is a new experience for you, but if you hadn't been willing to adapt to changing circumstances, you'd never have become the Avatar.

Finally, after much consideration, you have your list. Four targets whose neutralization is all but guaranteed to make things better.

"The PRT and American diplomatic corps will take a few hours to prepare the ground, so to speak," says chief director Costa-Brown. "In the meanwhile, I would like to address the last item on the agenda. Avatar, your research into the nature of parahuman abilities is, for obvious reasons, of great interest to the PRT. A better understanding of parahumans might yield better solutions and approaches to the problems plaguing the world. We are particularly interested in the possibility that external agents may be pushing parahumans toward villainy; with that in mind, the PRT will look for volunteers willing to let you search their minds for outside influence.

"However. If these outside influences, as per your conjectures, originate from a different plane of existence, and it is within your power to reach it… then, for the foreseeable future, I formally request that you don't."

This seems to surprise the other directors, but Costa-Brown explains her reasoning: "We have to, to the very least, consider the possibility that there is an intelligent force empowering parahumans. If said force is deliberately staying hidden beyond our reach, then there is no telling how it will react to being found out. For now, I urge caution. Gather data as safely as you can, and then more informed decisions will be possible."

You do not really disagree with her logic. As the meeting winds down, however, you bring up one final point - something you would like to do while the right messages are going through diplomatic channels.

Something that takes you to a small construction erected in the middle of a New York street. It was created after the Slaughterhouse Nine's visit there, many years ago.

A few PRT agents accompany you, including medical personnel. Inside, you can find Alice Foncetti. When the Nine came, she was a college student who had never been involved in parahuman affairs. Since the Nine, she's been reliving the same nine seconds again and again and again, getting stabbed forever. Best the PRT was able to do for her was put a TV screen in front of her that lets her change the channel by blinking - no-one, not even Eidolon, has ever been able to rescue any of Gray Boy's victims.

Honestly, you're not even sure you can.

You introduce yourself with your best comforting smile, telling her you're here to scan the effects of what was done to her in order to get a better understanding of it. Technically accurate, and doesn't get her hopes too high in case you fail.

And then, you scan.

A long, long time later, having observed what's happening to her under every aspect of physics you can imagine… mostly, you wish Causality or Techno-Paladin were here. Or Doctor Dexter Darien, or Doublethink, or… well. You're smart by human standards, and not uneducated, but you're not a science genius. Comprehending how this time-manipulation works may well be beyond you.

Still, your scanning wasn't completely fruitless, either. You've been able to confirm that whatever it is that's rebooting Miss Foncetti over and over, it is an inter-planar force that surges every nine seconds.

Perhaps you can't manipulate time… but, putting together a planar barrier, keeping that force from entering this plane? That's not simple, but it's doable.

You spend some amount of time figuring out the details. Then, once you have the details worked out… you wait for the right moment. Right after Miss Foncetti reboots to the start of a loop (and thus, before she gets stabbed), you activate your secondary power pool, jamming planar travel as thoroughly as you can. This isn't easy. This requires a significant expenditure of your cosmic energy. But it works. The young woman gasps in shock when, for the first time in years, the knife doesn't cut into her flesh. Quickly, you grab her, pulling her out of the area, and handing her over to the EMTs.

Seconds pass. Then a minute.

While Alice Foncetti is in a bad way, crying a flood of tears, barely coherent in her words, in need of medical attention both physically and psychologically… she is not trapped in a time-loop anymore.

Good for her. Good for all of Gray Boy's remaining victims… but not right now. By your estimation, you will need about an hour to catch your metaphorical breath after this.

Well, you've had time to catch your breath. You've used that time for some final research into your targets. And according to the PRT, they've given the relevant people in Mexico a heads-up.

Some ten minutes later, you are flying above the under-watered area. A stretch of land roughly the size of California, suffering from a lack of rainfall that has been hurting the vegetation, the wildlife, and agriculture. If something is not done soon, then billions in damage, hundreds of deaths, a small famine with the social unrest that accompanies it - all are likely to follow.

And so, you channel all of your secondary power pool into weather control. You sacrifice intensity for range, allowing you to cover the entire area, even extending a bit beyond. And then, over the following minutes, clouds gather.

For the next three hours, you make it rain. This amount of rainwater should provide much-needed relief, preventing the worst of the desolation. You quickly check in with the PRT, then resume hypersonic flight.

Less than an hour later, you're above Nigeria. On Earth-Bet as on Earth-Gimel, it is Africa's most populous country… but that population may be reduced by tens of thousands, perhaps worse, unless the rain comes soon. Already, food prices are rising; famine-fueled riots can't be far behind.

This is no harder to resolve than Mexico, though. Three hours later, as rainwater seeps into the ground, you can take some joy in knowing that you have saved today a number of lives comparable to the population of Brockton Bay.

Your job is far from over, though.

Ten minutes later, you're in Namibian airspace.

Legally speaking, the situation here is somewhat murky. After parahuman warlords kicked out the South African forces, there was never really any stable government that could last long enough to earn recognition from the UN. Any attempts by locals to establish any semblance of a democratic administration quickly get swallowed up by feudal powermongers.

Currently, there are believed to be about one hundred parahumans in the country, most of them separated into six major factions that fight each other for scraps… and all of them, to a large extent, answer to Moord Nag. Moord Nag directly rules over the capital city of Windhoek. She controls the telecommunication infrastructure. She controls most of the water infrastructure. She exacts a tribute of gold, diamonds, food, water and weapons from everyone. War between the lesser warlords is waged with her permission, with a fraction of the spoils being sent to her as tribute.

At the same time, she seems quite competent at throwing the factions at each other's throat - whenever one of them seems to solidly establish itself as the second-strongest after Moord Nag, the lesser factions band against it. As for anyone who actually dares defy her, they and their extended families are quickly wiped out, fed to the living shadow created by her power.

That living shadow is the reason she is considered a Master only one notch beneath Nilbog in power. It is a powerful beast, which can (and has!) fought entire armies, and it seems to get linearly stronger with each human life it consumes.

That is likely one of the reasons Moord Nag acts bloodthirsty even by the standards of local warlords, wiping out entire villages to make a point about the danger of opposing her. Five years ago, when she was besieging Rundu (second largest city at the time), she would attack and kill over one hundred inhabitants at night, every night, for almost a week before the city council surrendered unconditionally. Three years ago, when one of her parahuman lieutenants betrayed her, she exterminated his hometown to a man - half-a-thousand lives snuffed out in minutes.

More recently, she wiped out a village of seven hundred souls after discovering that it had been hiding a newly-discovered well instead of paying her a water tribute. Her total death toll is estimated as being between 8.5 and 9.5 thousand, with well over half the victims being civilians.

Each massacre makes her stronger. Yet, she spaces those massacres out, and doesn't dish them without what can pass for a good excuse - just enough to avoid sending the entire country in rebellion against her. At the same time, she's been provoking various foreign, neighboring warlords in Angola, Botswana and South Africa - you imagine she wants to keep powering up through mass-murder, and is looking for the right political excuse for it.

Removing a local strongman is always a risky proposition - you risk unleashing chaos as various factions fight for dominance. But there already is chaos and unrest under Moord Nag, which she steers so that it benefits her. Due to her powers, or her personality, or both, she is far more prone to mass-murder than the other factions - and that, if anything, is a good reason to stop her. Additionally, Dinah Alcott has confirmed that less people die in the region over the next two years if you do this.

Locating Moord Nag isn't challenging - her shadow beast is as subtle as Behemoth. She addresses you in Afrikaans:

"You. You are the one who killed Leviathan." Her surprise at your presence barely shows.

"I am. And you are Murder Night." You know the language well - among many, many others.

"Have you come here to fight me?" She asks the question in a defiant tone, not showing any hint of fear at the idea of fighting Leviathan's killer.

"Yes. You have killed too many innocents, will kill too many more, to be allowed to keep going."

"Spare me the moralizing. No foreign power has ever come here seeking justice. I do not care if you are being a dupe of the Protectorate, or serving your own agenda, but I will not be preached at by the likes of you either way."

That last word is accompanied by her shadow beast striking at you from behind. Truth be told, it's a lot faster than you had expected, even having seen videos of it in action - it might have landed a hit, if you hadn't been shunting your power pool to super-speed and enhanced reflexes. You quickly turn around and unleash an earth-shaking blast that sends the shadowy monster fifty yards back, burning off a significant chunk of its volume. Half a second hasn't passed that you're already far up in the air, beyond its reach.

Then, you unleash a second blast, this time accumulating energy and power in it. The ground shakes, windows break, and there is a deep crater where the shadow beast used to lie.

There is a moment of shock from Moord Nag, quickly replaced by quiet hate. "What now, conqueror? Kill me?"

You notice her own shadow now moving a little - presumably, her power in its weakest form; from what your cosmic awareness is telling you, that's apparently what her power is without the power-ups from all her murders. "I kill when there is no better alternative. There will be a trial, hopefully a fair one."

She looks at you, nonplussed. "What court? The remaining warlords of Namibia? All want me dead."

"I've read up on this world," you reply. "Back in the late 80s, the World Court set up a tribunal specifically to deal with parahuman wrongdoers who could not be tried in their own countries. Now, admittedly, they've had less than twenty cases between 1988 and 2001, and none since, owing to the state of the world… However, with Leviathan dead and gone, there are talks of reopening it. All the more so if I can provide them with people in need of such judgement."

This time, she snarls angrily. "I would rather die than go to your damned prisons!"

"That may be true. It is also true that your thousands of victims would rather be alive."

Over the following minutes, you knock her out, read her mind for information about her power (avoiding anything personal where you can, only making sure there will be no nasty surprises when she awakes), then call Strider; he can take her to a reasonably secure prison in New York while the politicians work out the details of her trial.

Before you leave, however, you call upon your communication power, sending a message to the leaders of the remaining Namibian factions:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Avatar. One week ago, I killed Leviathan. Today, I have defeated and captured Moord Nag. This leaves you as the most powerful individuals in this country… for now.

"It is not up to me to tell you how to run your country. Understand this, though: I came for Moord Nag because she was harming the Namibian people.

"Do not make me come for you."

Half an hour and thousands of miles later, you are at your next destination: Kabul, capital city of Afghanistan.

Though the Protectorate doesn't advertise it, it has a standing directive concerning the region: Don't enter Afghanistan, even in the eventuality of an Endbringer attack. The cause for this seemingly callous policy is known as the Purifier.

The Purifier appeared about seven years ago, in a highly-unstable country where the Talibans were struggling to exterminate all local parahumans. Having declared capes to be satanic in nature, they made it a standing policy to execute any parahuman they could find. Though they severely reduced the local superpowered population, they could not fully remove it. Parahumans who could operate discreetly formed bands, tried to fight back. Like the rest of the world, it was a mess.

Then came the Purifier. It is believed that he was a Taliban who triggered. He still believes that parahumans are demonic in nature and must be killed on sight… It's just that he himself, obviously, is not a parahuman, but rather empowered by God to cleanse the world.

In a way, the Purifier's power is very straightforward: He kills people. No energy blasts, no poison - he just uses his power, and all their biological functions instantly stop. To date, no Brute or Breaker power has offered any protection.

He has two limits on his power. The first is range - no victim was ever more than twenty miles outside of Kabul. The second is that he needs to see the victim in real-time (costumes offer no protection)... but seeing them through a video camera apparently counts.

For years now, the Purifier has ruled Kabul with an iron fist, killing anyone who either opposes him, or doesn't live up to his exceptionally strict version of Islam, which seems extreme even by Taliban standards. At his behest, the city has been spending an inordinate amount of money installing CCTV cameras everywhere, both in public spots and in a growing number of homes.

Those CCTV cameras are linked together into a giant network that anyone in the city can access (meaning that a hostile Thinker/Tinker/hacker can't just track the Purifier down by going after the one person using the network), and volunteers are encouraged to go on the network's chat system, searching through the recent video archives for evidence of "sinners". Those caught breaking the Purifier's rules quickly end up dead.

Thousands have died under this Orwellian rule. Anyone who doesn't visibly and publicly submit to his religion. Parahumans. Women wearing anything less than a burqa. Girls learning how to read. Bankers. Women leaving the home without a male relative. People not cooperating with CCTV camera installation. Anyone not participating in the five daily prayers. And many, many more. The Purifier claims to have built the world's most virtuous, godly city; he has created a hellish dystopia where close to three million men, women and children are trapped without hope.

From what you've heard, one of the nightmares keeping PRT directors awake at night is the possibility of the Simurgh descending upon Kabul. In fact, they were pretty reluctant to let you come at all; while you doubt the Purifier's power could hurt you, you've agreed to come under the cover of invisibility.

Once you are a couple kilometers above the city, you generate a little bit of cloud cover - enough that you cannot be seen from the ground. Now, it's time to use your secondary power pool to give yourself a vastly enhanced, wall-piercing vision able to inspect the human brain from a distance, along with mental super-speed accelerating your search by three orders of magnitudes.

After all, while Kabul may have three million people… you doubt many of them have a corrona gemma.

Subjectively, it takes you… how long? Six months? A year? Two years? until you find who you're looking for. Objectively, it takes four hours.

You've actually found multiple capes. A boy, too young to have been the Purifier at the start of his career. A woman, busy with menial tasks in her computerless home - possibly the Purifier, but certainly not very likely. A man who looks the right age, but whose apparent job as a janitor probably leaves him no time for what the Purifier does. Finally, a man sitting at his computer in a spartan house, searching the CCTV network.

Invisibly, you head toward the house. Intangibly, you go through the walls, appearing fifteen feet behind him. Dropping the intangibility, you activate a mind-reading power. Going through his surface thoughts, the man is indeed the Purifier, and his power works exactly as speculated.

Meaning that he needs to see in order to kill.

Your generate an intense light in room, comparable to a flashbang. He screams in pain, temporarily blinded, and falls to the ground.

"Purifier," you speak in Pashtun as you cover his head with an eyeless helmet and lock it in place, "I am the Avatar. I do not fear your power, and I intend to make you pay for your crimes."

The next few minutes of terrified screams, loud invectives, and pleas for God to strike you where you stand are not very productive. You hand your second prisoner of the day to Strider.

This time, your communication power addresses the entire city.

"People of Kabul. I am the Avatar. One week ago, I killed Leviathan. Just now, I have captured and extradited the Purifier.

"Human beings - men, women and children - are given various powers over the course of their lives. The power to make a fist, in attack or defense. The power to speak meaningful, important words. Money, influence, parahuman abilities… They are all powers. All of them can be used to help our fellows, or to hurt them.

"The Purifier claimed that by punishing those who misbehaved, he made everyone else better. All he did was create a city of fear. Virtue is not obeying out of fear. Virtue is using your powers to help others, because others need your help. His crimes against this city hurt people far worse than anything he was actually preventing. He forced you to live in terror. He confined half your population to effective house arrest. He made you slaves to his beliefs, with no regard to your agency.

"He is now gone. He will not return. If you take the powers you have now, and use them to help your neighbor… then it will be because you choose to. Not because a mad shadow king threatens your life.

"It is always my hope that human beings will choose to do right by each other. That choice is morally meaningless, however, if forced through threats.

"There will be hard times coming. Removing the Purifier will not solve everything. However, I have faith. I believe in you. I believe that most of you, when given the choice, will do right by your fellows."

By the time your speech ends, stones and other heavy objects are already being thrown at CCTV cameras. A few minutes later, hundreds of burqas are being set on fire.

Your next stop is back in the Americas - more specifically Brazil, not too far from the Peruvian border. This time, your quarry is Wyld Hunter.

Considered an A-class threat, Wyld Hunter started stirring up trouble in Brazil some time ago, wielding some kind of power that lets him warp reality within a range of a couple city blocks. Within that range, he can make monsters appear, cancel all light and sound, turn the environment into something straight out of a horror movie (or Nollius's Avalon)...

Typically, he shows up in town, and begins a "wyld hunt" wherein he charges through the city, inflicting a variety of deadly fates upon those he can catch before disappearing back into the wilderness. How much of his actions are motivated by psychotic delusions, and how much is just a serial killer having fun, is up for speculation, but over the past two years, Wyld Hunter has launched 28 raids. The least deadly of those had 26 fatalities; the deadliest, 180.

Local crime kingpins and warlords are suspected of having various deals with him - he avoids raiding the places they're "protecting", and they make no move against him. This works out in their favor, as local communities end up almost begging supervillains to rule them so as to not become targets.

Of course, if the world ever got serious about arresting Wyld Hunter… well, his reality-warping field isn't turned off while he's between raids. Dragon can track him via satellite, and you can locate him even easier than the Purifier.

You hover into a bubble of perpetual twilight. Various red-eyed creatures take notice, snarling at you. Every sound reverberates.

A man wearing a crown of antlers and an armor of gold and silver smiles smugly at you, one hand holding a glowing spear that seems to be dripping a stream of blood while the other hand waves at you. "Greetings. I do so rarely get visitors here," he says in Portuguese. "To whom do I have the pleasure?"

Right. His last raid on civilization was three days before your fight with Leviathan. He might be one of the only people who haven't heard of you yet.

"I am the Avatar. I am here to arrest you."

He laughs out loud at that. Once he is done laughing, he aims his spear at you, and a torrent of blood-red liquid erupts in your direction.

At your speed, it is not hard to dodge the red acid. Not that it would have hurt you anyway.

You blast at him. A direct hit, but he seems unimpressed. "You should have picked an opponent in your league," he says, as he aims the spear to the sky. The next instant, you are struck by lightning.

You are not even slightly hurt. Your second blast knocks him through a tree - the first blast hadn't a thousandth of your full power, since you weren't sure how resilient Wyld Hunter was. Now, you can ramp up your attacks. Your third blast knocks him out.

"You're going to leave me here?" He looks around.

"Your power can keep you alive, and we can see you at any point," you answer. "It is temporary imprisonment, until a better solution is reached. Possibly the Birdcage. Possibly something else. The World Court might settle on execution if it comes down to it, though I'm no fan."

And with that, you fly away from the Moon, leaving Wyld Hunter to focus on your fourth and last quarry of the day.

Heartbreaker.

A long-runner of the villain game, Heartbreaker came to the scene in the early 90s, armed with the ability to permanently modify the emotions of anyone he was looking at - including several people at once. He used the ability to build himself a harem of brainwashed slaves, creating a small enclave in Montreal where no-one dared come and disturb him. His entourage includes several capes - some of them victims of his, some of them his children.

That he got away with it so long is disgusting, but you're not too surprised. You remember Turbo-Man back on your own world, who relied on his speed to forcibly impregnate numerous women in a short time-period, then abducted the children a year later to raise them as the villainous Turbo-Clan.

Regardless, things have finally started coming undone for Heartbreaker last month - mostly on account of him enslaving a celebrity this time, which finally prompted the Protectorate to prioritize him. He's been run out of Montreal, though he still has most of his "human resources". According to PRT Thinkers and investigators, he was last observed transiting through Ottawa; Dinah Alcott gives you excellent odds of finding him within three hours if you search there.

It doesn't even take three hours. You quickly find a temporary compound filled with beautiful women, several of them armed with machine guns; Heartbreaker is pacing through it, talking about one thing or another.

Then you show up.

There are several surprised shouts. Heartbreaker doesn't even say anything; the color drains from his face, and then, he tries to use his power on you.

You can barely tell something is going on. You are a living, sapient idea; mind-controlling you is literally impossible.

There is no real challenge in what follows. Much like the Purifier, Heartbreaker's power is vision-dependent; an eyeless helmet with a lock and key are enough to neutralize him. His harem and family are convinced to cooperate once your position of power has been established. After that…

...Well, after that, while you wait for PRT agents, you establish that it actually takes you less than ten minutes to telepathically deprogram one of Heartbreaker's slaves.

A few hours later, T's have been crossed, I's have been dotted, victims have been deprogrammed, Heartbreaker's kids are being carefully watched while their future is being discussed, and your actions have lit up a media storm.

"...the Protectorate did not order the Avatar's recent international peacekeeping actions. It was the Avatar who came up with a list of dangerous elements who needed to be stopped for everyone else's safety; the PRT merely provided advice and some diplomatic assistance," the PRT's spokesperson says on TV.

Well. You're happy about helping with the droughts in Mexico and Nigeria. You're happy about neutralizing the greatest mass-murderer in Namibia. You're happy about ending the Purifier's dystopian rule. You're happy about stopping the deadly raids in Brazil. You're happy about liberating Heartbreaker's victims.

But there's more to your accomplishments today than that.

Earth-Bet is a world that is more and more run by supervillains. Today, you have let every single one of them across the world know that if they go too far… there is someone who will come down upon them, and smite with the fist of an angry god.

You have given every single supervillain in the world cause for restraint.

Hm. You have to wonder whether they can muster enough organization to create some kind of anti-Avatar league. Seems unlikely, but…

Well, it's been a busy day. You could perform a quick check on Kabul, but it's a bit early and Dragon's satellite surveillance is encouraging so far. You could drop by New York to have another chat with Legend about the situation, but the man deserves a good night's sleep…

[X] Return to Brockton Bay.

Well, you might as well return to Brockton Bay, report to director Piggot and see how quickly Noelle's power is re-affecting her. Ask for authorization to free that one victim Gray Boy left during the Nine's visit to the town - you want to get cracking on this particular problem soon.

Soon enough, you're above Brockton Bay. It'll be another hour before the sun comes up, so you type your report and request for Piggot, then check on the sleeping Noelle.

From the looks of it, at this rate, her power will start having noticeable effects on her every four-five days. You take a few minutes to undo both physical and mental effects.

After that, it's back to research about the world. As the sun rises, you-

Your communicator rings. Vice-director Renick says there's some kind of super-powered disturbance downtown. So, naturally, you use your communication power to check that it's really Renick, just in case. It really was him, so...

[X] Head downtown.

The streets aren't exactly busy this early in the morning, but even so, people are being endangered by what you find: Some small devices floating around, changing the direction of gravity where they go in completely random ways.

For the next couple of minutes, you take it upon yourself to rescue hapless citizens, prevent property damage, and destroy these devices one-by-one. You're about done when…

You recognize this sound. It's the sound that was blaring all over Brockton Bay when you first came here.

The sound of an Endbringer alarm.

Over the next few minutes, while panicked people are pouring into the streets, some very tense uses of your communication powers toward Piggot, Renick, and several other PRT employees confirm that no, the PRT is not aware of any Endbringer attack at the moment. Someone seems to have hacked into the alarms, just like they hacked into the communicators a few days ago. It seems likely that they want the panic to distract you from something, and the gravity randomizers were probably part of it. Well. Your course of action seems clear.

[X] Use your communication powers to address the entire city.

You fly high above the downtown, the sight of you calming thousands. Then, you activate your communication power - audio and visual mode both used to contact the entire city at once.

"People of Brockton Bay, this is the Avatar speaking. As you know, a few minutes ago the city's Endbringer alarm started. However, there is no Endbringer currently heading here. Someone seems to have hijacked the alarm system, and-"

There is a sudden shimmering in the air in front of you.

[X] Observe in surprise.

A figure appears. It is feminine, white as snow, 15 feet tall, and has numerous wings.

[X] Recognize the Simurgh.

"The Simur-"

Before you can finish, you see a device next to the Simurgh lighting up. You want to activate super-speed to react to this, but your entire secondary power pool is currently invested in communication, and it takes a few seconds to properly switch.

The device lights up the area around you and the Simurg.

And then, the people of Brockton Bay can no longer see you.

-End of Page 2-