April 1, 2012
"My break is almost over, we should call it quits now. Thank you for your time, again."
Piggot said and made to end her online session with Yamada. She had been talking to the psychiatrist unofficially, mostly during her breaks, and whenever else they both could find time. The idea had been Yamada's—to discuss capes and their psychology, and their motivations in general. So that Piggot, as the Director of an important PRT branch, as someone who 'managed' one of the biggest cape contingents in North America, could understand what went on in the heads of these dangerous and troubled people.
The conversations had sometimes turned to her stresses of running a PRT Department, especially in a city so wild as Brockton Bay, having recently seen an Endbringer attack and a delusional Trump. Yamada had also been somewhat candid in sharing her feelings of danger and thrill when talking to capes who could fold her in half or otherwise harm her. That they had discussed the Ellisburg incident on occasion—in vague terms only—had been serendipitous to say the least.
"Good talk today I think," Yamada said. "I hope you feel the same way. We should continue whenever you can find time. No pressure."
Piggot said goodbye and closed the program window. She began reviewing the latest budgetary forecasts and suggestions for her department. Following that were the transfer requests from PRT staff, both to and from the Brockton Bay branch, which came as a surprise. Typically, it was an exodus in making, out of this city. Requests that she almost always denied, as a policy directly from the Chief Director, barring exceptional cases. Although, when she thought about it, Behemoth's retreat from Brockton Bay City without causing much damage could be part of the reason behind people wanting to transfer here.
"Sir, please, let me inform her first—" She heard a familiar voice protesting outside. Then, without a knock, the door to her office swung open, and the deputy director barged in unannounced, followed by her secretary, Arlo. Poor man's face was red at his unsuccessful attempts to dissuade Renick. He probably feared they had disturbed Piggot's call.
The deputy director also appeared troubled. What now?
"Director," he nodded. "We have another problem." He said with a resigned expression.
"What happened?" She asked, dismissing her secretary with a gesture.
Only when the door was closed did she turn to Rennick, who had settled in the chair. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry.
"The Hebert family and their lawyers had already filed a petition in court to stop any surveillance of their daughter's movements. The judge has all but allowed it. We have a closed hearing tomorrow but uhh. . . our legal experts say it will be in their favor. They say we will officially be prohibited from tracking the girl's movements because of her 'minor' status."
For fuck's sake. "Didn't our legal 'experts' anticipate this development?" She asked frostily.
"I asked the same question. They didn't think it would happen so soon. Although, the judge is likely to offer us some kind of a lollipop. He'll advise the family to cooperate with the PRT."
Piggot's mood darkened. Incompetence was unacceptable, there was no place for it in the PRT. Perhaps it was time to go through the transfer list once again and find some capable law personnel who were itching to join this branch.
"Wonderful," she muttered, thoughts coming quickly.
Three days remained until a high-profile meeting with the other directors and high-level PRT officials for the organization's strategy on how to corral the Trump girl—metaphorically speaking of course—and now she had this new problem at her hands.
Some of the attendants would be traveling to Brockton Bay in person, taking time out of their allegedly busy schedules—others would join remotely. She had no doubt on some level each of them hoped to meet or at least get a glimpse of the power displayed by the Trump girl. Not on her watch.
No matter, she would find some solution to the Taylor Hebert problem, she had the entire PRT's resources at her disposal.
She could breathe life into one of Chief Director Costa Brown's schemes, one she had personally disagreed with when initially presented with, but right now her options were limited.
"Okay, here's what we'll do," she began. "Give a call to…."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
April 2nd
"Alright, everyone's here." Director Armstrong said as Legend walked into the meeting room and closed the door behind him.
The small room was sparse save for a few chairs and a table. No screen, no windows, no decorations. It matched Weld's mood; empty.
His old mentor sat in front of him on the other side of the table, flanked by Armsmaster and Brockton Bay PRT's Deputy Director Renick. Legend stayed standing to the side.
"We have an unprecedented situation at our hands," Renick began. "A crisis and an opportunity both offered to us by fate."
Weld, who didn't understand why he was part of this meeting, stayed silent as Renick droned on. His mind constantly replayed those few minutes when he lived and felt and sensed life as anyone should, with a perfectly normal human body. The sense of disappointment he had felt at turning back to this hunk of metal had been crushing. And it wasn't letting him go.
"Weld," the sound of his name jerked his attention back to the present. Renick was looking at him.
"Yes sir?"
"We have a mission for you. . ."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Later that evening, he sat in his cubicle in the PRT headquarters, math rock playing in the background. He intended to listen to the music and understand its intricacies, just to distract his mind away from 'work', or so he told himself. Because his thoughts were still in a whirlwind regarding the mission he had been assigned.
They knew him well. He should have realized that with Director Armstrong in the room, they would hit a nerve. There was no way he was going to refuse a mission where he potentially got to experience life as a normal person for a prolonged period of time.
He couldn't decide if this was a blessing or a cruel joke. He'd have to contend with the unnaturalness of his existence once again after the mission was over. But for a brief period, it would be fun, wouldn't it? To live his days experiencing food and natural human sensations.
But why just me? The rebellious thought occurred once again. It wasn't fair to the others like him, was it?
Weld made a decision. He got up, put a hoodie on, and walked out, hoping no one would see him or ask questions.
No one did.
He was just going out for some air anyway. That he'd make some calls was just an extra thing he'd do. Contact some friends, maybe a few acquaintances who had the potential to be so in the future. Only to share some news, and possibly demonstrate the same in the coming days.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
April 5th
"…therefore, I think Legend is the best candidate." Some PRT director of somewhere finished his statement, bulbous jowls jiggling with each word. Piggot wouldn't ever admit it to anyone but she hated people who let themselves go. If you couldn't control your diet how would you control anything else?
"Well, why not Eidolon then. Throw everything at her." Another replied.
A third voice interjected, sarcasm dripping from the tone, "Why not some Wards then? Brockton Bay PRT has some freakish ones on the register. Perfect for a little show."
"Actually, that's not a bad shout." A liaison from the main office, who clearly saw both Wards as tools to be used, detailed how Vista and Clockblocker could utilize their powers for the most effect in this case.
Piggot, who—in the absence of Costa-Brown— was having to lead this meeting, leaned forward in her seat. She tried to maintain an upright posture and surreptitiously massage her temples at the same time. These were her peers, so she resisted the urge to shout at their foolish ideas.
In theory, a powerful trump who hadn't turned to villainy would be an asset. But in this case, the girl in question was proving to be utterly delusional and stubborn to boot. All attempts at meeting and convincing her of the veracity of the cape scene had failed to disabuse her of the ridiculous notions she held about the government and the parahumans.
The discussion continued. Alfred Carr suggested for the second time to get Dragon to just apprehend the girl, the idiot. Another called for a forcefield dome over Brockton Bay, yet another proposed getting a teleporter involved in one way or another in the demonstration of powers.
"I'm surprised at the suggestions," her deputy director said. "I agree with Director Adams, I thought Legend would be the obvious choice, certainly the most suitable in my opinion. I'd be wary of using the Wards."
"Only if you ignore the optics," someone said. "Why is the leader of the Protectorate performing a light show for a conspiracy theorist when another cape— any other cape, can do that job."
"She isn't just a conspiracy theorist." Someone else muttered.
Piggot replied to the objection Renick had received, "Realistically, only the strongest heroes can display their powers so spectacularly that they are visible and more importantly, somewhat comprehensible from a kilometer away." She paused to emphasize her point. "Optics is PR's job, they should handle it."
The man from Boston who had first floated the idea of Legend being the 'performer', nodded at her in approval, before derailing the discussion. "I'm also concerned about the identity of the girl leaking, with all the leaks in the PRT. The information cordon around this needs to be airtight. No contractors or consultants should be brought in, even if they are PRT affiliated."
As much as Piggot groaned internally at this tangent, she agreed with the man. So did the Chief Director. That's why aside from the Directors and their deputies, and some representatives from the main office, no one else was privy to the details of this discussion. The attendees themselves were under strict instructions to not discuss this with anyone unless approved by Costa-Brown.
It was something of a silver lining that the girl was this delusional. Her conspiracies were more of a joke in the more serious sections of society, if they were given any attention at all.
Even if rumors of a Trump with an unparalleled strength were to leak, like some undoubtedly already had, it would be a stretch for anyone to connect it with a silly teenager who denounced the existence of Parahumans, and wasn't well-known to begin with. She also had enough sense that she never showed her face in the Behemoth video—the only time she'd given her conspiracies a live voice so far.
The girl's life would have been in real danger if she wasn't so paranoid. But if there was one thing life had told Piggot, it was that you could never count on someone else's stupidity. Hence, this round of not one or two, but multiple meetings among the PRT decision makers.
Before they could even decide how to plan the cape circus and who the performers would be, the discussion briefly spiraled away; towards the moles in PRT and their ill-effects. Then another director raised the all-important question, speaking directly to her.
"So, Director, have you got the girl on board with this… demonstration? We're doing this for her benefit after all."
Piggot wanted to slap him.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Sometime Last Week
Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. The nondescript white doors either side of her blended in with the color of the walls but she knew her destination.
Opening the door of the office, she briefly paused at the threshold, taking in the occupants, or the lack of them. Doctor Mother was absent. Her chair, always occupied, looked strange in its emptiness behind the desk. Only Contessa was present, sitting on the couch in the corner. Fair, Alexandria was here to talk only to the fedora loving woman anyway.
She waited a second for Contessa to speak, as the woman was wont to do thanks to her power. She probably knew Alexandria's question and the answer in advance. But only uncharacteristic silence met her.
Be that as it may. No point dallying in pleasantries either. She turned a chair and sat facing the other woman.
"Why aren't you helping us reign in the Trump girl?" Alexandria asked, keeping her voice flat. Other than advising not to send PRT troopers to take Taylor into 'protective custody', Contessa had offered no assistance.
"Why do you think that is?" Contessa replied, eyes lidded.
"You can't?" Alexandria retorted, more to needle the woman than from genuine belief. Not that Contessa would physically get the girl, but usually she and her Agent helped in devising their plans and objectives, if not outright dictating it, especially when powerful capes like Taylor Hebert were concerned.
Contessa tilted her head. "Try again."
"Alright," Alexandria relented. "Explain to me how your lack of input is part of the plan? There is a path, yes?" She asked, but after a pause added, "Don't tell me you won't even explain that."
Contessa momentarily stayed quiet before responding, "It's best if I don't get involved at all, that's what the Agent says."
"What? Why?"
"I've come at the problem in different ways. Ultimately, if our primary objective is to be met, it's best for me to stay away."
Alexandria considered that for a second. Was the Trump girl that important? Either directly or indirectly? This was news.
She had rebuffed every approach by PRT, going so far as getting her parents to take preventative measures against official surveillance of her movements. The PRT officially didn't know about that yet, but very soon they would.
The parents themselves were goody two shoes who always met PRT representatives with a smile on their faces but didn't want to upset their only daughter by 'controlling' her. It's a phase, it'll pass. You can recruit her after. If only she could tell them that the world might end before their daughter was of the age to drink.
All those thoughts flashed through her mind in a second. She said, "So, the girl is going to be useful. For the final… you know."
"Immensely," Contessa replied and raised a finger. " If she is on our side."
"And you can't tell us how to make that happen?" Alexandria asked.
"Precisely."
"Well, what can you tell us?"
"Don't force her." Contessa said.
Alexandria had already deduced that. "Anything else?"
"No," Contessa shook her head. "It's up to you."
"Very well, I'll take care of it." Alexandria said after a moment. "And the parents, are they, too, off-limits for you?"
"In matters related to the girl? Yes."
There wasn't much else left to discuss then, for the moment at least. Alexandria stood up to go. But paused just before calling for a portal, and turned back to Contessa who was looking at her with a raised eyebrow.
"You tried to visit the girl when she triggered," she 'asked' Contessa.
"And?" The woman practically confirmed that she did.
"What happened?"
Contessa took a deep breath and answered with something that was rare for her, a wry smile, "What do you think happened?"
"Ah." Alexandria nodded in understanding. It wasn't a great feeling, being devoid of your powers.
But she had already suspected Contessa would have visited the girl, her first question was only a preamble. She wanted to ask something else, so kept probing, "I bring it up because I assume you made the decision to go only after asking your Agent. Didn't you know back then that you should stay away from her?"
The silence hung between them as Contessa thought for a few moments. Alexandria watched her keenly, standing in that room in a completely different world.
"Perhaps I hadn't asked the right questions." Contessa said.
Or perhaps her Agent scared yours? If such a thing was even possible. Alexandria didn't say that out loud.
Contessa continued to speak, "It doesn't matter, we know what to do now. I stay away, thank you very much. You and yours stay close and try to bring her in the fold however you see fit."
Alexandria gave a brisk nod.
Contessa smiled again, this time with her customary sharpness. "Good luck, Chief Director."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
April 6th
The phone rang. Emily Piggot picked up the receiver.
"Ma'am," her secretary was on the line, "A Doctor Erwin from the Parahuman Asylum in Philly has called, he wants to talk to you."
That was strange. If she recalled correctly, Victor Erwin was in charge at that facility. "Okay, put him through."
"Ma'am," Her secretary said haltingly. "He sounds agitated."
"Thank you, Arlo. Now put him through."
She waited as the line transferred, wishing for something innocuous this time instead of another problem she'd have to take to the Chief Director for further review. There had been a litany of those recently.
"Hello," A high pitched voice came through. "This is Doctor Erwin."
"Morning Doctor, Emily Piggot here. How may I help you?"
The man took a deep breath and spoke in a much more measured tone this time. "Director, a patient of mine is insistent that her salvation somehow lies in Brockton Bay. Normally I wouldn't trouble you but this is a case 53 who knows others like her in the facility. She apparently received a call that the PRT is healing Case 53s in your city. The caller claimed to be a PRT representative. We traced the call as best we can and it originated from somewhere near your HQ. Now I don't know who floated these rumors but apparently nonsense like that is going around on the internet? If this came from one of yours, I'd advise you to please keep your house in order."
He was out of breath but not finished. "We already deal with vulnerable cases here. We can't afford such setbacks. The girl was making such good progress. Now she is throwing a catastrophic fit. She only wants to go to Brockton Bay, she and the others like her."
Piggot's mind immediately went to different suspects who knew about the Trump's effect on the monstrous, inhuman capes, all while a part of her formulated a terse response to the doctor. Very few people knew about the incident anyway. Legend, Alexandria, the PRT trooper who had driven their car, Directors Renick and Armstrong, Colin, and that was pretty much it. Not even the other PRT directors were privy to this information, at least for now.
Weld? She rejected him as someone who would call other case 53s and reveal classified information. Could the report leak to other PRT offices? And from there to the web? Moles in PRT were a problem big enough that they even discussed it in their meetings. Were her own people being careless or heaven forbid, deliberately disruptive? Did villainous gangs with case 53 members had experienced the phenomenon themselves? And jumped to conclusions as a result?
She shook her head in discontent and replied to Erwin. "I'd advise you to not pay heed to rumors, doctor, and rather pay attention to keeping your affairs in order." She kept her voice pleasant. "We don't heal case 53s, what does that even mean anyway? And we don't allow our people to spread rumors of this manner, rest assured. Now, I sympathize with you if your patient has been subjected to a prank. Perhaps such a volatile individual shouldn't be able to receive calls from unknown numbers. You can contact the local police or the PRT branch for further investigation in case this was a deliberate crime. I can put in a word if you need. Please leave any such instructions with my secretary. Good day to you."
She hung up and took a deep breath to clear her mind. Then left a message to Renick. She left another message to Colin to report to his office as soon as he could, and to bring Weld with him. The young Ward had proven to be wise beyond his years in her experience, but no harm in clearing him as a suspect.
After that, she dialed a number on her personal phone. An old colleague now worked in the Watchdog, perhaps they'd have some idea of who would be unsettling mentally disturbed capes, the poor souls admitted to asylums, and using her city as a target. A crime like that needed to be nipped in the bud.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
An hour later.
"Ma'am, Directors Carr and Poehler are here. They want to meet immediately." Arlo informed her on the phone.
She looked at the clock hanging on the wall, it was close to 5pm. She was supposed to meet Colin and Weld in half an hour, and all the PRT directors and their staff were due to leave for their own cities this evening. This was untimely.
"Send Carr in first, and be nice to Poehler to make up for it." She replied.
Carr had been unpleasant to deal with to say the least during their many meetings over the past couple of days, she'd get him out of the way first.
"Both of them have arrived together." He said quietly, barely audible over the phone.
Piggot stifled a groan. "Send them in."
The directors were standing in front of her desk soon after. Carr wasted no time with preambles.
"Something fishy is going on, Director Piggot," he said, sitting, Poehler followed suit. "My office has received a transfer request from our resident Case 53 Ward. He is demanding to be transferred. Here ." He theatrically pointed to the ground, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. Did he suspect she was trying to poach his Ward? The fucker.
"What are you implying Alfred?" She asked, glaring at him.
"I'm not implying anything Emily . Don't you think this is irregular?" He spread his hands innocently. "Sanguine is normally very compliant. For him, this is uncharacteristic. Wait till you hear what she has to say." He waved at Poehler.
Piggot turned her attention to the woman. Susan Poehler was relatively new in the Director role but because she headed PRT south east division that oversaw half of Florida, she had been part of the discussions about Taylor Hebert. Stuck up—perhaps necessarily so—but competent. Piggot liked her, so far.
"Our hero, Gentle Giant, has submitted an application for a personal leave," Ppoehler began. "He left his post already without waiting for the confirmation. Our thinker tells us he is headed for Brockton Bay."
"Brockton Bay?" Piggot asked. "And you trust your thinker?"
"We have no reason not to."
"Alright, I see the problem." Piggot said after a lingering pause, blowing out her breath noisily. "One is a coincidence, two is a pattern and all that." She didn't tell them about the third, the Sveta girl from the Philly parahuman asylum.
She continued, "But the question is, why have you come to me? And together at that, with this . . . ambush." She flailed a hand at them to emphasize her last word but then, at the risk of appearing flustered, or mad, folded her arms and leaned back. "Do you expect me to help you figure out why your capes are behaving oddly? I have enough work as it is."
Carr was about to sputter something in answer when Poehler responded, "I'm surprised you're taking it as a confrontation, Director." She smiled. "You said yourself, this appears to be no coincidence. It's a good thing Director Carr mentioned his predicament to me and we got to talking. As far as I'm concerned, we've only come to warn you of these developments, and to see if there is any intelligence you can share regarding the matter, it would only help us."
Piggot wanted to wipe the smug smile off Poehler's face.
Fuck , she thought. She was indeed being defensive, it was sloppy. This job would be the death of her.
"We have no such intelligence as of this moment." She said, "But thank you for bringing this to our notice. We'll keep an eye out for any suspicious activity of this nature."
Poehler tipped her head in agreement. Carr, on the other hand, wasn't finished. "This has nothing to do with the Trump girl, is it?"
Piggot didn't answer for a few moments. Instead, she stared at Carr and drummed her fingers on the desk. "Don't you think if there was something related to the Trump girl, you'd be told of that in the multiple meetings we just had? Your case 53 hasn't left. He is still there. I suggest you keep tabs on him, go and ask him why he feels this strongly about Brockton Bay. Now, if there's nothing else, I'm sure we are all very busy people."
After they both left and as she waited for Colin and Weld, her friend from Watchdog called her. Another case 53 cape, Matryoshka, had just left her post—this one in Minneapolis—after submitting a month-long leave application.
Piggot didn't try to guess where that woman was heading to.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
April 8, 2012
The late afternoon sky resembled a tapestry of colors as Taylor halted at the entrance, mesmerized, and forgetful of her troubles. The walkway leading into the park had a canopy of vines and other plants, which obscured the view of the lively spectacle from passersby. The yearly kite flying competition had snuck up on her, it seemed.
"You like kites?"
A boy roughly her age, with plain features, and curiously, silver hair, asked with a hesitant smile.
She had been standing at the entrance, and people were having to go around them, a couple of them glared at her as they passed.
"Yeah, everyone should, they bring joy into life." She replied, moving to the side and taking in his loose, basket-ball style clothes and toned muscles.
"True," He nodded a little jerkily, appearing distracted. "Life is incomplete without joy." He fiddled with and rotated a phone in his hand, almost dropping it.
Getting such nuggets of wisdom from a nervous jock, what a day. She smiled in amusement. "Excuse me." She said and walked away. In the periphery of her vision, he slapped his big forehead.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
His momentary dismay at flubbing his first interaction with the Trump girl forgotten, Weld watched her go in fascination. He couldn't believe this was the girl who warranted this 'mission'. She looked and behaved so normally.
His phone buzzed, it was probably Mantellum. He received the call. "Yes."
"What's your status now?" The middle-aged man asked. His naturally hoarse voice sounded even raspier through the phone.
"We just reached the park. Seems like she'll be here for a while. As long as you don't spend too much time at the station, it should be okay." Weld replied, stealing glances at the retreating form of Taylor Hebert as he navigated through the crowd towards the kite show.
"It shouldn't take too long." Mantellum said. "The sergeant we're meeting is supposed to be a contact of a contact. I'll keep you apprised—"
Weld cut him off, "Wait, who else is with you?"
"Huh. . . only the woman, we left the kids at home with Gentle. No need to risk them in public. Push comes to shove, us two can blend in. Not so sure about the rest."
"Okay. I'll let you know if there's a development." Weld said and hung up. Then he tried to understand how good kiting worked so he could potentially make friends with the girl, as his mission demanded. Already the extra intensity of smells, the taste in the air and the food from this morning was making him feel a little queasy. This body came with perks that needed some adjustment. He took himself on a walk towards the periphery of the gathered crowd to soothe his mind and his stomach.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The park was lively with activity, more so than a typical Sunday afternoon. The kite competition aside, which she enjoyed very much as she meandered about for several minutes, groups of children played everywhere. Quite a few were busy with the swings and slides and seesaws in the sandy play area.
She eventually picked a walkway that was relatively less busy. Winding trails led to smaller benches in shadowy corners where people sat under trees with their friends and loved ones. Unbidden, she looked over her shoulder to see where that boy was—then caught herself. What was she doing? A chuckle escaped her lips. Picking a bench free of occupants, its wood worn smooth with age, she sat and brought her grilled chicken sandwich out of the bag.
"There you are," Emma's voice cut through the hubbub, startling her. Her friend came to sit beside her. Taylor checked her wrist watch, the last ten minutes had gone by in no time. She had been eating and thinking about her predicament with the PRT.
Those people had been insistent in annoying her, going as far as trying to get her followed everywhere by their troopers. The price an honest person pays for exposing the truth. Thankfully, the district judge had put a stop to that in a hearing when her parents had preemptively filed a complaint.
From her personal perspective, it was unfortunate that her minor status hadn't been enough on its own for the verdict in her favor. The judge had also cited the risk it would entail if, because of PRT's movements in tracking her, nefarious elements got to know that she was a "cape." What a joke.
"Hellooo?" Emma asked, waving a hand in front of her. "Can I daydream with you too?" She batted her eyelashes.
"Feel free," Taylor replied, then sighed. "It's nothing, just that judge, he did a. . . He called me a 'parahuman', made it official, part of his decision. I know you disagree but . . ." She stopped scuffing the ground with her foot as she went quiet.
"Oh boy." Emma said.
"Hey, forget it. I come here to get away from such thoughts." Taylor said with a zest she didn't feel but wanted to keep searching for, then immediately found some of it. "Tell me, what happened with your applications? Where else have you sent—"
"I told you about Cornell, right? I sent another yesterday to…" Emma cut her off excitedly and kept speaking. Her bubbly voice shed some of the sullenness out of Taylor. Ever since Emma came back from her two-year long exchange study program in Europe last autumn, they had made it a habit to come to this park at least twice a month, just to talk and enjoy the natural scenery.
She focused on the enthusiasm oozing out from her friend.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"And what's your name?" The sergeant asked.
"Maxwell." Mantellum said, voice even, haid raised, projecting confidence.
"Really...?" Sergeant Bill paused anyway and gave him a knowing look. "Masha and Maxwell?" He muttered. "Ah… aliases. Sorry," He leaned in, stage whispering, "You don't normally see undercover capes around here. Not that we'd know if any visited us. They wouldn't tell us. But not you two huh?" He laughed stupidly. "You aren't together are you?" He asked again, lips parted in naked anticipation.
Mantellum kept smiling patiently, for once not having to hide his naturally monstrous face. He didn't even dignify the question with a response. He did not want to prolong the discussion any more than necessary. This idiot was wasting time with no care in the world while they were on a clock here.
Matryoshka, sitting to his right, answered with a simple no and kept her face blank. She didn't appear to be enjoying this policeman's humor either.
Coming here was his idea and he'd had to convince the others. They would establish a neighborhood watch group or committee, whatever it is people did in the suburbs, so that they'd build trust and have a foothold in the area outside of the PRT's influence. They now lived in the same areas as the Hebert girl, on this mission from the PRT to keep an eye on the girl and her family and befriend her. Well the latter was more Weld's mission.
If they somehow managed to get the girl to join their little watch, that would help the PRT in cleaning up the city from villain capes starting with the surrounding areas, provided they can gradually expand their area of operations and build trust with the residents. Speaking of trust, a successful initiative like this would also get the PRT's disciplinary board off their backs for leaving their posts so unceremoniously.
This trip to the station was possible today only because the Trump cape was visiting the park and the station fell comfortably within her range as long as she remained in the park.
The sergeant scribbled some notes, chatting away all the while, not shutting up. The rest of the open office was busy with activity, the ringing phones, the bustle of movement and shouts drifting in from the lockup on the other end of the floor.
"You didn't really need to register your committee or anything," he said. "But it's good you came." He gave another conspiratorial smile.
"So, we can go to other people and ask them to join us? Our watch group that is." Matryoshka asked.
"Yes," the man replied. "To be fair you could do that anyway but now you have our moral support." He waved a clenched fist, in solidarity perhaps.
"So, it's all done? We can go? No paperwork needed?" Mantellum asked, then immediately regretted saying that last part.
Bill, the sergeant shrugged. "Well, now that you are here . . . let's just get a few things into the record."
"Such as?" Matryoshka asked, her eastern European accent slipping through for once.
Bill nodded at them. "Just what exactly you will be doing, how often, who is the official contact, stuff like that."
That meant another few minutes.
"Let's get this done quickly." Mantellum said.
"Perfect. What's the name of your group?" Bill asked.
"It's uh . . ." They both looked at each other.
"Watch. . . the watch group— watch committee…" Matryoshka suggested, or tried to anyway.
"Okay, it's blocks 5 and 6 near Elmhurst where you live. No other such groups that we know of so . . ." Bill said, "56 Regular Patrol it is."
"Now," he continued. "What is your. . ."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Half an hour later, the conversation had moved from Emma's college applications and Taylor's future ones to the different Asian kiting traditions to her dance classes and Emma asked why Taylor had stopped going to dance since summer last year. It was a good question, why indeed. She tried to remember what the reason was but was interrupted by the ringing of a phone.
Emma answered a couple seconds later.
"Yes."
"No, I'm with Taylor."
"What? Come on. I locked the— How did they enter anyway?"
"Can't you take care of . . ."
"Forget it, I'm coming. Yeah whatever."
Emma almost threw her phone away and then thrust it into her pocket and groaned. "My cousin's moron kids have spilled paint in my room. All my documents are there." She said, thumping the wooden bench, and stood up.
"Okay?"
Emma pursed her lips and gave a resigned raise of her eyebrows. "I gotta go Tay."
"Yeah, go, for sure. Actually, do you want me to come?" Taylor asked, standing up herself and looking around for a trash can to throw the tissue wrap still in her hands.
"No. I'd need to be civilized with you around. Those kids and their mother will see a different side of me today if my stuff is ruined." Emma said with a scowl.
They bid each other goodbye and with nothing else to do, rather, with not wanting much else to do, Taylor also headed back home.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Weld watched with a frown as both girls got up from their bench and headed towards the exit.
He dialed Mantellum's number, just in case.
His trepidation turned to horror as both girls went their separate ways, more importantly with Taylor turning towards her home.
Mantellum didn't receive the call. Weld tried again and the man picked up. "What?" He sounded annoyed.
"Get out of there now. She is leaving." Weld tried to add some urgency to his voice.
"What?" The man almost squeaked. "You said she stays there an hour at least. Every Sunday. No breaks."
"Well, it's different today. So stop arguing and move."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"The Captain wants to meet you." Bill said. He had made them wait another few minutes after his inane interview about their watch group.
"Why?" They both said impatiently.
Sergeant Bill looked around then spoke in a low voice, "He likes to give advice to civilians like you who want to keep their neighborhoods safe. What to do when there's a cape, how to handle the drunk and disorderly and the rest… Sorry about this, I know you don't need that information. I guess he saw me talking to you, or he saw the paperwork."
Mantellum looked up sharply. "You didn't tell him who we are, did you?" He asked.
"No, no. Not at all." Sergeant Bill shook his head, then gestured. "Come, this way please.'
For the next three minutes, they listened to a condescending police captain who tested the very limits of Mantellum's patience.
That's why when Weld called him for the second time, he stepped out of the office to take the call and still snapped at the boy. What he heard made him reenter the captain's office in haste.
"We gotta go!" He told Matryoshka, interrupting the captain. "Sorry." He raised a hand in apology as he tried to bring up the map of the police station, the park, and the Hebert house in his mind. For maximum chance of staying 'human-looking', they should use the east exit of the building.
Matryoshka, sensing that something had gone amiss, had already stood up.
"Thank you for your advice, we'll follow it as much as we can." The woman said and ducked out of there with him.
They walked as fast as they could without running, but were blocked at the exit by a delivery of vending machines. It held them up for a precious couple of minutes and Mantellum dreaded the delay. As the way cleared and they hurried out, he felt his power come back and a long, curving tail form behind him.
No. He screamed silently and practically hurled himself out the door, shoving a couple of delivery men aside and getting back into the girl's nullification range.
His tail vanished again. He realized that he hadn't been breathing, in his utter panic. He kept walking and got his breath under control. Matryoshka walked alongside him, her face was pinched too. He never stopped even as shouts of "Hey you!" and "What the fuck!" followed them.
Did they not like him shoving people aside or did everyone see his tail? He didn't want to know. He just prayed he hadn't fucked the mission in the first week.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
On her way home, Taylor spotted the tall boy again on the other side of the street, going the same direction as her and busy on his phone. As she rang her own home's doorbell, she watched as the boy stopped at the corner store and bought something.
Then he crossed the street, produced a key and entered the house next to hers.
Huh, new neighbors. When did the Nelson family move out? She narrowed her eyes in thought.
The next day, as she went out for her morning run, there was the boy again, in running attire, stretching, out there in the patio adjacent to the front lawn of his home.
He flashed a smile when he noticed her and raised a hand in greeting. She stopped and waved back.
"Hi there," he said, walking over to her and knocking over a plastic chair in his hurry, "turns out we are neighbors."
"Indeed." Taylor muttered amusingly and nodded her head. Then said out loud, "You go on morning runs?"
"Yeah, yeah." He replied. "Get the exercise out of the way early on."
"Well, good to see another runner. Taylor." She said, pointing to herself and resuming her running.
"I'm Josh," He said, catching up with her quickly with his long strides. "Josh Welder."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"Night Mom," Taylor said with a wave of her hand, going up the stairs to her room.
"Uh… good night honey." Annette automatically replied from the dining table where she was working on some last-minute lab reports. She felt guilty for being so absorbed in her work and debated for a moment if she should stop her daughter. To discuss what had been bubbling in her mind for a while; Taylor's status as a parahuman and her convictions regarding capes. Both had been giving Annette sleepless nights for many weeks.
"Isn't it a little early for you to be going to bed?" She couldn't help herself and asked.
"Yeah, I'll read some first." Taylor brandished the book in her hand, not stopping.
"Okay, good night." Annette said softly to her daughter's back.
Taylor; more confident than before, more headstrong, and standing up for herself. Annette loved that. Since last summer—since what they now knew was her trigger, the details of it still unclear—Taylor had shown an increasing tendency to stand up for herself and her ideas. Taking charge of matters, being outspoken and confident. Not that she was meek before, but she wasn't this resolute, especially if she ever was the one without the moral high ground in an argument.
She would relent quickly if challenged sufficiently well enough. An impressionable young girl who sometimes let people talk or even walk over her in arguments and often, otherwise too. Out of shame, guilt or lack of confidence? Who knew? But now, since the summer, it had become a thing of the past.
Both Danny and Annette had been so happy to see such progress, such development; their daughter blossoming into a mature young woman. Until the PRT had to come crashing into their lives, calling Taylor a cape. As if that was not enough, in a later meeting they'd showed her and Danny the online following Taylor had been getting for her conspiracies regarding capes. It was indeed a cause for alarm, although less so compared to the PRT asking to track Taylor's every movement. Preposterous.
Before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, the sound of the front door opening drew her attention. In walked Danny, a smile on his face but eyes tired after a long day. He greeted her with a kiss.
"How was your dinner?" She asked.
Danny told her about his time out with his colleagues and friends as he removed his shoes and plopped himself onto his favorite rocking chair.
After making some small talk and ensuring Taylor was indeed in her room, she broached the subject of their daughter, and the PRT, and the courts again. Amazing how the three had become intertwined so much so quickly.
"I can't believe they suggested sending you away." Danny said, looking equal parts appalled and amused.
"Well. . . I can see why they'd do that." Annette began slowly, "Not that I agree. But if they think Taylor is some. . ." she struggled for words here, "hot shot cape who can help them then I can understand. I mean they told us she made an Endbringer run away just by her presence."
She was torn whether letting PRT instantly teleport her to another country was a good idea. Just so that she can confirm the veracity of capes and their powers to Taylor. She didn't know if it was going to help her daughter or harm her. On one hand, Taylor really did harbor some strange views that bordered on delusion. Even if it was a natural consequence of her being able to suppress every other power in the world as the PRT had told them, it was disturbing.
But what if she retreats into a shell at being confronted with reality? What if it destroys her newfound self-confidence? To realize that she was so wrong about her convictions would be bad at least in the short term. If her own mother hammered that into her in front of everyone, then it would not be good for Taylor's mental health. Especially when Taylor had always looked up to her so much.
She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder and then Danny was settling in beside her on the couch. "Hey," he said softly, "Don't worry too much. She is your daughter after all. I'm sure it will all be okay."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Taylor gulped her glass of water down and logged onto PHO. Each morning before school, she checked in hope to see if anyone else had the wool from their eyes removed. It was slow going but it was progress. More and more people had been paying attention to her ideas recently, but by and large her response rate was lower than it should be.
She suspected the government was silencing her in some way, throttling her reach. But she had more than one account and multiple internet connections; here at home, at school, at Emma's, and more. Eventually she'd win, the truth would come out.
At least the PRT had stopped pestering her to join the Wards.
Let's see, she thought. No new responses on her analysis of the Behemoth model from her first big video. Two private messages calling her a weirdo. A solitary 'Like' on her essay in which she extrapolated the expenses involving a single stunt where three or four "capes" performed.
Ping, she received a message request. Must be from a new account. She accepted, a video appeared and a prompt popped up, asking if she wanted to play the video. She deliberated for a moment. People had managed to send her inappropriate videos before in private messages, but she pressed the button after not much thought; this could be important.
A Caucasian man appeared, wearing a white shirt and sporting a goatee, and sitting in a chair with a dark background. He had a grave expression on his face. The man looked familiar for some reason.
"Hello, my name is Jacob." He began. "This is a call for help. You, who have somehow stumbled onto the truth, please hear us." He pleaded with his hands and his eyes. Was he speaking to her?
"I used to work for the PRT, for their personnel department. I was a stuntman, and a trainer of bladed weapons for their more well-known actors, the ones they call 'heroes'."
Taylor's heart leapt up into her mouth. This it was, a glowing testament to all her effort, proof that she was on the right track. Finally.
She realized who this was too, this man was Jack Slash, the leader of the 'villain group' slaughterhouse Nine. These so-called groups of villains and rogues were no doubt a big piece of the puzzle, created in part to give ammunition to the PRT propaganda machine. She was convinced. She had looked into the big ones, and it was clear how they were created and allowed to exist, rather made to exist, so the charade could continue.
"That's right, these parahumans are all fake. A hoax, a way to fool the public. But that's just the tip of the iceberg, it's nothing, the truth is so harrowing, so sinister. You would be lost for words. And I am ashamed of my part in it." He paused, running a hand through his hair, then began again.
"But my conscience couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't stay silent at the destruction, the loss and the cruelty. So, myself and some others, we talked."
He hung his head, looking dejected. When he looked up again, his eyes shined with determination. "We spilled the beans to the police. I can't bear to tell you what happened next. But they turned us into villains, called us the 'Slaughterhouse Nine', and used us as an excuse to stage their plays and shoots. We have been on the run for years, there are some others like me. We have survived, but not all of us."
At some point, Taylor had brought her phone out, hands shaking, and had started recording the video.
"I urge you to find us, see for yourself who we are, we are simple folk on the run because we breached our NDA. It's a crime worthy of the strictest punishment as far as PRT is concerned. That's why we have a kill order, that's why no one in the PRT talks you know. That's why we had stopped trying to speak up. But if you can find us, do so. Give PRT the slip and find us. You will see the truth. Please."
The man smiled. The video ended, then self-deleted.
Taylor let out a shuddering breath. She sat there for a full minute, digesting what she had heard. If this was true, if what this man, Jacob, had said, was the truth, then it meant her next steps were clear. It also made her feel fear for the first time. If this man was speaking the truth, then the kill-order was real, and here she was, taking on the PRT.
But no matter, she'd have to find this Slaughterhouse Nine, delve deeper into their story and bring their truth out to the world. Justice and truth, yes, that was her objective.