Interlude 2
PRT ENE Director Emily Piggot clicked through the photos attached to the most recent report.
A gruesome scene at an Empire stash house downtown. Not entirely out of the ordinary, but villain conflicts rarely involved so many unpowered casualties. The general etiquette between villains was to fight parahumans with parahumans, and minions with minions. Otherwise, both sides would end up decimated and unable to hold their own against the heroes.
And heroes rarely went on murderous rampages.
There were some exceptions, of course. The Gavels and Lustrums of the world. Capes who believed in their cause to the point of extreme violence, and saw themselves as heroes who had the stomach to do what was necessary to enact change.
They were often the most irritating kind of capes to deal with. At least the regular villains weren't so self-righteous about it.
Still, this was looking more and more like an amateur vigilante with aspirations of heroism. It was unlikely that a rival villain would have left the guns and drugs undisturbed.
Actually, aside from the overall death and destruction, Emily wasn't sure what the murderer accomplished with the whole affair.
The intercom next to her monitor chimed.
"Armsmaster is here, Director."
Her current assistant was unusually competent and straight to the point. It was a welcome change of pace from the usual bureaucratic sycophants. Hopefully, he would last longer than the others.
"Send him in," Emily ordered.
Her office door hissed open and the well-known blue and silver hero strode in.
Armsmaster was a tall, conventionally attractive man. His interlocking power armor cut an imposing figure, and his beard was perfectly trimmed under his visor.
It was only due to years of familiarity that Emily could see the stiffness in his posture, the tensing of his jaw.
The hero was not happy to be here. Most likely because it took him away from his workshop. The Protectorate HQ was a decent fortress, but it wasn't exactly conveniently placed for commuting. Also, he deemed face-to-face meetings to be unnecessary, in general.
Emily begged to differ. There was a lot that you could only tell about a person when they were sitting in front of you.
"Have a seat, Armsmaster. I've been reviewing the incident report from last night," Emily said.
"The massacre downtown," he said. It didn't sound like a question.
"Quite. What are your takeaways?" Emily asked. Despite his demeanor, Armsmaster was insightful when it came to investigations and crime scenes.
"A single assailant, almost certainly a parahuman, either utilizing Tinkertech weaponry or a Tinker themselves."
Emily hummed in agreement and pulled up the page detailing the recovered bullets.
"The report is… unclear. What is so special about the ammunition?"
"I have been unable to fully analyze the samples, but they are… charged, somehow," Armsmaster said. "The closest approximation I can compare it to is Dauntless' abilities. The metal is not an alloy that I'm familiar with, and there is a lingering anomalous effect that interferes with my scanners."
He seemed distinctly irritated by this fact.
"And the blood found at the scene?" Emily asked.
"Two samples that do not match any of the victims. From the locations of the bloodstains, I am working under the impression that one was an Empire member and the other was their assailant.
"There's quite a lot of it, at marker 13," Emily said musingly, pulling up one of the attached images.
"Yes. And very little leading away. Most likely a regenerator of some kind," Armsmaster said.
Perfect. Just what they needed.
"Have you made any progress in identifying the cause of the injuries?" Emily asked. The report had been compiled before all of the wounds were analyzed.
"I believe that the assailant used a custom weapon of some kind. The closest match I could find was a wide-toothed saw."
"A saw," Emily deadpanned.
"Or a similar large, serrated blade. Also, quite a bit thicker than my test instrument," Armsmaster said.
Emily allowed herself a moment to sigh and lean back in her custom-molded chair.
"So, we have a violent vigilante running around murdering villains with a saw," Emily said eventually. "I never thought I'd feel nostalgic for crossbow bolts."
Armsmaster didn't laugh, but his lips did quirk upwards at the corner.
"There's also the blood donation bag to consider," he said.
"Right, of course. I misspoke. A violent vigilante running around murdering villains with a saw and harvesting their blood," Emily said.
That was even closer to a smile. Clearly, the psych evaluation stating she had 'difficulty building rapport with operatives' wasn't entirely correct.
"How would you prefer to pursue this, Director?" Armsmaster asked after a moment.
"We keep our involvement minimal, from a PR standpoint. This was a minor clash between villains, nothing more. Make no mention of the weapon or the abandoned blood bag," Emily said.
"And internally?"
"Find this rogue hunter and get them off the streets," Emily continued. "Quietly, if possible. We can't afford to escalate the terms of engagement with the Empire, not when they outnumber us two to one. We either bring our new vigilante into the fold and rebrand them before they cause more of a mess, or we ship them to prison somewhere far away and hope that Kaiser doesn't take his pound of blood from us."
Armsmaster nodded. He was difficult to work with, sometimes, but at least he appreciated a pragmatic approach.
Emily sighed again.
"Do we have a temporary designation for them, yet?"
"Assault suggested 'Sawbones', but we decided that was… ill-advised. They are being internally referred to as Carpenter, until we get more information."
Armsmaster left to return to his precious lab, and Emily steepled her fingers in front of her on the desk.
Maybe, the incentive of getting to pick a better name would draw this wayward vigilante out of the woodwork.
Emily almost smiled at that.
But she didn't. Instead, she got back to work.
…
Thomas Calvert found himself becoming frustrated.
That didn't actually happen all that often.
With access to multiple attempts at any interaction, he considered himself extremely proficient at getting what he wanted.
"You know, all you have to do to get the pain to stop is work for me. It's really not such an arduous ask," Coil said, leaning forward in his chair.
Daniel Hebert was quite possibly the most stubborn man he had ever met.
Luckily, he had only utilized one of his timelines to approach Mr. Hebert. It was lucky, because not a single one of them worked, and he was able to close them without incident.
It was still an irritating waste of time.
No matter what manner he approached the difficult hiring manager, Thomas found himself rebuffed with varying degrees of politeness. He had long since given up on a diplomatic solution, and began employing more… forceful… means of coercion.
Any and all agents he sent to Daniel's house never came back. The Tinker must have extensive defenses at his base of operations. It was common sense not to attack a Tinker in their lab, regardless. In light of this information, Thomas had taken to abducting him from work.
But still, no significant progress was made. Daniel Hebert refused to even pretend to help him in any way, shape, or form.
"Surely you must see that this is an exercise in futility," Coil said, raising the hammer and bringing it crashing down on one of Daniel's remaining fingers.
The man just laughed.
"You might as well kill me," Mr. Hebert spat between broken teeth. "Because I'll die happy before giving you anything you want."
Frustrating.
"Why? Why are you so adamantly opposed to even the barest hint of a compromise? Surely this isn't necessary," Coil said tiredly. If this continued for much longer, he would have to call his Tattletale here to personally observe the interrogation.
This timeline had been the longest split so far. He hoped to find some kind of lever, some price that he could exact to get Daniel on his side without going through this painstaking process of capture and torture over and over again.
Coil paused as a muffled commotion filtered down from the upper levels.
He and Daniel both looked up at the ceiling of the cell.
A gunshot rang out, and the distant screaming began.
Mr. Hebert smiled through his broken teeth.
"I'd offer… my sympathy," Daniel said. His words sounded a bit mushy, due to his injuries. "But it won't do you any good."
"What do you mean? What's happening, Daniel?" Coil asked as the gunshots and cries of agony drifted closer.
"She's here. It's already too late, for you," Mr. Hebert said.
Finally, some information, even if this made no sense.
Thomas grabbed his radio and turned it to the base mercenary channel.
"Status report," he said firmly.
There was a long beat of silence before the radio crackled again.
"Your men are dead, Thomas."
The voice didn't sound human. Somehow both too low and too high at the same time.
Well. That was certainly more interesting than any of his other attempts.
"Who am I speaking to?" he asked.
"Release Daniel Hebert, and I will consider allowing you to leave the city. Fail to do so, and I will kill you."
"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll consider it. If not, I'll kill him," Thomas said.
This person knew his name. He needed to know who they were, and why Daniel was important to them.
"You fail, then."
They should still be fairly secure here, so he didn't give up hope of getting more information out of his mysterious enemy. The cell doors were several inches thick and rated for Brute containment. Surely it would slow down their assailant enough for them to chat some more.
Something huge, roughly square, and ridiculously heavy struck the door of the cell with a cacophonous crash. It left an incongruently large dent in the metal.
Perhaps not.
Thomas drew his sidearm and shot Daniel Hebert in the head, just because this whole situation was far more trouble than it was worth and the action made him feel better.
He decided to keep the timeline running for as long as possible, though.
The next blow knocked the door clean off its hinges. The sound was deafening as the twisted metal bounced against the far wall, narrowly missing Thomas on the way past.
And in the doorway, framed by the emergency lighting…
No. It can't be-
He got one very brief glimpse of an old-fashioned pistol and a wide brimmed fedora before his head exploded and the timeline dropped.
In his office at the PRT headquarters, Thomas broke out into a cold sweat.
No, no, it wasn't her. No need to panic.
The outfit wasn't quite right, or the hat. And she wouldn't need to use a comically large hammer to break down his door.
But then… what the hell was that?
Surely, he was missing something.
Thomas sighed and continued with his paperwork.
He would need to be more careful approaching Daniel Hebert, in the future. Perhaps he would assign Tattletale to gather more information before he wasted yet another timeline on the troublesome Tinker.
…
Despite the nature of their meeting, Max Anders allowed himself a moment to look out over the city and enjoy his drink.
His office on the top floor of the Medhall building was an easy location to anonymously meet with his lieutenants in their civilian identities, arriving as visitors to Medhall or directly to the private roof access via helicopter.
At his shoulders, his faithful Valkyries stood guard. It was unnecessary, but image and tradition were important. Plus, subordinates that felt valued were more likely to remain loyal.
He still hadn't received any word from Victor.
James and Brad sat at his desk across from him. Krieg and Hookwolf, respectively.
It galled him that Purity had not answered his summons, but that was not unexpected. He would need to put a more concentrated effort into bringing Kayden back into the fold. Until now, her rebellion could be tolerated.
"Do we have any updates regarding Victor?" Max asked.
"I confirmed with my contacts at the BBPD that his body was not among the victims of the assault on the Oakland warehouse," James said.
"Probably snatched him up," Brad grunted.
"Either the hit was done by an amateur, in which case Victor will likely drain them of all useful skills before escaping, or it was an organized strike. If that's the case, he may be in serious danger, if he isn't already dead," James said.
Max's lips thinned thoughtfully.
"If he were killed on site, they would have no reason to take him. It would have been more useful to leave his body as a message. We will operate under the assumption that he was alive at the point of abduction."
James nodded. Brad just shrugged.
"Keep track of the PRT's investigation. If their Thinkers come up with anything, I want to know immediately," Max said. "How is Othala?"
"She is… concerned. I don't doubt her conviction, but without Victor we lose a solid connection to the Herrens."
"We'll find him," Max reassured.
If only to figure out just what the hell happened at the Oakland warehouse last night. And to keep Othala happy. Victor may have his uses, but he was nowhere near as versatile as his wife. Healers were rare, and not to be underestimated.
"What is the status of re-acquiring the seized product and resources?" Max glanced at James.
James' phone vibrated, and he looked down at it instead of answering immediately.
Max tried not to take that personally.
"I apologize for the interruption, but we're being robbed," James said in a perplexed tone.
"Where?" Max asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Here. Downstairs," James said.
Brad chuckled.
That was absurd.
Max sighed.
"It would be difficult to explain the Empire arriving to divert a robbery at Medhall. I won't risk the chance of affiliating our organizations over a random break in. Ignore it. Just get the police here, preferably our officers," Max said.
Now he would need to doctor the security camera footage of the top floors just in case the police or PRT requested copies. Irritating.
"Let's continue."
He would follow up on this inconveniently timed robbery later.
…
Emma bounced her leg restlessly, sitting on the side of her unmade bed.
The evening light was growing dim, and the anxiety had already started to set in again.
She hated it. Hated feeling like this, hated being so fucking scared all the time. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be strong. A survivor. Why was she so fucking pathetic that she couldn't even-
Emma reached for her phone. She couldn't help herself.
E: Can you come stay the night after work?
S: Again?
E: Yeah
S: You know I have other shit to do, right?
S: Like sleeping in my own fcking bed
S: In my own fcking house
E: Please?
S: Fine.
Emma hated feeling like she was begging Sophia for her company, but it was better than being alone in the dark. When Sophia was here, Emma didn't see the glaring black eyes everywhere she looked.
Or not as often, at least.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that Taylor was following her. That there was some sort of reckoning for what she did, hanging over her.
I killed my best friend.
Don't think about it.
Sophia would be here soon.
…
"Can I tell you something?"
Sophia glanced up from her phone, leaning back against the wall on the bed next to her. It was pretty late, but neither of them were ready to sleep yet.
"What kind of dumbass question is that? You need my permission or something?" Sophia scoffed.
"Don't be a bitch. I… okay, this is going to sound insane, but I need to tell someone before I go insane," Emma said.
Sophia just raised her eyebrows.
Emma took a deep breath.
"I think it was Taylor."
Sophia blinked.
"What?"
"I think that the stranger in my window the other night was Taylor," Emma said. It didn't sound any less crazy outside her head.
Sophia just looked at her.
"Taylor's dead," Sophia said.
Emma gave her a look.
"Yes, I know. That's why it's insane. But even under the hat I swear I could see-"
"Wait, did you say a hat?" Sophia cut her off with a weird expression.
What?
"I mean, yeah, I told you before. They were wearing a hat and a scarf-" Emma said before Sophia cut her off again.
"Like, an old mobster kind of hat? With a flat brim?" Sophia's voice still had the same strange inflection.
"Yeah?" Emma said, confused.
"And she had a scarf covering the lower half of her face, and curly hair?"
"Yeeeaaaah," Emma said slowly.
"Son of a bitch," Sophia whispered.
"What? What do you mean?" Emma asked, bewildered.
"I just…" Sophia trailed off, brows furrowed. She pushed herself off the bed and started hunting for the spare costume Emma kept stashed at the back of her closet. "I need to check something. Just a hunch. What's Hebert's address?"
"What? Why?" Emma asked again.
"Because I think you might be right."
…