Reputation. So hard to create, so hard to change. Clark took a sip of his coffee in the alley. Rain fell around him. Brockton may have easier winters than other New England towns, but it's rainy season made up for it. A soft wind rustled a white plastic bag, somehow stuck to a nearby fire escape. Condom wrappers, broken beer bottles, and small bags littered the ground, overspill from the dumpster he stood next to. Yellow streetlamps, poorly maintained, illuminated the street before him. What small moonlight that had filtered through the clouds provided almost no light, the lamps themselves providing only a touch more. Another sip of the coffee, made with three creams and two sugars. Just the way he liked it. Overly sweet, sure, but Clark liked the sweetness. It brought him back to childhood memories of…
He blinked. Childhood memories of something. He could not remember anything more, and returned his thoughts to the task at hand.
He had overheard some conversations in the PRT, and conversations that Crystal had had about him. Suspicions of his allegiance to the Azn Bad Boyz remained strong, though no definite ties had been found. If he went in with his current weak proof of Anders' ties to the Empire, they may not believe him. In addition, Anders had preached a 'tough on crime' approach in his campaign speech, focusing specifically on Lung and his gang. An attempt to discredit him could read as an attempt from the ABB to lash out against a candidate that has gone against them. No, he needed to boost his reputation with the heroes first. Even if Crystal thought he may not be involved with Lung, he needed more.
Clark needed a way to distance his Question persona away from Lung, without Lung finding out. A tall order. One that needed groundwork.
The building across from the alley had a single bouncer at the door. A neon sign outside flashed a garish display of line-drawn tits. An ad for the topless bar inside. A thin sheet of plausible deniability for the bar's true purpose. The heroes did not stay long within Lung's territory, and in return the gang leader did not tread his way downtown. Therefore, the heroes did not have information on how Lung ran his prostitution and trafficking rackets. They knew that Lung dealt with such trades, but little more. Villains should not be like this, with these crimes and darker still. What had happened to bank robberies, or museum thefts?
The goal of this excursion lay in the office on the second floor. Passports and visas from the women workers inside. Clark had secured an additional disposable polaroid camera, this one a different brand than the one he used to provide evidence to the ABB. He could not be caught destabilizing Lung, the man already only tolerated him, given Clark's lack of an Asian identity. But he had to be seen as an ally to the heroes, and he could not live with himself if he did not help the women inside. Hopefully the PRT would be able to help them live more normal lives after this raid. They did not wear collars or chains, but they had been enslaved all the same. Without documentation, and with the threat of violent reprisal, the women in the bar worked for barely any pay. They were forced to work there, and follow along with whatever the ABB asked of them. Clark's part of this raid would not be glamorous, but it had to be done.
He tossed his empty paper cup into the dumpster he waited next to. He had to do this right. The target waited in the upstairs office, reading over paperwork. Clark projected his voice to right outside of the office door, and did his best to mimic the bouncer's voice from downstairs.
'Boss! I need you down here, come on!'
The man at the desk let out a stream of curses under his breath, but rose from his seat. He went to the door, opening it and looking about. Confusion written on his face when he did not see the source of the voice. Clark spoke again, but this time he angled the sound to come from the stairs.
'Outside! Come on, boss, I need you to verify this guy'
With a sigh, the man from the office went down the hallway. Clark allowed his x-ray vision to slide into his normal sight, as the man emerged from the building's door and began to speak to the bouncer. He'd have to be quick, the ruse would only hold them for so long. He left the duo as an argument emerged, with the bouncer's claims of ignorance riling up the office worker. It did not take long to slip around the building, out of sight from the doorway, and to the side of the structure. He tuned his ears, listening for the tell-tale buzz of electronics. Searching for cameras or listening devices. When he could not hear any, he began to climb. Though Clark lacked any sort of workout regime, he had strong muscles for his age. Tonight, he put them to use. One hand after the other, grip tight on the drainage pipe. He felt surprised that it held his weight, but he had scanned it with his vision the night before in order to make certain this plan would work. It did not take long for him to reach the second floor, the window right by the pipe. One hand and both legs on the pipe, Clark reached over to the window's clasp. He fumbled with it for a few moments, before he managed to get it open.
The argument outside rose in volume. He had to do this quick, that distraction would not last forever.
Clark pulled out his camera, and opened desk drawers. He already knew where to look, thanks to his abilities. He moved as quickly as he could - A picture of the pile of passports, pictures of written communications about the girls, and a few pictures of the pay stubs on the desk. It felt darkly funny that the owner of this establishment would keep scant pay stubs for the sex slaves he exploited, but Clark supposed that it meant for easier documentation for tax season. The ABB did not want more attention cast on this place than it could help. Some snapshots of the three bricks of cocaine in the bottom drawer of the desk tied the proof together. Enough to get the heroes off their asses, and enough to prove that he was more than just an ABB flunkie.
He hoped it was enough.
Once he had the pictures, Clark put each item back into it's place. Careful with every single one, as he could not afford a mistake. If Lung found out about this sabotage, it meant death for him, and he did not dare to think of what the ABB would do to the Shusters. He slipped out the window as he heard the office worker's footsteps in the hallway outside, closing the window's clasp just as the worker began to open the door.
Close. Too close. Clark listened for the worker to call in a threat, or even make a noise of surprise that would hint at his discovery. The other man just sat back in his chair, and Clark allowed himself a silent sigh of relief. He used his ventriloquism to fake a gruff, low moan as he climbed down the pipe, the man inside wincing at the sound and grabbing some ear plugs. He did not enjoy the idea of using his voice to pretend to be a john, but he had to disguise the creaks of the old metal before he reached the ground.
A pen pulled from his shirt, the address written on the back of the photos. A night complete. Clark left the strip-club/brothel behind, and proceeded on foot to the PRT drop-off location. A long walk, but the night remained young. He checked his watch: 11:30 PM. Plenty of time. From his eavesdropping on Lung and his gang, he knew the ABB did not have any informants in the police force or the PRT. He felt confident that he himself was the only information gathering part of the ABB.
From what Armsmaster had said to Crystal, the PRT had a camera pointed at the anonymous tip-off location. The conversation had not given much workable information for Clark, with most of it taken up by the Tinker hero's explanation of the PRT's theories on Clark. It seemed that Crystal's confirmation of his identity had proved his existence, but not much else. She had not spoken of his super-ventriloquism, but he supposed she might have reasoned away his projected interjections as him being on the battlefield, just hidden. They did not have much evidence to try and understand his powers - Armsmaster had classified him as a thinker, with the caveat that his power could be something else. He had even claimed that 'The Question' may be an unpowered vigilante, though one who had found the secret identities of four villains, if not more.
For the past few days, when not occupied with Parian's work or with his plan to expose the brothel, Clark had tried his best to understand more about the Protectorate of his city. Who could help against the Empire, which heroes were lame or stupid, and which heroes were actually heroic. Aside from new rules to prevent the Wards from operation in ABB areas due to worries about their identities being revealed by 'The Question', his impact on the city had not resulted in much. No one talked about him beyond the initial briefing. Those his ego felt bruised, he supposed that the lack of attention on him helped for the moment.
Streetlamps that work heralded his arrival to the the ferry station area, and its PRT drop off. Clark paused in the darkness, and sought out the camera. There. Hidden in a corner, disguised as part of the trashcan. It's interior electronics matched the structure that Clark had seen in Armsmaster's technology. He looked onwards, of towards the PRT's stronghold that waited in the bay. It took him a few minutes more, eyes trained on the security room. At long last, he found the monitor for the drop off camera. Strange. The man who sat there had a higher rank than anyone else in the security room. Their boss? No, he had a different sort of uniform. Field Commander Thomas Calvert. Nametags with ranks made it much easier for Clark to identify those in the PRT he spied on when compared to the detective work he needed for the capes.
What was a field commander doing in the monitor room? A strange detail, but a useful one. If someone of a higher rank than a grunt saw Clark turn in the information, it would get to the right people faster. The field commander's presence gave Clark a little more confidence as he strode out under the streetlight and went to the drop off. He placed the polaroid pictures into the slot. His mask covered his face, his coat and hat on. A more official debut of his 'costume' than that encounter with Crystal.
He left as quick as he had arrived. Clark did not dare to glance back at the monitor room until he had reached the darkness of the alley once more. Lung had exploited his naivety with his powers to reveal his x-ray vision, and Clark did not want to make the same mistake again. He only stared into the room when he became certain that no one would watch him look.
The field commander - Calvert, Clark reminded himself - watched his monitor for a few seconds more. A digital delay, perhaps? Calvert looked oddly skinny for his position as a field commander, his impressive height, mixed with his thin frame, giving him an uncanny appearance. He reached for his radio, an order barked into it. Clark switched his vision to the ferry station drop-off, as a PRT trooper began to go through the various tip-offs that filled the box. She tossed the other tips aside until she had located Clark's photos. Unusual. Why had they gone to investigate his tip immediately? He had helped them bag Krieg, even if he had escaped. Did they hope for a repeat performance?
The conversation between the PRT trooper and Calvert did not last long. She explained the content of the photos, sent a few pictures of them herself from her helmet's camera to Calvert, and the field commander told her gather them for evidence. Clark felt a spike of worry - was this a trap? He spun about, but did not see any hidden PRT personnel or heroes. Nor did he see any suspicious lumps of lead in a person-shaped form. Not an ambush for him, at least. He waited for a minute, then another after that. No immediate response from the PRT. No response at all. He had not expected the whole team to get suited up at this time of night, but no radio calls to a hero on patrol? The situation felt odd.
Sirens. Sirens in the distance. He listened in on the radio chatter for the Brockton Bay P.D. - several units near the brothel received a tip about its existence. Clark puzzled over it, but decided that it made sense in the end. They sent the police to deal with non-parahuman crimes after all, why make an exception here. It would take some time before the police arrived at the location, but Clark felt quite good about the night so far. No evidence to Lung of his sabotage, and the ABB could survive to protect his family without that brothel. The women would be saved, and the PRT might see him in a better light. A good night's work, and at long last, some positive influences from his power. He undid his mask, and folded his old hat under the coat. A way to have plausible deniability for his persona as the Question. It would not do for some random civilian to see him and ask too much. He had to keep a low profile, and the hero-worship this city sometimes affected would not help. He left the alleyway behind, and started another long walk. Crime in this city did not sleep, and neither should he.
The path to Medhall felt well tread to Clark at this point. He had fixed the location in his mind, and had observed it the past few nights. Security cameras covered the place. While he himself could peer in or listen, he could not figure out a way to enter unobserved and gather proof or actionable information he could use to tie Anders to the Empire in a way that mattered. He kept his ears and eyes trained on the C.E.O.'s office. Perhaps he could find some other avenue of investigation? Clark became more and more convinced of the man's guilt every night, but still had nothing to show anyone.
The trip would take half an hour by bus. The public transit in this city ran better than most would expect, given the state of all other infrastructure. It had been the sole focus of the current administration, though Clark doubted it would help him win the re-election. Anders had gotten a surprising amount of support, especially from the wealthier neighborhoods. He had heard rumors that a member of New Wave supported him, but Clark had not found the time to investigate it. He had to focus his hearing on other, more important matters. Once Anders had been outed as a member of the Empire, no heroes, public or private, could support him. Clark scratched his back on the bus, using the movement as an excuse to lock his eyes on the office once more. He did not want to look too suspicious to the bus driver.
Something obstructed his vision. It could not be lead, the obstruction clearly had a gaseous state. It flooded the street by the building, covering the cameras, the windows and more. It looked to be concentrated in the area Clark knew as Medhall's document storage. The area he desperately wanted to enter and scour for as much information as he could. Even with his abilities, he knew he would not have been able to bypass the security system in place. Whoever controlled this darkness did not seem to have that problem. A singular vigilante? A team? Clark felt his lack of knowledge on non-Empire or ABB capes hitting him once more. He really needed to study up when he had the time, and could stop by the library. Anders had not seemed to notice the disturbance. Not yet. He spoke on the phone, quiet and quick. Clark had been distracted by the dark obstruction to his vision, and focus back on the C.E.O.'s conversation.
'-regular police response? Good. Send the twins, with Purity for support. A perfect first step, could not have planned it better myself. Whatever police officer informed us, make sure he gets a bonus. Make some plans for donations to the department as well, I feel as though this could get bloody. We can create some good PR if we set aside some funds for the inevitable widows, we just have to make sure that Lung himself shows. Can you get Cricket out to lead him on the way? I don't care what it takes, we need that old bastard to-'
Clark cursed beneath his breath. No one besides the driver on this bus, who was occupied with staying awake in the first place.
Evidently, Anders' connections to Empire Eighty-Eight had him in a higher-ranked spot that Clark had first supposed. He ordered at least four capes around, and doubtless had the capacity to order more. Kaiser's second in command? One of the other lieutenants? He could not be Hookwolf, the body shape did not line up.
Sirens in the city got louder. Clark listened in to the police scanner. Talk of busting an ABB-backed front, of information given by an anonymous tip. No mention of the PRT, however. Strange. He looked back to the Medhall structure. The darkness had dissipated. Two strange capes had gotten themselves inside the records hall, without any visible damage to the structure or doorways. They had smashed the cameras though. The first cape stood tall, a skull-like mask on his head, that strange darkness around it. For the first time in his admittedly short career, Clark found he could not see beneath the mask. Too much of that dark obstruction. He switched his gaze to the other cape, the one in purple. Blonde, shorter, and focused entirely on the computer before her. They made him look like an amateur, each working in sync to gather up documents and make copies. The tall one had even brought a ream of paper to fill the records hall's copy machine while they worked.
Back to the scanner, Clark heard that the police had arrived at the strip club. The panic in the dispatchers voice worried him, and Clark turned his vision towards the brothel in time to see the the four officers on scene open fire on some strange figure. The bullets hit, but did not seem to slow the figure much. Instead, they enraged him.
Clark watched as Lung charged the cops, flames licking off of his over-muscled form. He had not seen the gang boss transform before. He could see muscle fibers shift and change, he could see the man's bones themselves thicken. Scales growing out of flesh, fire coating the man's entire form.
A police officer thrown into a wall with a sickening crunch, skin and flesh burnt to a crisp where Lung had grabbed him. More bullets fired, their hits ignored. Desperate cries into a radio for support.
A second officer followed the way of the first. Lung had thrown him through the windshield of his cruiser. The Dragon's hand grasped the officer's ankle, and dragged him out as he screamed, the broken glass scraping the skin and uniform from his body.
Before Lung could kill the other two officers, he suffered a direct hit from a beam of pure light. New Wave? Clark eyed the skies above the battle, and saw the arrival of Purity. This was what Anders had referred to, only a few moments before. That meant-
Battle cries sounded forth from the two giantesses. Fenja and Menja had arrived. One shielded the remaining police officers, while the other tried to impale Lung with her spear. It splintered across his chest, the Asian cape growling as his body began to twist even more monstrous. Horns grew from his head. Scales covered his form. They shone from the fire that surrounded him, the heat intense enough that it made him appear in a haze of flames.
Clark blinked, and realized he had arrived at his stop. He kept his vision and hearing as localized as he could, stepping from the bus and waiting for it to leave. He had to split his attention between the battle and the break-in. Anders incriminating himself over the phone. No way to capitalize on any of the events. He could only listen and observe.
"Fuck," Clark whispered.