Interlude
"This is an emergency meeting. I assume everyone present understands what we're here to discuss." Director Piggot made no attempt to hide her irritation and concern. She swept her gaze across the assembled heroes. Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Dauntless, Assault, Battery. Everyone was here except Triumph and Velocity, who were still out on patrol. Alongside the adult capes at the table sat Aegis, leader of the Wards team.
"Well, we've got some theories," Assault chuckled, crossing his arms. "A few thoughts. Maybe it has something to do with the big, scary Lung being found very, very dead, when that was previously considered practically impossible."
"From a theoretical standpoint, we had considered options involving powerful tranquilizers or a single lethal attack, such as a headshot from a high-caliber sniper rifle," Armsmaster noted. "However, we were never issued a Kill Order, so these remained theoretical considerations."
Director Piggot looked at the assembled group and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Everyone assumed she simply didn't like capes, just because. They whispered among themselves that she had issues with capes after Ellisburg—PTSD, the whole deal. Nothing to be done about it. What the gossips couldn't understand was that the director treated everyone equally, harboring no initial prejudices. As people, as individuals, as citizens, parents, spouses, children and grandchildren, parahumans could be all kinds of different. Good parents, decent spouses, model citizens, or conversely—criminals and moral degenerates. But all of them, absolutely all of them, shared one trait that Director Piggot despised: sloppiness. Lack of discipline. Arrogance. Rejection of authority.
If this kind of briefing were happening in a military unit, no one would ever dare open their mouth before being asked for their opinion. But parahumans, capes—they always acted like a bunch of spoiled children. Even Armsmaster, for all his outward discipline and correctness, constantly got lost in his calculations, forgot to file reports while working in his workshop, failed to show up to meetings on time, and sometimes completely zoned out. Like right now—who had asked for Assault's opinion? And why was Armsmaster responding to his comment? Wasn't it clear that the longer they listened to Assault's jokes and wisecracks, the longer they turned the briefing into a friendly chat session, the more time would be wasted?
PRT psychologists said that parahumans' abilities directly influenced their psychological profiles, and the fact that each ability was unique only made the situation worse. As a result, instead of efficient and interchangeable specialists, as proper assault teams should have, she had a bunch of spoiled prima donnas on her hands. Everyone needed something special, some particular conditions—someone needed a workshop with tinkertech devices, someone needed silk sheets on their bed, and someone needed a costume in exactly red and black colors. In any military unit, such things would be unthinkable! But here...
She sighed. It was foolish to deny that the peculiarities of parahumans' abilities really did require special approaches in each case. Armsmaster without his workshop couldn't be sufficiently effective, but with materials, tinkertech devices, and power cables running directly to his lab-workshop, he became on par with the strongest Protectorate capes. On recruitment posters, he stood alongside the Triumvirate and capes like Myrddin, Eidolon, and Chevalier. So there was definitely merit in accommodating the special needs of each Protectorate hero. But this same attitude destroyed the very concept of discipline.
Moreover, in the army she could punish disciplinary violations, up to and including discharge, and in wartime—court martial. However, with Protectorate heroes, she had virtually no leverage. Yes, fines deducted from their salary. Reprimands. That was all.
"Shut up," Battery elbowed Assault. "Don't interrupt. That was a rhetorical question."
"Now then." Piggot raised her voice, making sure everyone had fallen silent and turned their attention to her. This was an old trick she'd learned in her first months of service—if you shout, no one will listen to you. Just stay quiet and pause, and conversations will stop on their own.
"As you undoubtedly already know, a new parahuman has appeared in our city." She didn't much like saying "cape" or "mask," for that matter. The complete and comprehensive description was "person with paranormal abilities" or, in short, "parahuman." The words "cape" or "mask" were just slang, street expressions, all the more useless since most parahumans didn't wear capes, and some didn't wear masks either. Therefore, in her speech she generally used the term officially recommended for PRT officials—parahumans.
"Armsmaster, please." She gestured with her hand. She felt a slight pang of annoyance when he stared at her for a moment before getting to his feet.
"Two days ago during patrol, we received a signal about a fight involving parahumans. At the corner of Whitmore and Sunset Streets, where a small market opens during the day. At that moment I was at base, in my workshop. By the time I arrived at the scene, the conflict between Lung, thirty-seven members of the ABB gang, and an unknown parahuman had already concluded. Said conflict was terminated due to the inability of one party to continue active operations. Neither during the conflict nor after it were we able to locate the unknown parahuman. Witnesses also saw no one except Lung himself and his people."
"Due to inability..." Assault muttered under his breath. "What an elegant way to euphemistically express 'eaten by bugs.'"
"Thirty-two members of the ABB gang, as well as Lung himself, showed no signs of life upon my arrival. Five died within two hours from extensive shock caused by unknown toxins entering their bloodstream." Armsmaster ignored Assault's comment. "According to autopsy protocol and tissue analysis of the victim, Lung's cause of death was also extensive intoxication, as well as hypoxia caused by mechanical penetration of numerous insects into his respiratory tract."
"Creepy ability," Miss Militia responded, her power forming a flamethrower nozzle in her hand, but she quickly controlled herself and transformed it into a short knife. She sheathed it.
"Currently there is no antidote for the unknown toxin, though its mechanism of action is being studied in PRT laboratories." Armsmaster finished his report and sat down. Piggot was irritated by his habit of just cutting off mid-thought.
"The unknown parahuman has poison-related powers, so it was decided to give him the codename 'Poison Ivy,'" she said, standing and drawing attention again. "He also has the ability to control insects. Apparently, this parahuman is a Master. Possibly a Stranger, since no one saw him. The attack was clearly conducted at range, so Blaster or Shaker classifications aren't ruled out. As for the threat rating... it's very high. Up to rank eight."
"Rank eight!" Assault whistled.
"Thirty-seven people were killed in less than twenty minutes. Such casualties are rare even in military operations," Piggot reminded them dryly. "Everyone remember the protocols for rank eight? Civilian evacuation is priority for all squad operatives. Direct confrontation must be avoided except for special missions and tasks. Operatives should only attack with team support to minimize complications or danger."
"Well, shit! We've got a new Master-class villain with threat rating eight-plus in our city!" Assault exclaimed. "Just what we needed!"
"Are we certain this cape is actually a villain?" Miss Militia spoke up. "Isn't it premature to assign labels? This is the first time we've heard of this cape, and it's possible they just experienced an unfortunate trigger event..."
"You talk like there are fortunate trigger events..." Assault grumbled, dodging Battery's swat. "No, I get it... poisons, insects, terrifying power. And a wagon-load of corpses. I saw the photos... horrifying."
"There is a certain probability that the unknown parahuman is not a villain, and everything that happened was self-defense or inability to properly control newly acquired abilities. Such a probability exists, albeit small," Director Piggot acknowledged. "However, this doesn't mean we can relax. The city's Protectorate and PRT operate based on worst-case scenarios."
"Excuse me, Director," Triumph raised his hand. "What do you consider the worst-case scenario in this specific case?"
"The worst-case scenario is one requiring civilian evacuation," she answered, trying to banish memories of Ellisburg from her mind. What exactly could a parahuman controlling poisonous insects do? Even if he lacked the power to alter the nature of insects or create new ones with specific parameters, such a villain could still hold hostage everyone within his power's range. What if his power could affect the entire city? What if he could create new species of killer insects? Emily shook her head, driving away nightmarish visions of a devastated Brockton Bay with barbed wire along the borders, warning signs reading "Quarantine Zone!" and towers with machine guns and flamethrowers.
"Possible countermeasures—thick clothing with no exposed skin. Also certain types of Brutes whose skin insects cannot penetrate. We note the possibility of not only deflecting attacks but counterattacking. Triumph's power might be effective—acoustic waves can affect insects over a fairly wide radius. Miss Militia might be able to create something like a chemical sprayer or flamethrower with wide-angle coverage. We've also ordered the fastest-acting insecticides that are safe for humans. I believe Aegis here could effectively resist such an attack. Aegis?"
"Ma'am." The formal leader of the Brockton Bay Wards stood up. "Yes. I think I could thicken my skin enough that insect stings couldn't penetrate. Though... it would take some time."
"And time is what we don't have," Assault grumbled. "If Lung had grown to sufficient size, his scales would also be impenetrable... not just to insects, but to large-caliber bullets. I saw him get shot with a Browning back in Japan—there are recordings online. When he destroyed that military base on Kyushu. So what? He's lying in the morgue now. The 'Invincible Dragon,' 'The only one who could fight Leviathan as an equal.'"
"If you have that capability, I'd prefer you always pre-strengthen your skin during patrol," Director Piggot said. "The Wards also have Shadow Stalker, who can definitely escape insect pursuit. And Vista, who can hinder their movement or even trap them in enclosed spaces."
"Shadow Stalker's time in her breaker state is limited," Aegis reminded from his seat.
"Still better than nothing," the director said. "We don't have much information about the new parahuman, so I'm asking everyone to keep their ears and eyes open. If there's an opportunity to learn something about him, take it. However, remember caution and that the new parahuman has a threat rating of eight-plus. Don't engage, don't approach, immediately call for backup as soon as you spot him."
"Maybe it would be wise not to react to 'Poison Ivy' as an enemy from the first meeting?" Miss Militia suggested. "Yes, murder is a serious crime, especially on this scale, but..." She paused, and everyone understood what she was talking about. No one would ever say such things aloud within PRT walls. Political correctness and the obligation to watch their words was in Protectorate heroes' blood. You couldn't approve of killings, especially mass killings. Under no circumstances. The PRT and Protectorate weren't a bunch of vigilantes—no one would ever approve of killing a villain, even if he was a scumbag, rapist, maniac, and murderer. There was procedure, there had to be a trial, a Kill Order had to be issued, and only then... but there was no such order for Lung. Nevertheless, though no one said it aloud, many in the PRT and Protectorate breathed a little easier after news that Lung had finally gotten what was coming to him. Lung and his thugs—good riddance, most PRT staff and Protectorate heroes thought. The city's residents thought so too, except for ABB fighters. Though... maybe even ABB fighters thought so, because legends circulated about Lung's cruel treatment of his own people.
So now Miss Militia was simply expressing the general opinion in mild terms, which boiled down to the simple phrase: "So what if a new parahuman killed a bunch of villains who had it coming."
Director Piggot removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. There it was, she thought, there it was—more proof that all these "parahumans" were unreliable. Sloppy. With constantly shifting moral compasses. They had to be constantly reined in, reminded that their job wasn't fun street brawling but ensuring safety! The best result of Protectorate and PRT work was when nothing happened on the streets. But both "heroes" and "villains" were drawn to each other like magnets... while justifying their behavior with high moral principles.
For the general public, Lung's absence from city streets was cool and fun. But the general public didn't understand that this same Lung had been one of the stability factors in the city. He was invulnerable and constant, he was invincible, but at the same time lacked ambition. Such a powerful parahuman, and all he'd limited himself to was grabbing a small district and setting up casinos and brothels there. That was it. Of course, there were excesses—someone might get a pipe to the head or a knife in the kidney, there were rumors about kidnappings and forced involvement in prostitution, but none of this deviated from statistics. Despite all this, the level of violent crime in gang-controlled neighborhoods was lower than if chaos reigned there. As for the prostitutes... each was ready to invent a sob story about being forced and how she wasn't really like that. After all, they weren't working there for free. So Lung and his ABB were the lesser evil. Police lacked the strength to patrol city streets, let alone the PRT or Protectorate. Strict discipline reigned in the gangs, and no one could rob a shop that already paid protection money or attack a girl working in Lung's brothel.
Of course, if it were up to Emily Piggot, she would have burned out all the scum on the streets with hot iron—both the gangsters and their patrons. However, she lacked sufficient force for this, and attempting to start a war with the gangs could end very badly. Any war meant casualties, mainly among civilians. Moreover, weakening the ABB meant strengthening Empire 88 and vice versa. Early in her tenure as PRT Director of Brockton Bay, she had even made efforts to clean up the city streets, but then she was unambiguously told to work within her authority rather than organizing a crusade. Because it could end badly.
And now some new parahuman was bursting onto her city's streets and playing killer. And her people, Protectorate heroes—approved of this! Not aloud, but she could read faces! That's why she didn't like parahumans. If not for the "Protectorate hero" label slapped on each of their foreheads, she was sure all these heroes would immediately run into the city streets to dispense good and deliver justice. Just like Glory Girl from New Wave, Collateral Damage Barbie.
"It would be wise to react to the new parahuman exactly as written in the manual," she said dryly. "And no other way. We're not playing games here. People are dying on our city's streets at the hands of an unknown maniac and killer. Aegis—stay after the meeting. We need to discuss how the Wards should behave in light of recent events."