by wildbow
“Hey, Taylor?” Lacey asked. Her voice was overly gentle, and for a moment I thought she was going to mention my mom again. I winced a little.
“What?” I turned around in my seat, as much as I was able with my seatbelt on.
“Just wanted to say thanks. For the warning. You told your dad that Shatterbird was around, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“He told us. We were careful. I don’t know if it saved our lives or not, but thanks for watching out for him, and helping us out as collater—collar—”
“You’re welcome,” I said, before she could fumble over her words any further.
I was glad he was in touch with them. From what I’d seen, I’d been left with worries that my dad was all on his lonesome. Introverted people like him, like us, were best paired with the Kurts of the world. Or the Lisas. People that wouldn’t be ignored or shrugged off, people who pushed the boundaries, so to speak, and drew us out of our shells.
I enjoyed the drive as we made our way downtown, more than I thought I would. My dad and Kurt knew each other well enough that their dialogue flowed easily, and the same went for Lacey and Kurt, what with the pair being married. I had a feeling that, by the end, Kurt was feeling like he’d wound up on the short end of both exchanges.
The town hall had survived the waves. The stone building had crenelations and an American flag over the door. We joined the trail of people who were filing in, walking past stands with the posters and images of the candidates, booklets of brochures about the issues and stands with newspapers from neighboring cities. My dad and Kurt grabbed a few papers each and put them into the plastic bags that had been made available to us. It was a nice thought, putting those out. There wasn’t any TV at present and we had to keep abreast of what was going on somehow.
The signs led us past the old historical courthouse and to the auditorium. We’d expected the seats to be filled, leaving us only with standing room, but the opposite was true. The back of the auditorium and the rear rows were filled with reporters and camera crews, and the rest of the crowd had filled in random spaces on the benches. Five or six hundred people. Somehow less than I’d thought.
It was an odd election, in a way. The city had been without working computers for a week and a half, most had lost their cell phones, and were left without landlines. An election without media for advertisement. For many here, this would be the first and last time they heard a candidate’s stances on the issues before voting. Was this how it had been in the past? When poorer households hadn’t gotten newspapers and there hadn’t been televisions or radios?
I looked at the candidates. A dark haired woman in a dark blue suit, a blond man, and the older incumbent, Mayor Christner. How many others in this auditorium were aware? Some time ago, Coil had told us that two of the candidates for office had been bought. Mayor Christner… well, I could remember standing in his backyard, him pointing a gun at me, pleading for me to step in and save his son’s life.
Would the debate turn to the subject of him arguing against the condemnation of the city, and if it did, how would Christner justify the decision he’d made?
I was caught between an ugly feeling of guilt and genuine curiosity in how the event would play out. Mostly guilt, but I couldn’t do anything about that. I’d done what had to be done.
On the curiosity side of things, I wondered momentarily if either of Coil’s mayoral candidates had military backgrounds or if he’d hand-picked his politicians the same way he selected his elite soldiers.
That train of thought ground to a halt as something caught my attention.
It was habit, now, to have my bugs sweeping over my surroundings, giving me a perpetual sense of what was going on in the surrounding three or four city blocks. When the vans found parking spots around the building, it didn’t even warrant a conscious thought. When the soldiers began filing out of the vans, it startled me. Men and women with machine guns and body armor. Not PRT.
No. Definitely not PRT.
The armored limousine pulled into the middle of the street, just outside the front doors. By the time Coil climbed out of the vehicle, his soldiers were either just past the doors on either side of the building or standing at the ready to accompany him by the front.
Coil, here? It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t the type to show himself. It didn’t fit how he operated. Hell, if the mayor was here, his son would be too. Triumph would be in the crowd.
I glanced at my dad, and he squeezed my hand, “Not too bored?”
I shook my head, trying to keep my expression placid as my mind raced.
Coil was making his play right here, right now.
Monarch 16.8
There was a tap on the microphone. “If we could have silence from the audience, please?”
The low murmur of conversation throughout the auditorium gradually died down. The place wasn’t full, but four out of every five seats were filled, and there were more people at the back, primarily reporters, many from out of town.
My eye darted across the room, trying to assess the situation. The heavy woman in the front row, was that Piggot? It made sense that every person worth talking about would be present. The disasters and Tattletale’s attack on the cell towers meant that there wasn’t TV, there weren’t phones, and the only way for interested parties to find out what the candidates had to say was actually attending.
Outside of the auditorium, Coil’s men gathering in the lobby and at the sides of the building. Some were taking point on the roof, gathering in pairs, working together to assemble sniper rifles. Preparing for a fight. For a war.
Coil was in the lobby, now, and he was joined by others. I could recognize Circus by the sledgehammer she was carrying, the metal head dragging on the floor. Coil said something and she lifted it up. Was he talking about the noise? It shouldn’t matter. He was accompanied by two others I didn’t recognize. A teenage guy and a larger, more athletic man in a heavy metal frame.
“Thank you to everyone for coming. Tonight is a three-way debate. Let me introduce your candidates, starting with Mr. Roy Christner, our mayor incumbent. We also have Mrs. Carlene Padillo, city councilor of communications; and Mr. Keith Grove, C.E.O. of Eaststar Financial. Tonight’s subjects are crime, public safety and the state of the city. Would you start us off, Mayor Christner? What sets you apart from the other candidates in your views?”
I glanced over my shoulder to verify what I was seeing with my bugs. A young man was making his way up the aisle with a toddler, straight for Coil.
“I won’t lie,” Christner said. I glanced his way, saw how haggard he looked. In a way it worked for him, made him look determined. “Things are bad. The situation’s improved from where it was weeks ago, but we’re still in an ugly situation. No less than forty percent of the city has evacuated, hospitals are overflowing, and villains claim to own the streets…”
I looked back to the dad and his kid. They opened the door, stepping through, and two of Coil’s soldiers were on them before they could open their mouths and shout a warning. Putting hands over mouths, the soldiers retreated from the door, separating dad from child. Within seconds, both were being gagged and restrained.
The door closed on its own, leaving nobody any wiser to what was going on.
“…involved with the defense every step along the way. I’ve discussed the subject with Legend, with Dragon and with Chief Director Costa-Brown of the PRT. Daily, I’ve been talking with and working with Director Piggot to see what actions need to be taken to see this city restored to what it once was.”
“That’s setting the bar pretty damn low,” Grove said, gripping the sides of his podium.
“No interruptions, please,” the moderator spoke. Christner waved her off. “You concede the remainder of your turn, Mayor?”
“Let’s hear what Grove has to say.”
“Very well. Mr. Grove. Two minutes to speak.”
“He wants to restore the city to what it was? I think he’s wanting us to forget t
hat half of our city was a cesspool before the Endbringer came. Many of you in the audience live in the north end. You know how bad it was. Or maybe the Mayor is referring to the city’s heyday, when the docks were bustling with activity and the entire city could hear the ships coming in and out of the ports. If he’s trying to convince you we’ll return to that time, he’s telling you an outright falsehood. The Lord’s Port, known to many as the ship graveyard, would cost the city twenty-three million dollars just to clear away the damaged ships and dispose of them. That’s not getting into the cost of actually refurbishing the area and updating it to modern standards. Or the fact that anyone approaching within a mile and a half of the area is subjected to uncontrollable, suicidal despair. I visited. I know.”
I sent a message to Coil, drawing words with my bugs.
‘I’m here. Stop.’
He broke up the words with a casual wave of his hands, scattering the bugs. Almost dismissive. Of course he wouldn’t stop now. He’d made little secret about how important his plans were to him, and to stop now, at a moment this important?
“The mayor wants to take us back to where we were? That’s not good enough. I’m proposing that we make this an opportunity. The slate, in many ways, has been wiped clean. Let’s start over again. There’s national and international funding that’s been put in place to help recover from Endbringer attacks and events of gross parahuman involvement. My budget, which is detailed in handouts that will be provided in the lobby, details how we’ll use our tax dollars and that recovery funding to rejuvenate the city. The ferry, which has become a local in-joke, will be started up once more. Low-cost, high-yield housing plans for the north end, demolition and reconstruction on a large scale for Downtown and other damaged areas, and marketing to the rest of the United States to promote and sell Brockton Bay as a symbol of perseverance and human spirit, drawing in new residents and tourism.”
“Councillor Padillo,” the moderator spoke. “Any response?”
“Keith Grove is not addressing the question. He paints a pretty picture, but he doesn’t mention the presence of the local supervillains or the pressures they put on us…”
I fidgeted. Could I attack? Should I attack? If I left now, maybe stepped into the side hallway, I could maybe avoid the soldiers, get to a vantage point where I could mount a counterattack against Coil.
Except I didn’t know what he was planning, and my dad was here. I could take my dad, but then I risked having to explain what was happening, and it would mean leaving Kurt, Alexander and Lacey behind. It meant leaving all these other civilians behind.
It wasn’t practical to bring anyone else along, but I couldn’t bring myself to run from my dad, here. I couldn’t say why, how or any of that, but I felt as though leaving my dad behind here would mean I could never come back. That it would break our relationship, whether it was me getting outed as a supervillain, a break in whatever tenuous bond of trust we had or because one of us would die.
I tended to be more rational than emotional. If I was being totally honest with myself, though, my rationalizations were pretty heavily influenced by my feelings. I could come up with a rational justification for pretty much any course of action. It had led me this far. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
Councilor Padillo was still talking, even as my mind raced. “…Points to a mismanagement of resources. The Mayor would like us to believe that he was involved in genuine efforts to save this city. I can’t believe he would want to be associated with the PRT’s operations as of late. Loss after loss on the part of our heroes. The losses aren’t the fault of the heroes, it’s even understandable, given the sheer power wielded by the likes of the Endbringer, of the Slaughterhouse Nine and the various other threats within the city…”
Coil was moving, now, his people getting in rank and file around him, his pet parahumans standing by.
I had to make my call. Stand up to him and jeopardize everything I’d been working towards? Here, now, with Coil drawing on his power, with three parahumans and no less than twenty elite soldiers who I knew were entirely capable of hitting what they were aiming at, backing him up? Even if I stayed hidden in the crowd, I couldn’t say for sure that he wouldn’t spot me or my dad and order one of his people to move.
The alternative was that I could do as I’d been ordered, avoiding any costumed activity; trust Coil and his power to handle the situation. I hated him, on a level, but I knew he was smart. And I knew he knew I was here; I’d asked Lisa and she’d asked him if it was okay. He had to have a plan for dealing with me if I took any action.
“…Open fighting in the streets. No, the blame lies with the PRT and the mayor’s administration, which he admits was heavily involved in the decisions made. Highly questionable decisions: holding back when they could have intervened. Forcing confrontations when our heroes were gravely outmatched.”
I saw Piggot shifting uncomfortably in her seat at that. Had this been arranged? A staged scene?
Coil started striding for the closed double doors that led to the back of the auditorium, flanked by Circus and the other parahuman, rank after rank of his soldiers following.
I gripped my dad’s hand, held it tight, and stayed where I was.
The doors banged open. Coil, Circus and… Über was with him, in a heavy metal suit, Leet stood off to one side, holding what looked like a ray gun. People screamed, and it set off a chain reaction of responses throughout the auditorium. People started running for the other exits, only to have their paths barred as more soldiers emerged.
My dad and I stayed in our seats, and I crouched low in front of my seat, pulling my dad down so he would be under cover.
“What the hell?” the Mayor growled into his microphone. “Coil?”
“Mister Mayor,” Coil spoke.
“This is insanity,” Grove spoke.
“Genius sometimes looks that way to those who don’t see the whole picture.” Coil had advanced far enough down the aisle that I could see him clearly. He turned to take in the crowd, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought he’d stop when his eyes fell on me. His head kept moving, and he walked further down the aisle, closer to the stage.
Grove said, “The local heroes—”
“Are occupied. Fires started at select locations, areas where the damage won’t be immediate, but where they cannot be allowed to spread. One such fire is at your headquarters. My apologies. I wanted to target high-priority areas. The other fires will occupy the members of the Undersiders and Travelers and slow them down as they recover from the loss of their individual headquarters.”
I tensed at that. How much of it was a bluff?
“You bastard,” the Mayor growled. “First my niece, now this?”
Niece?
Of course. I’d heard Dinah was niece to one of the mayoral candidates. I hadn’t realized she was the niece to the mayor.
“She’s safe and sound,” Coil said. “As are any people here without a title. If you’re the mayor, or a candidate for mayor, if you call yourself chief of police, lieutenant, director or major, I’m afraid I can’t promise your safety.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Let me demonstrate. Circus?”
Circus was walking through the assembled crowd as though she were on solid ground, but each footstep was onto the back of one of the auditorium seats. She extended her arms out to either side, fingers splayed, then closed her hands into fists. Knives stuck out from the spaces between each finger.
Mr. Grove and Mrs. Padillo ran first, and Mayor Christner was only steps behind. It didn’t matter. Circus flung her arms forward and each of the eight knives hit the mark.
People stood from their seats and for long moments I couldn’t see what happened on the stage after that. I only felt the bodies hit the floor with the bugs. I didn’t dare move the bugs to try to see exactly where the knives had landed.
Coil’s soldiers were holding the reporters and cameramen at gunpoint. I raised myself up high enough to se
e him turning around to face the largest group of cameras. “The other villains want to seize the city from below. To start at the streets, out of sight, to remove any who would threaten their rule, and claim the various districts one by one. They ignore the fact that there are others in power who aren’t superhuman. Ordinary mortals with the power to make decisions that affect its citizens.
“I would take the more direct route. Brockton Bay is mine. I will make the decisions, claim and distribute the taxes and decide who sits in seats of power. Anyone who would disagree will face the same fate as the mayor, Mr. Grove and Mrs. Padillo.”
I rose up enough to get a glimpse of the stage. The mayor was lying on his back, chest rising and falling with too much force, as if he was sucking in lungfuls of air and then forcing them out with just as much strength. He had a knife sticking out of the middle of his torso, another in his shoulder, and yet another in his leg. My father pulled me down before I could see the others.
The mayor wasn’t dead, but he looked like the man might be dying. Was I condoning this by staying silent? I’d told myself I would let Coil’s plan play out until he did something unconscionable and this threatened to cross the line. It was only the fact that the mayor was still alive and the fact that I couldn’t think of what I might do to intervene that kept me on the sidelines, hiding from the soldiers and the assault rifles they were wielding.
“You cannot expect this to succeed,” the voice blared over the speakers.
“Director Piggot,” Coil spoke. “I must admire your courage, putting yourself in the line of fire so soon after your last escapade. Kidnapped by the Undersiders, weren’t you?”
Through my bugs, I could sense how Piggot was leaning heavily on a desk just in front of the stage, using the debate moderator’s microphone. “This plan of yours was doomed from the outset. Just for what you’ve done, threatening these people and ordering the execution of those three on the stage, they’ll send the entire Protectorate after you. America will demand it. Or are you so mad you think we’ll let you crown yourself king?”