by wildbow
D&D picked fight? Pushed by authorities?Drag past convo with Skitter. When?
Putting children at risk
Violation of truce
“…And you seriously expect me to keep my mouth shut about all the dirty little secrets I’ve picked up on over the last few months…”
What does Skitter know? App’tly important.
“…the Slaughterhouse Nine. Either you’ve abandoned that chase, or you’re about to tell me that there’s something more important than stopping them…”
S9? D-check events post-Boston.
Hospital? Skitter & Defiant?
D&D negotiating with villains? Possible cooperation? Corruption?
“…Stand if you side with me!”
Both video and audio were distorted by the movements of students, rising from tables, pushing away from the jumble of bodies.
Stan smiled. There.
He cut out the scene in question, the students siding with Skitter over the heroes, and gave the clip a title. ‘The heart of this story?’
A second later, a note appeared on the side of the window. The crew at the studio had a R.A.T. connecting them to the laptop, and freedom to make changes or add their own details.
Yes—Ed
He had it. The editors at the station were on board.
Now to cobble it together into a story.
He opened a file and began sketching out the script. At the very top, he put up notes, clips he’d need from the station.
There was a knock on the door of the van. Stan opened it to see Marshall with an awkward looking young man. Fifteen or sixteen. He looked despondent. Hangdog.
“He says he was her friend, once.”
“No,” the boy said. “Not exactly. But we sort of knew each other. Had classes together, did group work. And I owe her.”
Stan smiled.
* * *
“…take you now to reporter Stan Vickery.”
“Thank you, Nick. One thousand and two hundred students made their way to Arcadia High for their first day back at school, earlier on this sunny day. They hoped to readjust and get a taste of normal life after weeks spent away from home, or enduring the long series of incidents to afflict Brockton Bay. Less than halfway through their day, those hopes were dashed.”
A video clip replaced the blond man with the mustache and a face lined by years of stress. A massive metal suit, looming at the far end of the school’s parking lot, a mechanized dragon.
“The school became the site of a confrontation between Dragon, a heroine known across the world, and local warlord and leader of the Undersiders, Skitter. Within moments of their meeting on school grounds, Dragon revealed Skitter’s identity as Taylor Hebert, a sixteen year old student. With this revelation came a dozen more questions…”
“Change the channel,” a boy in prison sweats said. “News is boring shit.”
“No,” Sophia said.
Skitter was Taylor. A dozen things fell into place.
Anger boiled within her. Outrage. That cringing, whiny, pathetic little scarecrow was the ruler of Brockton Bay’s underworld? It didn’t fit. It demanded an answer of some sort.
But she couldn’t. As the voice droned on, Sophia turned her attention to the bracelets she wore. There was a live current running through them, and they could be joined together to fashion handcuffs, but even like this, they were bondage. She couldn’t enter her shadow state without passing through the insulated sheath that protected her.
She couldn’t leave, as much as she wanted to, right this moment.
Glowering, a confused, impotent frustration building within her, she fixed her eyes on the television. It swelled within her until she could barely think. She clenched her hands, but she couldn’t squeeze hard enough to release any of the building emotion. She unclenched her fists, extended her fingers, as if reaching for something, but there was nothing she could grab.
There was no release valve for this, no way to vent.
Taylor’s face appeared on the screen in the same moment she hit her limit. She rose from her seat, aware of the guards advancing on her, and kicked the television screen, shattering it, amid the protests and swearing of her fellow inmates.
A second later, they were tackling her. Two guards at once, forcing her to the ground.
She screamed something so incoherent that even she would have been hard pressed to interpret it.
* * *
“Who was she? And what motivated these professed heroes to mobilize on a school, risking the lives of students and staff? Skitter herself wondered aloud about their willingness to put hostages within her reach…”
A clip appeared on the screen. Taylor, sitting on the edge of a counter. She spoke, filled with confidence, almost nonchalant. “You put me in a room with three hundred people I could theoretically take hostage. Why? You can’t be that confident I wouldn’t hurt someone…”
A student abruptly shrieked, thrashing and falling to the ground in her haste to get away.
“Danny,” Kurt said, settling a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You don’t need to watch this.”
Danny shook his head. Kurt looked down the man. He hadn’t even spoken, from the moment he’d opened the door and Lacey had wrapped her arms around him.
“This is bait, isn’t it?” Taylor’s voice, oddly out of place coming from the television.
“The tone of the conversation even implied there were unspoken secrets that Skitter was aware of, that the Protectorate sought to silence,” Stan Vickery spoke, reappearing, with Arcadia High behind him as a backdrop. “Raising questions about what those secrets might be.”
“…You seriously expect me to keep my mouth shut about all the dirty little secrets I’ve picked up on over the last few months?” Taylor’s voice, again.
Danny put his face into his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead in the process. Kurt rubbed his back, while Lacey looked on, sympathetic.
“What did Skitter know, and does it relate to the event on the twentieth of June? Why were Defiant and Dragon willing to abandon their pursuit of the Slaughterhouse Nine?”
“Is…” Danny started to speak, but his voice cracked. He paused, then spoke again. “Is this on me?”
“No!” Lacey said. “No, honey.”
“Those aren’t questions I’d hope to pose any answers to today,” the news reporter said. “The real question is bigger than that, and smaller at the same time. What forces drive a child from this…”
A teenage boy, his eyes downcast. “She was nice, quiet. I know people won’t believe me when I say it, but she was a genuinely good person. Is. Is a good person. At heart. I’m sorry, Taylor.”
“To this?”
It switched to Taylor’s voice, calm, unruffled, accompanied by the same long-distance, low resolution footage of her sitting on the counter in the school cafeteria. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of. I’ve mutilated people. Carved out a man’s eyes, emasculated him. I’ve chopped off a woman’s toes. Flayed people alive with the bites of thousands of insects. Hell, what I did to Triumph… he nearly died, choking on insects, the venom of—”
Kurt turned off the television. Danny was frozen, unmoving, staring down at his hands.
“It was context,” Lacey said, quiet. “She was acting. I’m sure—”
She broke off as Kurt shook his head. Doing more damage than good.
“We’re going to stick by you, okay, Dan?” Kurt spoke. “Let’s have you come by our place. Better you aren’t alone right now, yeah? And it’ll get you away from those reporters.”
Danny didn’t respond. He stayed hunched over the kitchen table.
“Unless you want to wait here for her, in case?” Lacey asked.
“She already said goodbye,” Danny replied, pushing against the table to help himself rise to a standing position. “I think that’s it.”
* * *
“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of. I’ve mutilated people. Carved out a man’s eye
s, emasculated him. I’ve chopped off a woman’s toes. Flayed people alive with the bites of thousands of insects. Hell, what I did to Triumph… he nearly died, choking on insects, the venom of a hundred bee stings making his throat close up.”
“And what drives dozens of students to reject the heroes of this city in favor of the villain in charge?” Stan asked.
The widescreen television showed the students rising from the tables, joining Skitter. Another clip followed, showing students actively wrestling with the heroes.
“Christ,” the Director spoke.
Beside her successor, Piggot was watching in silence, elbows on the table, hands folded in front of her mouth.
“This could have been avoided,” the Director said. “On multiple levels.”
“Most likely,” Defiant replied. He stood at one end of the long table, Dragon beside him.
“If you would have cut off the feed, deleted the footage from phones, we would have had time to do damage control.”
“We won’t ignore people’s first amendment rights,” Defiant said.
“…The PRT and the Protectorate have refused to comment, and the silence is damning, in light of what occurred today,” the reporting continued in the background. “Brockton Bay has become the latest, greatest representation of the troubles the world faces in this new age, and perhaps a representation of the world’s hopes…”
“You’re better than this, Dragon,” Piggot spoke. “To the point that I’m left wondering… did you steer all of this in this direction?”
“If you try to place the blame on us,” Defiant replied, “I think you’ll be unpleasantly surprised.”
“This event,” the reporter spoke, “Points to something else entirely, a fatal flaw in the system, the latest and greatest representation of the Protectorate’s steady collapse.”
Director Tagg, Piggot’s latest successor, picked up the remote and muted the television.
Defiant shifted his weight, clasping his hands behind his back. The body language was smug, somehow.
Piggot glanced at each of the people who were seated at the table. Mr. Tagg, the Director of Brockton Bay’s PRT, Director Armstrong from Boston, and Director Wilkins from New York were all present. Mr. Keene sat opposite her. A camera mounted on the table gave the Chief Director of the PRT eyes on the meeting, where she watched from Washington.
Nobody else seemed willing to answer Defiant, some simply staring at him, others watching the segment on the wall-mounted television. She spoke, “I would remind you that you are on a strict probation, with terms you agreed to.”
“I am,” Defiant said. “Would you arrest me for being insubordinate? Or would it take something more substantial?”
“Test us and you’ll find out,” Director Tagg responded.
“And what would happen then? Would you send me to the Birdcage?” Defiant asked.
The question was heavy with the reminder that it was Dragon who maintained and managed the Birdcage.
Emily Piggot was caught between a desire to feel smug and quiet fear. She’d warned them. She’d communicated her concerns at every opportunity, through channels that Dragon wouldn’t be able to track. She’d been dismissed, shrugged off, when she raised the question of what might happen if Dragon was killed in battle, or if Dragon turned against them.
“I’d like to hear a response from Dragon,” Piggot said.
Dragon turned her head to look at her, face hidden behind an expressionless mask and unblinking, opaque lenses. There was something about the movement that seemed off. Both the movement and the silence that followed was oddly disturbing.
“No? No response?”
“A consequence of our recent visit to Brockton Bay,” Defiant said. “I’m hoping she’ll be better in a few days.”
Curious, Piggot observed, the note of emotion in his voice, at that simple statement.
As if eager to change the subject, Director Armstrong said, “Mr. Keene. Thoughts? How does this affect your department?”
Piggot turned her attention to the man. She’d only had limited interactions with him, but the man had earned her respect quickly enough. He wasn’t a Director, but rather the liaison between the Protectorate and various other superhero teams worldwide, organizing deals, ensuring that everyone held to the same code of conduct, and ensuring that the groups could all coordinate in times of emergency.
“It’s catastrophic,” Keene said. “I can manage some damage control, offer further aid, manipulate the grants available, but I can’t build on a foundation that isn’t there.”
“Where do our biggest problems lie?”
“The C.U.I. is first to mind. The Suits and the King’s Men will cooperate, because they have to. For the American teams, it varies from case to case. But we’re in the middle of negotiations with the C.U.I., and this won’t reflect well on us. That is, it won’t if we can’t get our footing here and make a strong showing at the next major event.”
The next major event. The idea seemed to give everyone pause.
“Something needs to change,” Defiant said.
“Somehow, Colin,” Piggot replied, “I think our ideas on what needs to change are very different.”
“Very likely,” he said, his voice hard. “But this was a last straw for us, in many ways. We have a few stipulations for our continued assistance.”
“Defiant,” Tagg interrupted him. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”
He’s a hard man, Piggot thought. Army, PRT squad leader, a general, not a politician. Ironic, that they’d butt heads. “Director Tagg, you asked me here as a consultant, so allow me to consult.”
Tagg turned his attention to her.
She continued, “I don’t like this scenario any more than you do. But let’s hear Defiant’s demands before you reject him out of hand.”
Director Tagg didn’t reply, but he turned his attention back to Defiant and he didn’t speak.
“Dragon and I have discussed this in-depth. We need the present Directors to admit culpability for the incident, and we need to clean house, with in-depth background checks and investigations into any prominent member of the PRT. We can’t maintain things as they are with the spectre of Cauldron looming over us.”
“You’d have us fire any number of PRT employees at a time when we’re struggling to retain members?” Tagg asked, almost aghast.
“And relieving capes from duty at the same time,” Defiant said. “With so few employees, it’s ridiculous to continue working to shut down leaks and control the flow of information. Dragon has expressed concerns over having to do this in the past, and between the two of us, we’ve agreed that the censorship stops tonight, at midnight.”
Tagg rose from his seat, opening his mouth to speak—
“I agree,” Piggot spoke before her successor could.
Heads turned.
“It’s a misuse of resources,” she said. “And we do need to clean house.”
“You don’t have a position to lose,” Tagg replied.
“I wouldn’t lose it anyways,” she retorted. “I’ve had no contact with Cauldron.”
Keene clapped his hands together once, then smiled, “Well said. We have nothing to fear if we aren’t connected to them.”
“You realize what they’re doing, don’t you?” Tagg asked. “How does this investigation happen? Dragon has her A.I. rifle through all known records and databases. We defeat the sole purpose of the PRT, by putting the parahumans themselves in a position of power!”
“That ship has long sailed,” Keene commented. “With the revelations about Chief Director Costa-Brown, if you’ll pardon my saying.”
“You’re pardoned,” the Chief Director’s voice sounded over the speaker, crystal clear. “I think this would pose more problems than it solves. We’ll have to turn you down, Defiant.”
“Then I don’t see much of a reason for us to stay,” Defiant replied.
“And if you leave, the assumption is that we’ll be left without Dr
agon’s ability to maintain every system and device she’s created for us. The PRT without a Birdcage, without our computer systems or database, without the specialized grenade loadouts or the containment foam dispensers.”
“An unfortunate consequence,” Defiant said.
“Not a concern at all,” the Chief Director replied.
There was a pause. Dragon glanced at Defiant.
“No?” Defiant asked.
“No. We’ve been in contact with an individual who has a proven track record with Dragon’s technology. He feels equipped, eager, almost, to step into Dragon’s shoes should she take a leave of absence.”
“Saint,” Defiant said. “You’re talking about the leader of the Dragonslayers. Criminal mercenaries.”
“My first priority is and always has been protecting people. If it’s a question between abandoning the security the Birdcage offers the world at large or requesting the assistance of a scoundrel—”
“A known murderer,” Defiant said.
“I wouldn’t throw stones,” Tagg replied, his voice a growl.
“—a known murderer, even,” the Chief Director continued, as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “I will take security without question.”
Defiant looked at Dragon.
“The second dilemma I have to pose to you two,” the Chief Director continued, “Is simple. What do you expect will happen when the next Endbringer arrives? Between Dragon’s brilliant mind and Defiant’s analysis technologies, I’m sure you’ve given the matter some consideration. Without the Protectorate, how does the event tend to unfold?”
Piggot studied the pair, trying to read their reactions. They were so hard to gauge, even if she ignored the armor.
“It doesn’t go well,” Defiant said. “It doesn’t go well even if we assume the present Protectorate is coordinated and in peak fighting condition.”
“We can’t afford a loss,” the Chief Director said. “You know it as well as I do. Now, tell me there isn’t room for a middle ground.”