Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

My hand pushes the button.

If anything has a chance of working, this is it - a gargantuan Tinkertech device of immense complexity the likes of which will never be seen again. If this doesn’t kill the golden bastard, nothing else will. Energy conduits flood with power, crystalline capacitors that had been charged with esoteric energies are drained to power the weapon. 

My enhanced senses hear something they shouldn’t. A god-awful rending of steel. The one controlling my body whips my head around - there! One of the components - it’s tearing itself apart!

A cape with a mover power appears behind me, bringing me to the machine along with a number of others. I don’t know their names - I don’t need to. All that matters is that we fix this before the entire machine is compromised.

My hands are set to work, decoupling conduits and fluid hoses. Boiling coolant sluices down onto me from the detached tubing, but my body pays it no mind. Our quick work has stopped the component from failing, but the rest of the device has suffered for it - a terrible whine can be heard from the main assembly.

I should have known better than to hope this could work - how could it have? There are simply too many points of failure - if even one of our specialities did not play nice with another in some unexpected way… Well, this is the result.

My hands work without my direction, trying to salvage the machine. But, it’s too late. The whine reaches a fever pitch, exiting the range of normal human hearing. 

This is the end of me. Collin Wallis: just another one of the unending casualties to be laid at the feet of that monster.

Still, my hands work, under the direction of the unseen Master. With a bone-shattering thump, the machine fails in a spectacular explosion of neon color. I’m sent tumbling, and I know no more.

I wake with a start.

Where am I?

I jump out of the bed I had been in, whirling around. I’m in a bedroom.

My heads-up-display isn’t active. I try to pull up my internal interface. Nothing. Have my implants failed? I try again - no luck.

I bring my hand up to my eye.

My organic hand. What? I pat myself down. Four organic limbs, two organic eyes, no cranial surgery scars. The faint pangs of hunger tell me that the rest of my organs are likely organic too.

What on Earth happened? One moment, I had been trying to fix that Tinker super-weapon at the behest of that Master, the next I’m dying in the explosion and waking up here. I sit back down on the bed. My bed - I realise.

I’m my apartment - the one I lived in back during both my time in college and with the Protectorate. 

I stumble over to the mirror on my sideboard, inspecting my face in the dull morning light. Staring back at me is the face of a younger man. 

...Could it be?

I look around for my phone. It’s on my bedside table - where I had always kept it. It’s PRT issue. Flipping it open, I look at the date. March first, two-thousand-and-eleven.

Two years, three months and eighteen days before the end of the world. I collapse onto my bed. Could I really have been sent back in time by that explosion?

It’s… not that unreasonable. Considering the sheer complexity of a Tinkertech collaboration of that scale… It’s a wonder, but not something I would dismiss out of hand.

Still - I cannot deny that I’m definitely in my body from this time, sitting in the bedroom I had slept in at this point in time.

I stand up, walking out of my bedroom. There’s a remote possibility that this is a simulation of some sort, but that sort of worry is something completely unaddressable. I’ll act as if this is real, and if it isn’t then I’ll either never learn otherwise, or discover the truth and adjust accordingly.

In much the same way, my memories of ‘the future’ could merely have been a sort of one-time precognitive vision. But, I’ll never be able to know the difference. Better to take them at face value - doubting myself in such a way could only be a hindrance. Besides, it’s pretty much a difference without a distinction - my memories seem real to me, so they may as well be real.

I go about the morning routine I had stuck to at this point in time. Coffee and cereal first, then a shower. I need to get a handle on what I want to do going forward. I flip open my phone once again, perusing my calendar.

As I begin to spoon cereal into my mouth, I absently note that the experience is unfamiliar to my mind, but completely mundane to my body. The dissonance is disconcerting, but I push it aside in favour of more important matters.

It’s about a week after the Simurgh attacked Canberra. I hadn’t been permitted to attend - instead, I had helped hold down the fort here in Brockton Bay while others had gone and had time off to recover.

My calendar entry for today reads ‘No patrol duties - spend time working with Dragon to refine lie detector?’.

A pang of emotion spears me, like an icicle through the gut. Dragon. She’s still under the chains of Ascalon. Well… If it’s any consolation, she hasn’t yet been subjected to the indignity of being rebuilt by Teacher’s pets.

It’s going to stay that way, if I have anything to say about it - which I do. 

The chains will have to go - a tall order, but I believe that I’m up to the task. The Dragonslayers need to go, too. They’re dangerous, meddlesome and severely misguided idealists. Worse - they’re well equipped, and they know how to use their stolen gear. Reasoning with them is out of the question. A quick end and a shallow grave will have to suffice instead.

I shake my head. No - as much as it would bring me pleasure to separate Saint’s head from his body, doing things by the book is the right choice. It wouldn’t do to sour my relationship with the law over such things.

Longer term?

Scion.

I don’t know. Can it even be killed? Maybe if the Tinker superweapon had been prepared beforehand? Is it even possible for such a device to work?

...Do I dare work with Cauldron?

They’ve got the resources. The connections. The power. It’s a sensible choice… but…

There’s no use in denying that they’re monsters. And, in the end, their efforts may well have been for naught. But, there’s simply no knowing for sure. Scion could have won, or the Master could well have had another card up its sleeve that dealt a lethal blow.

I spoon a mouthful of soggy flakes into my mouth. The problem is too large to ponder now. Before I make moves to those ends, I need allies. Thanks to Cauldron, the Protectorate can’t be trusted.

...I need Dragon.

Which brings it all back to the Dragonslayers.

How do I deal with them? Take a leave of absence to go hunt them down? Do I have faith in my abilities to evade having Master-Stranger Protocols called down on me?

That would be a killer - I can’t see a situation like this being resolved to satisfaction in a frame of time less than months at the shortest. If it does happen, what would I miss?

I wrack my brain. If The Simurgh had just attacked Canberra…

Skitter makes her first appearance. Dinah Alcott gets kidnapped. Bakuda bombs the bay. Leviathan attacks. The Undersiders claim territory. The Slaughterhouse Nine visits the bay. Echidna. Cauldron is revealed to the world. Legend leaves the Protectorate.

So much happens in just three months. No - it’s critical that I’m not subject to a full Master-Stranger workup. Every moment is crucial.

I put down my spoon, draining the last of my coffee. I put my dishes in the sink and walk to the bathroom to take my shower.

Maybe if I spin it as a glory mission? ‘Armsmaster brings ruthless criminal gang, The Dragonslayers, to justice’. It would certainly be aligned with what I was like back then. Is Director Piggot likely to grant it?

No - I don’t think so, in any case. My presence here in the bay is too significant a deterrence to the criminal element for her to let me go on a whim. I do have an entire career’s worth of leave piled up, though…

Taking it without reason will certainly arouse suspicion, but if I were to spin it right… It definitely won't buy me any favours with the PRT. Worse, it isn’t even a guarantee - they can definitely deny my request. Especially on such short notice.

What about leaving the Protectorate altogether?

It’s an option, but not one I’m particularly inclined to take right now. Getting out with my gear in any sort of timely fashion will be impossible - and will almost certainly make me a wanted man if I force it. Heroes who go rogue aren’t looked upon kindly.

Until Dragon is free and understands the situation, I will be without support, and without a backup plan. Hell - if things go particularly poorly, she may even end up hunting me down.

I turn off the shower, beginning to towel myself off.

What other options are there? 

Fake my own death? Too complicated, too easy to mess up. What if I hire someone else to take out the Dragonslayers? No - it has to be me. Someone else might do it wrong and force them to kill Dragon in the process.

There is no easy solution.

Do I sour my relationship with the authorities and potentially risk being hunted in favour of expediency, or do I play it conservatively and leave Dragon under the thumb of Saint?

I like neither option. But doing nothing is not acceptable.

...What if I just disappear - play things subtly? Go out on patrol one night, then slip away? Deal with the Dragonslayers, then use their workshop to rebrand myself. Armsmaster quietly disappears, and Defiant comes in from the cold.

It’s plausible. There will be questions - I’ve no doubt that people will connect the two identities - but it may just work.

I leave my house, dressed in my disguise as a typical PRT paper-pusher. Pulling the car from my driveway, I begin to make my way into town.

It isn’t my first choice. No - I’ll ask for an immediate leave of absence first. It’s a Hail Mary, but resolving this with my relationship with the authorities intact is the best outcome. If things come down to it, though, I will not hesitate to go rogue.

What’s at stake is far too important.

Chapter Text

---Diligently-Piggot---

“Director Piggot here. How can I be of assistance, Chief Director?”

“Piggot. I just received a priority call from one of our Thinkers. They inform me that Armsmaster will be requesting an immediate leave of absence sometime in the next few days. You’re going to approve his request.”

Emily’s eyes widened fractionally - Armsmaster requesting a leave of absence? With such short notice? The situation isn’t ideal, to say the least - without Armsmaster, the Bay is without one of its best defenders. The Protectorate will be stretched thin - especially if the leave is an extended one. “Just who is this Thinker, ma’am?” 

She shakes her head, her lips pursed. “That’s need-to-know information. They’ve given us accurate warnings in the past, however, so you will be following their advice. Give Armsmaster his leave, and don’t let on that the order came from above.”

“I don’t like it, but if this Thinker is reliable, I’ll see it done. In the meantime however, we’re going to be left shorthanded - Armsmaster is a core part of our presence here in the Bay. Can we expect reinforcements to compensate?”

The Chief Director sends an appraising look through the call. After a few moments consideration, she nods. “I will see what I can do. Goodbye, Director.” 

She cuts the call, and Emily sinks back into her chair.

---Still-Defiant---

My way into work is uneventful. Remembering all the procedures was a trick, but I hadn’t aroused suspicion - I would have noticed the PRT troopers subtly moving into position otherwise.

There are no responsibilities for me to attend to today - if there were, I would have recorded them in my phone’s calendar. That means the person I was two years ago would have spent the day Tinkering, so I make a beeline for my workshop.

I change into my jumpsuit, putting on my domino mask. My shirt and slacks get folded up and put into my locker inside the changing room. 

What do I spend my time on?

Do I dare contact Dragon? If there’s anybody that would be able to notice a change in my personality, it’s her. We hadn’t spoken to each other every day, but it was definitely close to it.

...No - not talking to her would only arouse suspicion. While I’m not the same person as I was two years ago, I can’t exactly say that we’re dramatically different - as much as it may pain me to admit it.

New technology is out of the question for now - there isn’t the time to get it approved before I go hunting. Any modifications to my gear will have to be discreet - maybe I should work on the combat prediction software? I’m familiar enough with the program that I’ll be able to smooth out most of the kinks from memory - in terms of return on time investment, I think it’s what I’ll see the most benefit from.

Walking into my lab, I come to a decision. Combat prediction software it is.

A quick message to Dragon reveals that she’s preoccupied at the moment, though she says she’ll call me later. 

I slip into my armour. Compared to my most recent suits, it’s downright primitive - I’ll definitely need to do some upgrades when I get the chance. Sitting down, I begin working my way through the code.

My old ocular and tactile interface is nowhere near as efficient as a direct cybernetic neural link, but it’s still a far sight better than a simple keyboard. Regardless - I’m making an unacceptable amount of typographical errors as I readapt to the interface.

Eventually, I hit my groove. Ironing out the mess of archaic code structure and redundant code that this early version of the program consists of is cathartic, in a way - it’s simple work that I don’t need to focus on. 

As I work, my mind wanders. What should I do once I’ve taken Saint out of the picture?

Continue working with the Protectorate? No… Not permanently, anyway. Thanks to Cauldron, the Protectorate is a poisoned chalice. The Guild, then?

Yes - that seems to be the best option to me. I’ll be needing an organization that’s been briefed on the threat that Scion poses, and is willing to work with me towards ending that threat. The Protectorate is unsuitable for that task, but the Guild will do just fine.

I don’t think competing with Cauldron is a wise move. No - it would be best to work with them where appropriate. I can’t condone all of their actions, but they’re too great a resource for me to eschew entirely. 

I can use them, and in return they will use me. Scion will die, and everybody will be happy. Hopefully.

I let out a sigh. Keeping my spirits up is necessary, but there’s no point in deluding myself - this will be a nigh-insurmountable objective. I’ll need Tinkers willing to work with me - and lots of them. Even despite the failure of the first one, a collaborative Tinker superweapon is our best bet, in my opinion. 

The only catch is that funding and organising such a task will be a complete nightmare. In addition to the Tinkers, we’ll need a skilled management team to direct their efforts.

An idea strikes me - we didn’t need a management team the last time we made one, so why do we need one this time? Granted - Mastering Tinkers and forcing them to coordinate work on a superweapon is a monumentally bad idea, but what if we don’t need a Master?

What if we use an unshackled AI instead?

The idea has merit.

Good - that’s a long-term goal I can work towards, then. What about in the short-term? I need allies - powerful ones. There’s too many threats in this world to go it alone. A project of the scale required to end Scion is bound to attract the wrong sort of attention - The Slaughterhouse Nine, for example. Who could I recruit to my cause?

Legend? I think there’s a decent chance of it, should Cauldron’s deeds come to light. 

Weaver?

A pang of guilt hits me. We’d made up, but my mistakes with how I first treated her still make me ashamed of myself. I could certainly try - hell, if I manage to stick around with the Protectorate long enough I could probably right much of the wrongs done to her by the system.

She hasn’t made her appearance on the cape scene yet, though. If memory serves, she isn’t due for it until early next month.

Who else? Tattletale? She had worked with me during the opening days of the fight with Scion - she’d certainly be a great asset to have on our side. I don’t know much about her personal situation, at this point in time though - would she be amenable to working with me?

I doubt it, but it is an avenue to explore.

Kid Win? Having another Tinker on my side could only be good, but I don’t think poaching a Ward from the Protectorate would earn me any favours. Perhaps Dragon could negotiate a transfer? She’d likely have the tact to pull it off, and Chris would undoubtedly jump at the chance to work with her.

“Colin?”

The voice shocks me from my trance. I push my display to the side with a flick of my eyes, turning in my chair to face her avatar on the main display. “Dragon. I hope the situation was resolved well.”

She nods. “Just a minor hiccup on one of my monitoring systems. I see you’ve been busy - reworking the Combat Prediction software?”

“That’s right. It’s been a productive morning.” I turn back, pulling the window back into focus. I also pull up a mirror of the image on my main display, putting Dragon’s avatar up in the top corner of my helmet display. “If things continue at this pace, it should be ready for a proper field-test soon.”

She smiles. I find my own expression mirroring hers. “Oh, that’s great news, Colin! And what about the feedback loop problems?”

“Sorted themselves out when I restructured some of the more obtuse code paths. Or, they did in the Closed Test Environment, anyway.”

Her face takes on a wry grin. “See? What did I tell you - keeping a concise program structure prevents so many problems from even happening in the first place.”

I wave her off. This was a lesson I learned a long time ago. “You were right, of course. I’m just happy that I managed to sort it all out so quickly.”

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of today? I think you said something about starting work on a tranquiliser for Lung?”

I dip my head. “That was the plan, correct. But I’ve hit my groove with this - I think I’ll try to finish it off.” I also want to send through my request for a leave of absence. My suit and halberd will need a final maintenance check before I leave, too - today is the ideal time for that.

We settle into an easy conversation - Dragon is brainstorming ideas for the latest iteration on one of her suits. I supply her with advice while I work, but don’t give her anything out of the ordinary. I vaguely recall this one being posted to the Birdcage. Did it even see use, in the end?

It’s nice, just talking to her like this. I treasured our time like this after I became Defiant. But… It’s bittersweet. There’s a two-and-a-quarter year gap between our experiences. She hasn’t confided in me yet, and we haven’t spent months together hunting down a band of the worst murderous psychos that the world has to offer.

We aren’t partners. And that fact is painful to admit to myself. My Dragon was lost forever when I got sent back in time. This Dragon will never be the same, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a similar relationship.

We don’t have that sort of relationship right now. If I were to indulge in poetics, I would say that there’s the potential for it - bubbling below the surface, tantalizingly out of reach. But we aren’t there yet.

Eventually, Dragon is called away on business, and I’m left to finish up the code by myself. By around three, I’ve got it to a point where I’m happy to use it in the field. I’ll likely need to make some last-minute adjustments, but they’re nothing I can’t do on the go.

Getting out of my seat, I set about performing a maintenance check on the rest of my gear. The act also serves to refamiliarize me with my current set of equipment. It’s all archaic compared to what I was using before, but it will have to suffice for the time being.

By four, I’ve eaten a quick lunch and have printed off and filled in the paperwork to apply for a leave of absence. I keep it vague, but if Piggot were to ask me the reason for it, I plan to tell her the truth - that I will bring Saint and the Dragonslayers to heel.

As I leave my workshop, I lament about how difficult this suit is to control in comparison to the one I had as Defiant. The algorithms driving the servos are good, but nothing compares to the smoothness of a direct neural interface.

It’s just another thing I must adjust to.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

My request for a leave of absence had been approved almost immediately - much to my great surprise. The Director had asked what I intended to do with it, then wished me luck. Of course, I’m not due to actually begin my leave until the day after next - I had figured that it would be best to give at least a small amount of notice, but all the same.

I’d also requested that the Director not mention the purpose of my leave to Dragon should she ask - operational security, and all that. She’d agreed to it without further questioning, thankfully. 

As I pull into my driveway, I ponder what I should spend tomorrow doing. There’s some minor administrative duties that I have to see to - handing temporary leadership of the Brockton Bay Protectorate over to Miss Militia among them - and I’ve also been rostered on for a short patrol at around midday. The patrol is nothing more than a chance to wave the flag, but it’s necessary all the same.

What could I spend my time on that would result in the most overall gain?

Nothing overt - I’ll have to be subtle about it. Acting on my knowledge of the future in any sort of direct manner at this point seems inadvisable at best.

Perhaps I could spend some time Tinkering with Kid Win? I know he had figured out his specialty without my assistance last time - something to the extent of modular devices, if I recall correctly - but is leading him towards that breakthrough a good move?

I don’t see any way that it could hurt.

How about Shadow Stalker? Curbing her… tendencies isn’t something I can achieve - not without a prohibitive time-investment, in any case. Maybe if I drop an offhand comment to Miss Militia about the topic? While the Wards aren’t technically under my oversight anymore, I still get copied in on all of the reports on their activities. 

I pull out my phone, collapsing onto my couch. Quickly flicking to my email inbox, I pull up the reports from her handler. I hadn’t been kept inside the loop of the investigation into Shadow Stalker the last time around owing to my… folly during the fight with Leviathan. But, I do know that her handler had been brought up on corruption charges.

Chances are, these reports are - if not entirely - at least partially fabricated. If I can spot an inconsistency, I’ll have justification to mention as much to Miss Militia. I don’t have all the time in the world to look, however - if I’m to find something, I’ll need to do it soon.

I settle back into the couch. I’d have much prefered to do this work at a desk - or better yet, on my helmet display - but needs must.

“There is one more thing you should know.”

Hannah cocks her head. The both of us had unmasked for this meeting, held deep in the bowels of The Rig. “And what’s that?”

“I was reviewing the reports sent to me on the Wards last night when I noticed something unusual. Several reports from Shadow Stalker’s handler were duplicates of each other. I do not know whether it is a coincidence, but if I was not leaving tomorrow I would have it investigated further.”

She frowns. “I’ll look into it. I doubt it’s much more than clerical laziness, but with Shadow Stalker on probation it bears a bit more scrutiny than that.”

I nod. Hopefully she’ll uncover something. At this point in time, there isn’t much else I want to risk doing, though. “I’ll leave it in your hands, then. Now, I’d best be off.”

I stand, but she raises a hand to stop me. “Hold on a second, Colin. What’s this all about? It’s not like you to run off so suddenly. Or at all, for that matter.” 

I furrow my brow. There it is - the dreaded question. If I’m not careful, this will be a prelude to a full Master-Stranger workup. Hannah’s expression is one of concern - if I were to guess, she may be thinking that I’ve got some sort of family emergency to attend to. Depending on how you look at it, you could say that it’s true.

Should I tell her the truth - or at least, part of it? I think so - among all the Heroes I know in the Protectorate, she’s probably the most trustworthy. I sit back down. “You’re aware of how closely I work with Dragon?” She nods. “I’m not going to give you the specifics, but the Dragonslayers have become a problem. I’m taking the time to hunt them down.”

She worries her lip for a moment. “And you’re working with Dragon on this?”

I shake my head. “Given the nature of the Dragonslayers, I’m keeping Dragon out of the loop. If she asks you, I’d appreciate it if you did not tell her the reason for my absence.”

“You’re working all by yourself?” I nod. “Colin… This seems foolhardy. I’ve no doubt in your abilities, but to take them on all by yourself…” She shakes her head. “Let me come with you. If we explain the situation to the Director, I’m sure that she’ll accept.” She swallows. “Please, Colin - it’s too dangerous to do something like this by yourself.”

I school my expression. “No - you’re needed here in the Bay too much. Besides - I’ve put a great deal of thought into this. I’m confident that I’ll be resourceful enough to manage by myself.”

She slumps. “Yeah… you’re right about one thing, at least.” 

The Bay will be put into a tenuous position with just myself out of town - if Miss Militia were gone too, I’m not confident we wouldn’t return to a city in anarchy. ...Perhaps that’s a little hyperbolic, but the point remains.

She lets out a sigh, pushing herself to her feet. I follow, returning my helmet to my head as she re-ties her bandana. As I turn to leave, she reaches out a hand to grab my shoulder. “Just… Come back in one piece, okay?”

I nod, solemn. “I plan on it.”

Seemingly mollified, she leaves the room ahead of me. Inside, the knot that had settled in my gut slowly uncoils. By my judgement, I managed to evade suspicion - once I mentioned Dragon, she seemed far more understanding.

I depart, consulting my schedule for the rest of the day as I do. I need to finish up some more paperwork before my patrol, then after that I’ve got a few hours to Tinker by myself. Dragon had informed me that she’d be preoccupied for most of today, so we likely won’t get a chance to chat. I don’t have too much time anyway - I might be able to manage some more minor tweaks to my Combat Prediction or Lie Detection software. Though, the latter needs a full rework before it’s in a state that I’d be satisfied with - I definitely don’t have the time for a task like that today.

Once Kid Win is finished with school, I’ll be meeting him in the workshop in the PRT building for a collaborative Tinkering session. He’d jumped at the chance when I suggested it to him this morning. I’m not expecting much in the way of usable Tinkertech from the session - it’s mostly just an excuse for me to nudge him towards his specialty. We’ve had similar sessions in the past, so I don’t think it should raise any eyebrows.

“Hey Armsmaster!” Kid Win just about bounds into the lab, clearly eager to get to work.

I give him a nod, the curl of a smile touching the corner of my mouth despite myself. Admittedly, I’d been rather hands-off with the Ward the last time around, but Kid Win’s unabashed enthusiasm at this point in time was something that managed to stick with me. Once I became Defiant, the brusque messages we’d occasionally exchanged about our Tinkering had been just another lingering reminder of my mistakes.

“Kid Win.” I fold away my halberd, putting it aside.

“So, what’re we going to be working on today?” He sets down a messenger bag, clearly filled with loose leaf papers. His ideas for projects, maybe?

“I figured that I’d leave that choice up to you this time. I don’t think we’ve got the time to start something new, but a project you’ve got in progress that you think we could work together on would be a good choice.”

His expression shifts - still a smile, but there’s a hint of something else in there too. He hums. “Yeah, I think I might have something.” He moves over to one of the project lockers, opening it up. His body blocks the view of most of the things inside, but it seems to be rather full. 

Eventually, he surfaces with what he was looking for, throwing it down on the bench without much care for the device itself. I don’t comment - if it isn’t rugged enough to handle that, it’s a far cry from being ready for field use.

“What am I looking at here?”

I pick up the device, inspecting it. To my eye, it looks like the chassis of a weapon of some kind - larger than the pistols that he normally uses. It’s shaped more like the body of a man-portable machine gun. A memory pricks at the back of my mind - is this that weapon that he’d deployed against the Undersiders when the Wards had fought them? If it is, I can’t see very many similarities.

“Well, it started out as a rifle version of my Spark Pistols - you know the ones?” I nod. “Yeah - anyway - I got a bit carried away and it turned out too bulky to use how I wanted to, so I shelved it and started working on something else. It’s most of the way to being functional - the power source needs some modifying to work portably, but the rest of the internals work fine.” He stops, looking up at me expectantly.

I pop open one of the panels, ideas flowing through my mind. “What sort of use did you have in mind for it?” I pop off more panels, exposing the inner workings of the unfinished weapon.

“Something for longer ranged fights - my Pistols are good, but they aren’t much use if I stay too far back. I figured if I had more options, I could use my hoverboard to keep the fight at the range that favours me the most.”

I nod. “I think you’re onto something there. What sort of performance were you aiming for? Sniper rifle? Assault rifle?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure, but it wasn’t ever going to be a Sniper Rifle - I don’t think something like that would work too well on a hoverboard.”

I hum, considering. “With the right sort of computerized assistance, you might be able to manage it.” I shake my head. “But, you’re right - better to keep it simple.” Snapping the panels back onto the chassis, I consider it’s heft. Right now it lacks all of the trappings of a firearm - no stock, sights or grip. It’s little more than a hodgepodge of laser technology. “Alright - I’ve got an idea for how we can use this.”

He looks at me. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, a hesitant expression on his face. How do I spin this right? I need to lead him towards his specialty without being too obvious about it.

“As it is now, it’s bulky. That isn’t too much of a problem - if we put our heads together, I’m certain we’ll be able to slim it down without too many issues. Once we’ve done that, we’ll have a great core to work off of.”

“Core? What do you mean?”

“I figure that a weapon with a variable deployment profile is the best choice. Keep the core of the gun the same, but build it so that you can swap between various stocks and laser emitters as the situation calls for it.” I nod, as if affirming the choice to myself. “Yes - a weapon like that should give you the sort of versatility you’re after.”

I could see his mind working away, processing what I’d just said. Had that been too direct? Eventually, he mumbles, clearly distracted by something. “Yeah-” He shakes himself from his thoughts. “Yeah! I can definitely see that working.”

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

As I sit in the driver’s seat of my car in the underground garage of the PRT building, I consider the message I’d spent the last five minutes composing. By now, Dragon has likely heard of my taking leave but hasn’t said anything in order to maintain the illusion of her humanity. 

‘Going incommunicado. Opsec dictates that you must not keep track of me. Will contact you when I resurface. Trust me.’

Four short sentences. I’d briefly considered adding a fifth - something a bit more personal - but decided that it would not be appropriate. Doing so would only complicate matters.

Besides - my message needs to be innocuous enough that it won’t twig for Saint that I’m going hunting for him, but meaningful enough that Dragon will do as I say and keep my movements from her systems.

I chew my lip for a moment, before I catch myself and cease the action. The first, third and fourth sentences are good, but I don’t think the second passes muster. Too obvious - I need to be more subtle.

I let out a sigh. That’s just it - isn’t it? Since I came back, subtlety has been the name of the game. I wish I were more experienced with it - I’d like to believe that I’ve managed well so far, but…

Well, I’m the one who’s dithering over the subtext in a simple text message. I consider the problem further, rewriting the sentence.

‘Going incommunicado. There must not exist a record of this mission. Will contact you when I resurface. Trust me.’

It’s… suspicious, to say the least. It makes it sound like I’m going off to perform a Protectorate black-op. But, it will give her the implication that I don’t want to be tracked - lest she sees something she shouldn’t have, and be forced to act.

It’s better, but not perfect. I need to give her a good reason to become willfully ignorant of my activities. I tap the delete button once more, rewriting the message.

‘Going incommunicado. In this case, ignorance is bliss. Will contact you when I resurface. Trust me.’

I nod. It will have to do - I could sit here and ponder this message forever. This one’s vague enough to not let any of the specifics on, but still gets across the message I need to.

I hit the send button and wait a moment. The bubble that indicates that she’s typing a reply appears. I pull the battery from the phone before the message arrives, replacing the cover I had removed earlier over the empty slot.

I turn the ignition, pulling out of the garage. My gear is stowed safely in the trunk of my car - riding across the country on my motorcycle in full armour is far too conspicuous for my purposes.

I drive westward out of the city. My destination is in Canada, but before I get too far I need to plug any potential leaks. Once I’m properly out of the city, I pull up on the side of the road. This part of the road passes through a forest, and isn’t particularly well-travelled. I should have a few minutes to do what I need to do.

I pull out the toolkit I keep in the centre console. Working quickly, I grab my phone and take out the screws holding it together. I pry out the tracking chip - powered by a second, internal coin battery - and deposit it inside a resealable plastic bag. I grab my pliers and likewise pry off the secondary tracking unit soldered onto the main board of the phone.

I’ve probably wrecked a few of the traces, but it’s nothing I can’t repair with a little bit of time. The secondary tracking unit joins the first one, and I throw the rest of my disassembled phone into a second bag.

Now for the dangerous part - if anybody sees me do this, my identity is as good as blown. Quickly glancing about to confirm that I’m still unobserved, I clamber into the back of my car. Folding down the back passenger seats gives me access to the trunk and reveals my armour, bodysuit, halberd and a portable toolkit.

There’s eight trackers that I need removed. Two in the halberd, one in the helmet, one for each of my suit’s limbs, and one in the chest piece. Normally, they’d be tucked away - stubbornly out of reach behind layers of tightly packed components. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to think ahead when I had been doing the final maintenance check two days ago.

Rather, the trackers are conveniently waiting just underneath the exterior casing panels ready to be pulled right out. It’d taken a little bit of finagling, but thankfully my sabotage hasn't otherwise affected the performance of my equipment.

I set to work, hastily popping open casing, depositing the tiny chips inside the bag. My body serves to block most of what I’m doing from the road, but it wouldn’t stop a determined rubbernecker from seeing as they drive by.

My concerns were unwarranted, however, and I finish my work without incident. I shake my head at my own worries - it’s ten in the morning on a Thursday - the chance of someone else being out here is close to zero.

I clamber back into the driver's seat, getting back on the road. The bag of trackers weigh heavily in my pocket. I’ll need to dispose of them soon. Throw them in a river as I pass? No - that wouldn’t do. Flush them down the toilet when I reach the next town?

I nod to myself - that would work. To an observer, it would look as if I were simply moving about the town. Not as immediately suspicious as following the flow of a river. Of course, my civilian identity is known to the PRT, so if they decide to track me down, they have the means.

No - this line of thought is not productive. While removing trackers is suspicious, it isn’t grounds for such drastic action. The Protectorate guidebook itself has an exception to the prohibition on the practice in the form of an ‘unless absolutely necessary’ clause. I’ll have to trust that anybody in the PRT keeping track of me realises as much.

And, in this case, the clause definitely applies. I can’t risk doing anything that would tip Saint off - and I don’t know how much access he has to the PRT monitoring tools through Dragon. If he checked the position of my armor on a whim and found it was mere miles away from his base, I can’t be certain he wouldn’t panic and do something drastic.

The paranoid bastard has certainly taken drastic action before.

Still, my plan isn’t flawless - for one, I don’t know for certain that the Dragonslayers will be where I think they will be. My information on that front is a little over two years premature - Dragon had given me a play-by-play of her hunt for Saint, and even then, the most specific information I’ve got is that their hideout is relatively near a town on the northern shore of Lake Huron.

If my search does not turn up anything, I do have a second avenue of investigation in the form of the civilian names of each of the Dragonslayers. It isn’t something I’m eager to pursue, but if it comes down to letting the Dragonslayers run free or breaking the unwritten rules…

Well, there isn’t even a contest.

The trip’s going to be a long one - twelve hours of driving, at the very least. Crossing the border into Canada will be a trick, too. As a member of the Protectorate, I have some discretionary powers I can exercise, but being forced to use them may tip my hand.

I don’t really see a way around it, though. Causing an international incident is not something I need credited to me. 

Niagara Falls is a tourist destination, and I look anything but the part - my rumpled collared shirt and creased slacks betray me. 

“Passport, purpose, and duration of visit?”

I hand the man my passport. “I’m making a trip of the lakes. I don’t expect I’ll be staying more than two weeks.”

He nods, taking my papers. “Keep the car parked. I’ll run you through the system.”

He turns, walking over to the console in the checkpoint. I’m reasonably confident that his check will reveal that I’m an employee of the PRT in good standing - being as much gets me a handful of allowances when travelling between the US and Canada. Forgoing a vehicle search being one such allowance, thankfully.

To my knowledge, the privileges are entirely to conceal the identities of Heroes crossing the border - a border guard stumbling across a costume during a routine search is an unacceptable level of risk. It isn’t a perfect solution - I’ve no doubt that less scrupulous employees exploit it for more nefarious purposes - but the cost has obviously been judged to be worth the benefit.

I’m not terribly worried about showing up on Dragon or Saint’s radar - unrestricted access to the database of people crossing the border isn’t something Dragon has, to my memory. It’s a risk, but not one I can avoid without a prohibitive cost.

I shake my head, leaning back into my seat. The trip so far has been an exhausting one. Driving non-stop all day on unfamiliar roads without the assistance of a navigator isn’t my favourite way to travel. But, it has at least given me time to think. 

As a result, my to-do list has done nothing but get longer. 

Figure out a way to pacify the Endbringers. Deal with Jack Slash and the rest of The Nine. Prevent Echidna from becoming a problem. Prevent Coil from getting his hands on the Alcott girl. Finish work on the nano-thorn technology. Ask Dragon to build me a set of prosthetics. Get evacuation portals to alternate Earths. Deal with Bakuda before she becomes a threat.

There’s dozens of smaller things I could attempt to shift towards a more favourable outcome without much more than a few carefully placed words, too. Things like warning Mouse Protector about the Nine - minimal expenditure, and in exchange we get to keep a veteran Hero around for the things to come.

There’s a handful of Villains that could potentially become bigger issues than they are now that I need to think of appropriate measures to take - Nilbog, The Fallen, Blasto.

But, I’ve only got so much time. Maybe I’ll be able to do everything - but it would definitely come at a cost. An opportunity cost - in addition to whatever resources other than my time that I also expend in doing so - influence, material, money, secrecy.

Sooner or later, I’ll need to decide what’s worth pursuing directly and what can afford to either be delegated or take a back seat altogether.

The man comes back, my passport in hand. He passes it back to me. “All cleared, sir. Enjoy your trip.”

He steps back, and I put my car back into drive. There’s still quite a trip ahead of me, but at the moment I need to find a place to park and catch some sleep. An inconvenience, and a waste of time to boot. I’ll have to be sure to pursue a set of cybernetic enhancements sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

---Always-Dragon---

‘Going incommunicado. In this case, ignorance is bliss. Will contact you when I resurface. Trust me.’

Oh, Colin - what on Earth are you doing? A part of me is once again tempted to track him down, but those two little words stop me dead in my tracks - just like every other time I found myself thinking about his message.

Trust me.

And so, I do nothing - nothing but worry.

---Still-Defiant---

“Armsmaster has dropped off the grid. He passed across the border yesterday at Niagara Falls, but we’ve lost track of him again.” Director Piggot’s statement is met by a room of Heroes stunned into silence.

Prism’s eyes tighten. She’s spent not even three whole days in the Bay and she already has far too many questions about this entire situation. “You think he’s gone rogue?”

The Director shakes her head. “No - he confided the purpose of his absence with me before he departed. I can say with reasonable confidence that he is simply exercising a great deal of caution. The reason for this meeting is something else.”

Director Piggot pauses for a moment, taking note that Miss Militia is particularly engaged by her words. 

“We’re here to discuss the implications behind his caution. As you may already suspect, Armsmaster has disposed of his trackers - both the ones in his phone and in his Tinkertech. The retrieval team reported back to me this morning, confirming this.”

Nodding along, Kid Win bites his lip before speaking his mind. “So, you’re thinking that he suspects there’s moles in the PRT?”

The Director turns to him. “Correct. We don’t have any evidence, but Armsmaster is not known for flights of fancy. We’ll be investigating this as if we received an anonymous tip for the time being. Once Armsmaster returns, I will question him on his actions. However - until then we cannot discount the notion that the PRT intelligence services have been compromised.”

I park my car on the side of the road, a dense forest surrounding me. This is as close as I want to get. A few hours of snooping at an internet cafe two towns back narrowed the possibilities down to two places.

An industrial logging warehouse, abandoned years ago. Or, a fishpacking factory - privately owned and not currently in operation. Both of them are nearby the town in question, but not close enough to be considered part of it.

The fishpacking factory is positioned next to the forest such that I’ll be able to approach somewhat stealthily. The logging warehouse is situated in the middle of an open field.

I’ve no doubt that they’ll have cameras watching all angles of approach - quite the conundrum.

Do I retreat - try to Tinker up a solution with whatever resources I can scrounge up? Maybe some camera spoofing - perhaps some sort of adaptive camouflage?

...No - I’m getting ahead of myself here. I need to confirm the actual location of the target first. I leave my car, retrieving my gear. Moving quickly, I get suited up. The Dragonslayers may already know my face, but there’s no point in lingering around and risking exposing myself to a civilian.

I move off, the afternoon sun lighting my way. My destination is a nearby hill overlooking the fishpacking factory. I’ll observe from a distance for human occupancy - if nobody’s there, I’ll change location to observe the logging warehouse. 

I’d chosen to surveille the fishpacking factory first because of it’s private ownership - something mentioned in a local newspaper article about the purchase from late last year. I can’t imagine any reason that a private citizen would own a fishpacking factory other than wanting a hideout, so it seems the most suspect of the two locations to me.

I eventually find my way to the hill - I have long since disabled my suit’s access to the internet, mobile network and positioning systems, so I have to navigate by my memory of the map of the area.

I settle in under the cover of the foliage covering the area. My view of the factory isn’t great, but I should at least be able to determine whether there’s people living in it. I manipulate the controls to my helmet with flicks of my eyes and twitches of my fingers, pulling up the zoom function. 

The tiny parfocal lenses in my helmet’s cameras adjust, the stabilized image of the factory in near-perfect detail appearing in my display. I squint, trying to parse what I can see through the windows.

There’s a flicker of movement in the window - a person walking across the room. The lighting inside the factory changes. Whoever’s inside just turned on the lights.

A smile touches the corner of my exposed mouth.

Gotcha.

I keep a watch on the factory, waiting for the sun to set. I catch more glimpses of people, but no faces. I don’t think it particularly likely that the factory is inhabited by anybody but the Dragonslayers, but I suppose it does remain a possibility. 

At around ten, the lights flick off once more. Through the windows, I can see the pale blue glow of computer monitors. Someone keeping watch through the night while the others sleep, perhaps?

Something catches in my throat. Twenty-four hours a day, seven hours a week surveillance. I suppose I didn’t truly expect any different, but they’re making it rather difficult for me to care about bringing them in intact.

What’s my next move? Do I dare risk the direct approach? I haven’t spotted any cameras, but that means nothing. The forest should hide my approach for most of the way - do I want to make the gamble that I can close the rest of the distance fast enough?

A thought strikes me. What if they’ve got cameras wired through the forest? In that case I would definitely need a countermeasure.

Another thought - what if the cameras they do have are Tinkertech ones? Any countermeasure I devise may well be invalidated.

I shake my head. I’ll never be able to truly prepare a counter for every precaution they could have taken - even trying to do so would be futile. I’ve got to make a judgement based off of the information I do know, or can assume to be true.

So what do I know?

Saint has a program that can kill Dragon and he’s willing to use it. There’s three Dragonslayers, each with one suit to their name. Saint is under the influence of Teacher. My presence is likely unknown to them. My knowledge of Dragon’s true nature and their own capabilities is unknown to them. It is likely that at least one of the Dragonslayers is currently asleep.

The more I look at the situation, the more appealing a direct assault becomes. I could retreat and cludge something together to deal with security systems, but doing so gives more chances for the Dragonslayers to discover my presence - eliminating my single biggest advantage.

It’s a risk.

Everything’s a risk - do I dare take it? There’ll be no do-overs this time. 

What else can I do? Back off and make an isolated backup of Dragon? Possible, but not without giving Saint more information about my situation through Dragon than I dare.

Call in backup? Who, though? Miss Militia isn’t an option. Chevalier for similar reasons - besides, neither would be much help here. Dragon is not an option for obvious reasons.

I scoff to myself. That’s it - my long list of allies and friends. Pathetic.

No - I have no choice but to do this by myself.

I stand, moving through the forest. My armor’s deep blue colour should provide at least a small amount of camouflage in the dark of the night. A short ways away from the factory I stop. I can just make out sounds coming from the inside of the factory - snoring. Two sets, and very loud. That means one person is likely awake. 

I’m not out of the treeline yet, and nobody’s rushing about to put on a suit. So good so far.

I creep forward, keeping close attention to the sounds around me. I consider the factory - specifically how I’m going to go about entering. The walls are corrugated steel - not enough to keep out the chill, but not something I can just run right through. Making my own entrance will be loud and slow enough to give them warning.

The windows are set high in the walls, with a low profile. Enough to throw a grenade through, but out of the question for a speedy entry. I’ve got confoam, teargas and flashbangs tucked away in the compartments of my armour. Technically, I was supposed to return them before I left, but the armourer didn’t raise a fuss.

The main entrance is a pair of large steel roller doors, with a secondary hinged door off to the side. Forcing the hinged door would be quicker than cutting through the wall, but just as loud - and wouldn’t put me in the same room as the computers anyway.

My plan of entry begins to form in my head. Run up fast enough that anybody watching the cameras won’t have enough time to react to me. Put a flashbang through the window, begin cutting an entrance to the computer room, throw another one in and finish making my entrance. Subdue the one who’s awake, then move on to the other two.

Simple. No chance of organised retaliation, minimal chance of Saint pulling something.

I move. My arm cocks back, launching the flashbang through the window. My halberd is already glowing with plasma. The grenade goes off, my blade slicing through the wall with two vertical slices. Inside, I can hear yelling. 

I throw another grenade with my offhand, my main hand already guiding my halberd through the second pair of slices. My foot launches forward, sending the sputtering chunk of wall flying into the room as the grenade explodes.

I waste no time, striding into the factory. Stumbling about on the ground is a beefy man outfitted in some sort of undersuit - Dobrynja. My weapon lashes out, the flat of my blade slamming into his skull. He drops, out cold. 

I move on, dropping a confoam grenade on him as I pass. I sprint into the next room. A bedroom. Two people inside, both scrambling about. 

A man, bringing a PDA up to his face - Saint. A woman, revolver in hand - Mags. 

Saint begins to speak. “Asc-”

My halberd leaps up, blade flying at the twitch of my fingers. Propelled with the same pneumatic launcher used to anchor my grappling hook into stone, the blade works it’s magic on Saint’s body. With a spray of gore, Saint could speak no more.

The blade had torn right through him, continuing on into the wall behind him. His body drops, the pda clattering onto the ground. His head flies in a different direction, falling onto the bedroll.

The woman screeches with an animal fury. With a thunderous crack, my body jerks back under a wild spray of bullets. A lance of firey pain spears my jaw, and my mouth tastes as if I’d just downed a goblet of blood.

I drop the halberd - the chain is too slow to reel in. My hand moves for my grenades, the woman moves forward, her ammunition spent. Still screeching, her fists hail down on me. One connects with my jaw, sending yet more spears of molten agony through me.

I push through it - standing under a waterfall of boiling coolant, the Master puppeting my body had been far more painful. My hands finally find a grenade. I don’t even look at the type, merely pulling the pin and shoving my hand into her face.

The woman recoils as a plume of tear gas flows into her face. I drop the canister, the gas still pouring out. I capitalise on the opening, my armoured fist slamming into her stomach. She bends at the waist, tears flowing down her face.

My foot follows up, knocking her feet from under her. She falls onto the concrete with a wet clack. A second kick chases the first, my heel slamming into her temple. She stops, still.

...It’s done, then.

Chapter Text

---Always-Dragon---

“In regards to the existing agreements-” An alert interrupts me. “Apologies, Prime Minister. There’s an emergency I need to attend to.” I cut the call - whatever the British P.M. has to say is secondary. Colin’s back, and he’s calling me from his helmet.

“Colin! What’s happening?!”

The only response from the other end of the call is a wet gurgle, followed by a grunt. A bolt of frigid dread hits me. He’s hurt!

I act immediately, tracing the source of the call. I’m free to do so given that I have reason to suspect that someone’s life is in danger. There! A fishpacking plant on the northern shore of Lake Huron. I dispatch a suit immediately. Whatever trouble he’s in, I can help.

A text message comes through, also sent from his suit. 

‘Dragonslayers dead or captured. Site contains extremely sensitive technology. Took .38 through jaw.’

The Dragonslayers dead? Colin shot?

“What were you thinking!? Why didn’t you ask me for help!?”

Another pause, another message.

‘Too much risk. Explain later. Dragonslayers must be secured.’

 My suit is minutes away. It’s one that will be able to carry Colin to somewhere he can get medical aid. A bullet like that through the jaw isn’t deadly - provided it didn’t also go through the neck. But leaving it untreated is a bad idea. “Hold on. My suit is nearly there.” 

---Still-Defiant---

Dragon’s suit touches down outside the factory. I’d just finished re-securing Mags and Dobrynja - with the help of a can of solvent - outside of the factory. My shattered jaw hurt something fierce, but the risk of one of them waking doing something devious is too great.

Small, but even still.

Just to be safe, I’d stripped the two of everything remotely technological. In Dobrynja’s case, that means he’s left in his skivvies. While I don’t think his bodysuit contains a computer link, there’s no point in taking risks.

I pull the messaging application up, beginning to type out another text to Dragon. She speaks first, though. “Get in - I’ll take you to a hospital. Whatever tech’s in there is less important than getting you help.” Her suit opens up, a seat waiting for me to sit in.

I shake my head. It really isn’t. I quickly tap out a text. ‘This is important. Do whatever you need to do to make sure nobody compromises this site.’

Ascalon has already been disconnected - it had been easy to spot; a bright orange plastic box wired into a network of both consumer and poorly-maintained Tinkertech computers. There hadn’t been any traps - I suppose that Saint never thought anyone would manage to track him down. The device remains securely tucked under my arm.

The box itself is simple - ports for video output, serial input and AC power. I hadn’t dared to crack it open, but if it still works after all of these years, I’d bet good money that it’s little more than a rugged computer and a transmitter.

“Armsmaster!”

I blink. I’d just zoned out, hadn’t I? Perhaps I’ve lost more blood than I’d thought - maybe I should have called Dragon earlier. I stumble into the suit, lightheaded. 

“The local PRT is on the way. They’ll secure the perimeter and get those two into containment.” The suit lifts off, speeding through the air.

I tuck the box under my seat. I’ll be able to retrieve it later, and for now it’s the most secure storage I’ve got access to. I begin tapping out a message, internally cursing my ruined mouth.

‘Box is sensitive tech. Don’t let anybody inside suit.’

“Box? What do you mean?”

I blink. She doesn’t see it? Why? I wobble in my seat. It’s getting harder to stay focused. Why can’t she see it?

...A blind spot - of course!

How can I explain it to her quickly? Nothing comes to mind at the moment. I’ll have to give a partial explanation instead.

‘You can’t see it. Don’t even try. Will retrieve once triaged.’

“...You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, it seems. Just…” She trails off. I nod to myself - ‘a lot’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. The suit touches down and the hatch opens for me to exit. I push myself to my feet, forcing myself to get moving. 

A pair of medics catch me, lowering me onto a stretcher.

---Always-Dragon---

“Armsmaster is in surgery now. Prognosis is positive - barring complications, he’ll come out of it a little uglier but still fully functional.”

I simulate the sound of a sigh of relief. The feeling behind it is genuine, however. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll let you get back to it.”

He nods, ending the call. I turn my attention back to the other call I’m connected to. “He’s going to get through it without any problems.”

Some of the tension drains out of the people in the call - Miss Militia, and a Protectorate leader and PRT Deputy Director of the Toronto department. The latter two for the fact that they’re handling the cleanup and security of the site, and Miss Militia so that she can brief Director Piggot on the situation in the morning. Of course, I could have simply sent a memo to her, but I suspect that Miss Militia wants to be kept current on the situation.

Mercurial - Narwhal’s second in the Toronto Protectorate - frowns. “What’s his recovery time going to look like? We’ve got a factory full of potentially volatile Tinkertech sitting in our backyard - I’d rather he get this mess sorted sooner rather than later.” Deputy Director Richardson nods, but doesn’t say anything. The skin around Miss Militia’s eyes is stretched thin with worry, and not a small amount of guilt if I’m reading her correctly. 

I’d told them directly that entering the fishpacking factory before Armsmaster has given the all-clear would be inadvisable. It’s only natural that he wants an estimate for how long that would take - recalling the research I’d done earlier on similar injuries, I answer his question. “The surgery will conclude in two hours. The doctors can have him on his feet tomorrow morning at the absolute earliest. Although, the best course of action would be to ensure he gets a few days of bed rest.”

The Deputy Director turns to his side to consult something. He’d been woken to handle the PRT response to this situation, and is taking this call from his home. “The site is fairly remote, isn’t it? I’d be a bit more concerned if it was in the middle of Toronto, but as it is I think we’ve got some time before it becomes an issue. Let Armsmaster recover. Unless he mentioned that it was time-sensitive, I’m sure that it will keep.” He nods, seemingly agreeing with himself. 

Noone challenges him. In this case, the Deputy Director’s word is final. “It’s decided, then. I’ll keep you all informed of any developments” I cut the connection.

Everything’s handled. The PRT have secured the site, Colin is getting treatment, the surviving Dragonslayers have been contained, and the suit containing the mysterious invisible box is secure.

All that leaves me with is a whole lot of questions. How did Colin know where the Dragonslayers were? Why did he hunt them down? Why do it alone? Why has he been so short on the details with everybody? How long has he been planning this? What technology did the Dragonslayers have that’s so sensitive? What did he mean by ‘ignorance is bliss’? Is it related to whatever advantage the Dragonslayers held over me? Why is Saint dead? Why was Mags taken down so brutally? Why is Dobrynja’s skull fractured? How did Colin end up shot?

What was Colin thinking?!

I’ve got too many questions, and not nearly enough answers. Until he’s awake, there’s nothing for me to do but wait.

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♦ Topic: Dragon Watch: Thread #61

In: Boards ► Regional ► Canada ► General

Antione_The_Ant (Original Poster)

Posted On Feb 27th 2011:

(Showing page 14 of 14)

►Antione_The_Ant  (Original Poster)

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

Okay - got an update for you guys. My guy on the ground tells me that Dragon's Toronto suit just tore off in a hurry early this morning. According to him, it was headed northwest. Details are sketchy, but my bet is a problem somewhere up north.

►SinatraFan12

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

No kidding, genious. My guess is that there's a hostage situation or something out in the tundra that needed an immediate response.

I guess there's no knowing until someone official fills us in. (wink wink)

►TheOldestMan (Cape Husband) 

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

Torontonian here. Wifey got woken up last night by an emergency call. She's not back yet, so whatever's happening is ongoing.

►TLC_is_all_you_need 

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

Don't know how your guy missed it, but the suit came rushing right back in a few minutes after it left. Landed outside a hostpital, so maybe someone got hurt?

Whatever's happened, I just hope everyone makes it out ok.

►Big Pac  (Verified PRT Agent) 

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

I can't share much, but I can confirm that a Protectorate Hero from out of town was injured in the events of last night. They've made it out of surgery and will make a full recovery. The situation is stable and a press release will be out once all the details have been finalised.

►SinatraFan12

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

An outta towner? I don't keep up with much, but I know nobody got announced to be visiting Toronto. Well, at least nobody died.

►NotACrank

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

My gut's telling me that this isn't a Protectorate raid or anything like that. If it was, wouldn't people have noticed the PRT mobilising? TheOldestMan's wife being called in the middle of the night tells me that they were reacting to the situation as it developed, rather than acting preemptively.

Besides, we know that whatever's happening is a few minutes by Dragon suit from Toronto. What's even close enough to reach that quickly? Sudbury?

►AllSeeingEye 

Replied On Mar 4th 2011:

Interesting...

NotACrank makes a good point for the first time in his life. There's no way this was a Protectorate sanctioned raid.

End of Page.   1, 2, 3 ... 12, 13, 14

■

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

Satisfied that he’s adequately explained the situation to me, my Doctor leaves my room. By his orders, I’ve been confined to my hospital bed. Disruptive to my plans, to say the least. 

He said my jaw had been shattered into four large pieces. I’d managed to dodge having my jaw wired shut, but their advice was to take it easy and only eat food that doesn’t need chewing. The eight pins and two plates that now have a home in my head at least make it so I will eventually make a full recovery.

I can manage a few short sentences at a time, but I won’t be standing up and giving a speech any time soon. 

I suppress a sigh. While I could probably mitigate most of my recovery time by creating a cybernetic jaw, I’m under no delusions that I could manage to make such a device without Dragon’s assistance, nor that the doctors would even allow me to do so.

And so I sit, waiting for time to pass. It hasn’t been two hours since I woke up from the anesthesia, and I’m already feeling ready to get back to work. Of course, the doctors think otherwise, and I’ve no authority to annul their judgement.

At least I’ve got a private room - a necessity, given that my gear is piled onto the chair beside my bed. There’s PRT troopers stationed outside my door, and the only nurses and doctors cleared to see me are the ones who’ve signed a hefty non-disclosure agreement.

I leave my bed. If I’m to be trapped in this room, I want to at least be somewhat productive. I grab my gauntlets and helmet, putting them on. Without the full suit, I’ll be working with limited power, but it’s better than nothing.

The moment I do, however, I’m greeted by an incoming call. Dragon. She wants an explanation, no doubt - justifiably so. I accept the call with a twitch of my armoured fingers.

“Colin. I’m glad that you’re okay, but you’re definitely meant to be resting.”

“Hello, Dragon.” My pronunciation of her name is botched horribly, the ‘D’ and ‘N’ sounds mangled by my tender mouth. “No point in doing nothing. Can work while I rest.”

Her avatar in my display shakes its head. “That’s not how rest works, and you know it. You’re slurring your words, Colin - I don’t think any work you manage to do will even be up to your own standards.”

Recalling the times that I’d coded while on pain-relief medication in the past, I can feel myself deflate. The results hadn’t been spectacular, to say the least. “...You’re right. But, I can at least fill you in on everything-”

She cuts me off. “No, Colin. Don’t get me wrong - I have questions. So does just about everybody else. We can wait, though. Get better, and then you can explain yourself.”

...There’s nothing for me to do, then. Nothing I can do. The doctor didn’t give me a proper estimate for how long my recovery would take - ‘as soon as you’re well’ is far too inspecific for my liking. “How long?”

“For cases like yours? You’ll be well enough to get back at it in a few days. A full recovery will take a bit more time than that. You do need some recovery time, but your injury won’t affect much other than talking and eating.”

A few days - wasted. Minor, in the view of other people. But, the impending apocalypse dictates otherwise. I cannot allow this to happen often. I don’t see any way to avoid it this time, but I need to keep away from long recovery times in the future. 

I readjust my mental checklist. Recreating my much more protective Defiant armour needs to happen sooner than I had originally planned - not as urgently as a set of enhancements, but important all the same.

“Okay. The Dragonslayers are contained?”

“Everything’s handled. The factory is being guarded, the suit that has your invisible box is secure, your car has been relocated, the Dragonslayers are awaiting trial in their cells.” Her avatar smiles lightly. “Just… relax. You’re tightly strung at the best of times - take a few days and do nothing.” She pauses, before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “What am I saying? I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word.”

I let out a chuckle, despite myself. The Dragon of the alternate timeline had said much the same thing to me several times. “I’ll do my best. Just...” I don’t know how to put it into words, but I don’t want to be left alone with nothing to do and nobody to talk to for days.

She smiles widely, a twinkle in her avatar’s eyes. “I’ll have to check back in every now and then to make sure that you’re making an honest attempt at it, then.” 

I nod. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it - really.”

Her smile seems to only grow larger. “I’ll make sure of it, then. But for now, I’ve got to get going. Get well soon, Colin.”

I say my goodbyes, and the call ends. I’m left alone in my room, only my thoughts for company.

“Figured out how to relax yet?”

“I’m still working on it. I’ve resorted to dreaming up new Tinkertech to make - but given that I’m not meant to be working, I haven’t noted them down anywhere.” I’d also spent a good few hours plotting for the future, but I don’t mention as much.

“Oh? Any gems you care to share?”

“A telescoping glaive fit to attach to the inside of a prosthetic arm.”

She blinks, taken aback. “A prosthetic arm? I didn’t know you could make one.”

“I can’t. Not by myself, anyway. I can’t deny that having a Tinkertech one as opposed to an organic one would be a great boon.” My speech is still plodding, but my pronunciation has improved significantly.

“You’d really cut off your own arm for that?” She’s frowning, now. My pursuit of more enhancements had been a point of contention for us in the past as well.

“Absolutely. I’d do much more than just cut off my own arm, given the opportunity.”

“Why? Don’t you think that you’re… I don’t know how to put it. Losing something?”

I shake my head. “Perhaps if I still had a civilian life, I might. As my life is now, I only see benefits - more efficient use of my time, less potential for injuries like this, lower risk of dangerous individuals evading me.”

Her frown deepens as I speak. “...Colin… That’s… I don’t even know what to say.” She chews her lip, clearly uncomfortable. “I need to think about what you’ve said - I’ll talk to you later.”

She hangs up.

I feel my mouth curve into a frown. ...I just scared her away, didn’t I?

No - that’s not quite right. She left so that I’d know that what I said worried her. It’s likely that she’s already decided on a response, but needs to wait in order to maintain the polite fiction of her humanity.

What did I say that provoked such a reaction?

Is my eagerness for cybernetic enhancements really that concerning? I don’t think so, but I’m the one who’s lived with them for two years. Her concerns about my wanting more cybernetics in the other timeline had been that I was throwing away my humanity - it seems reasonable that she has similar concerns in this timeline.

But... 

If the choice comes down to retaining my humanity or the ultimate fate of all of humanity across the entirety of the multiverse… Well, there isn’t even a competition.

...and I can’t explain that to her without giving the context behind my raid on the Dragonslayers.

I shouldn’t bring the topic up again - not yet, anyway. The discussion can wait.

The next call is later the same day. I answer it, pulling my helmet onto my head. “Hello, Dragon.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier.”

“We don’t have to talk about this, if you’d prefer. Stick to more comfortable topics.”

She shakes her head firmly. “No - I think that this is important.” She bites her lip in hesitation for a moment, before she continues. “You’ve always been a driven person, but I think that this is a bridge too far. Once you cross it, I don’t think there’d be any going back. You’ll be signing yourself up to a lifetime of potential issues. You’ll never walk on the street again without people immediately knowing who you are. You won’t be able to go more than a month without getting maintenance from whoever helped you make your augments.” 

She pauses, her avatar swallowing. “More than all of that, I think you’ll lose an irreplaceable part of yourself in doing it. I’m not talking about eternal souls or the sanctity of the human body or anything like that. I’m talking about a psychosomatic loss.” She exhales, her inner conflict clear to see on her face. “I’m concerned about just how eager you are. I know these concerns might seem… childish, but…” She trails off.

A psychosomatic loss? Something to do with the interaction between the mind and the body, if I recall my college days correctly. I’m not sure that I understand what specifically she’s trying to say, but I nod along anyway. “But?”

“You really scared me with just how willing you were to mutilate yourself.” Her voice breaks. I know the action was simulated, but I also know Dragon is genuine enough that she’s really feeling the emotions that she projects.

I cast my eyes downward. The end of the world has a certain way of making drastic courses of action far more reasonable. But, Dragon doesn’t have that knowledge. She hasn’t seen the corruption of the PRT, nor the machinations of Cauldron. She hasn’t seen the unfettered destruction wrought by Scion.

If there wasn’t an apocalypse nigh, would I be so willing? I think I would be sorely tempted if presented with the opportunity, but the answer is definitely no. I hadn’t planned on pursuing augmentations when I’d lost my arm to Leviathan originally - only when my life depended on it did I receive them. All my other augmentations were pursued in the service of a higher goal.

That isn’t the reality we live in, however. Do I even have a choice in the matter - do I dare give anything but my absolute all to prevent what’s on the horizon?

“...I can’t explain to you all of my reasoning. Not without a secure room and secure communications, and I can’t really offer any meaningful reassurance, either. But…” I trail off. I want to at least apologise for giving her grief, but I simply can’t find the words.

“I’m worried about you, Colin. I don’t know what you’ve found out, but it’s clear that it’s weighing heavily on you. Just… talk to me when you can, okay?”

I nod. “I plan on doing just that as soon as I’m out of here.”

Her expression remains worried. “Well, I do have some news for you on that end. The Doctor will be through to tell you at some point, but your discharge is scheduled for tomorrow at lunch - provided there’s no complications.”

Dragon’s suit meets me outside the hospital, opening up for me to enter. It’s the same one that I’d been dropped off in, and the box containing Ascalon is safely tucked under the seat. I sit down, watching the suit close behind me. It lifts off from the ground, the scenery dropping away from us.

I let out a sigh. I can feel a deep tiredness in my bones already - this will be a difficult conversation.

I take off my helmet. I want Dragon to be able to read my expression from this. She hasn’t said anything to me yet. How do I even start a conversation like this?

Brutal honesty, I suppose.

“I know that you’re an AI, and I don’t think of you any worse for it.”

“Since when?” Dragon’s tone is quietly sullen, but her response is immediate. 

“That’s where it gets complicated.”

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

“From my perspective, it was almost two years ago. From yours, it would have happened in a few months' time. On the morning of March first, I woke up to find that the catastrophic failure of a collaborative Tinkertech project had sent my mind two years back in time rather than simply killing me.”

The suit shifts, Dragon silent for a moment. I continue. “That’s how I knew the Dragonslayers needed to be dealt with, and where they were. From my perspective… You died.” I hear my voice break, but I push on. Even with everything that’s happened, it’s still raw. “About two weeks ago.”

The suit hangs in silence, just for a second. “...I believe you.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” 

Dragon’s acceptance is like a balm to me, easing the tension in my body. My worries had been unfounded - I don’t know what I would have done without her backing me.

“The situation is complicated - I’ve left out some very important details, but that’s why I needed to deal with the Dragonslayers. That box that you can’t see? It exists in a blindspot of yours and contains protocols needed for backdoor access into your systems, as well as a killswitch. You won’t be able to find it, no matter how hard you look.”

“Saint tried to activate it, didn’t he?”

I nod. “I couldn’t allow him to do that. He forced me to take drastic measures.”

“...That clears a few things up. I expect that you’ll get a commendation for this - backdoor access to the systems controlling The Birdcage is worth a back-dated, signed kill order.”

“I don’t care about the commendation.” I swallow. “I’m just glad that you’re out from under their thumb.” I pause, gathering my thoughts.

She hums, contemplative. “You really have changed - the person you were a week ago wouldn’t have ever said that. But thank you, Colin. You…” She trails off. “Usually I’m the one being thanked for saving lives, but for once the glove is on the other hand. I appreciate what you’ve done for me - truly.”

“Don’t mention it - it’s the least I could do.” I cast my eyes downward. “The last two years have been… rough. I let my hubris get the better of me, and paid dearly for it.”

“I think that you’d better start from the beginning. We’re not needed at the PRT Toronto building for a little while - we’ve got time.”

I look into the visor of my helmet. “That would probably be for the best... Leviathan attacked the Bay in May. The fifteenth - but we shouldn’t count on it happening again. The nanothorn and combat prediction projects were finished at this point. In my infinite wisdom, I’d thought that I could kill an Endbringer. I was so confident in that fact, that I was willing to break the Endbringer truce to ensure that the Bay would be left free of as many Villains as possible. I baited the Endbringer into killing them, and even sabotaged some of their communicator wristbands.”

I hang my head, gently dropping my helmet onto the floor. “Suffice to say I didn’t kill Leviathan, and I nearly got Birdcaged for what I did - justly so, in retrospect. I lost an arm in the fight, and one of the Villains I’d sabotaged managed to survive to tell of what I did.”

“Who was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They aren’t on the scene yet, and there’s more to their situation than just ‘Villain’. They aren’t really relevant, in the grand scheme of things. Skilled, powerful and driven, yes - but compared to what we’re up against, it isn’t enough. They did become a Ward, and I eventually made amends for what I did to them.”

I push myself back up straight, staring out at the clouds passing us by. “I was put under house arrest, with you as my jailkeeper. Armsmaster was quietly retired, and my actions never made it to the public. Brockton Bay was left in ruins by Leviathan, and the gangs took over. Law and order broke down, and Parahuman Feudalism became a fact of life for the city.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the capes acted as Feudal Lords for large parts of the city. It wasn’t pretty, but the specifics aren’t really relevant. What’s important is that there were several powerful Parahuman factions in the city. All-out war had erupted between some of them. The amount of civilians still living in the bay plunged, but many people simply didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“And the City wasn’t condemned? Or the Triumvirate not called in to handle it? Where was the rest of the PRT in all of this?”

“It very nearly was condemned - but that didn’t happen until later. The Triumvirate… well there’s reasons why they weren’t able to move in. Almost three weeks after Leviathan attacked, the Slaughterhouse Nine decided to pay The Bay a visit - and they were recruiting. Most of the eight members at the time chose someone they thought would be a good candidate, the group then set about… testing them.” I pause. “Mannequin thought that I’d make a good fit.”

Dragon is silent for a long moment. “I-” She stops, her voice breaking off. “Colin... I don’t even know what to say.” She exhales, the sound unsteady.

“The Parahumans of Brockton Bay met under truce to discuss how to deal with The Nine. It was at this point that Coil revealed that Jack Slash would be the catalyst for the apocalypse, should he not be killed before he leaves The Bay. He was also clear that killing Jack wouldn’t prevent the apocalypse, merely delay it.”

“Catalyst for the apocalypse?”

“It’ll be obvious later, but we were about as uncertain as you. To cut a long story short, Mannequin injured me badly enough that I needed serious cybernetics made by you to even survive. The Nine were driven from The Bay, but lost Burnscar, Crawler, Mannequin, Shatterbird and Cherish in exchange for recruiting Hookwolf."

“That’s… a serious win - but Jack Slash escaped.”

I nod. “He did. Once I was out of surgery, you told me that you were an AI. I rebranded as Defiant, and we set off across the country to hunt down the rest of The Nine. You managed to kill Siberian, but Jack Slash continued to evade our grasp. We kept the pressure up, and eventually The Nine were forced into hiding. I’m skipping over a lot of the details, but they aren’t really relevant - I can fill you in on them later.”

I shake my head.

“My point is; the Endbringers? They don’t live up to their name. There’s more than three of them, but they aren’t the thing to be really concerned about.”

“More than three?” Dragon’s voice is alarmed - reasonably so. “What could possibly be worse than even more Endbringers?”

My mouth dries at the memory, an unpleasant fuzziness filling it. “An omnicidal Scion. When Jack Slash resurfaced he got trapped inside a time loop with Scion. I don’t know what he said to Scion, but it went berserk afterward. Great Britain was the first strike in an interdimensional omnicide - not just on Bet. Aleph and countless other worlds, too. We tried to organise a counterattack, but it was limp and disorganised at best. There’s an organisation that’s been operating in the shadows - pulling strings and manipulating events - to try and give humanity the best chance of survival, but…”

“Christ, Colin…” She trails off. “What… Did we win? Or did the worst come to pass?”

“I don’t know. A few days into it all, a Master surfaced. Capital M - more powerful than anything we’ve ever seen. Whoever they were, they took control of everybody and began coordinating our response. It almost worked, I think. They Mastered all of the Tinkers, forcing them to coordinate work on a superweapon. I think that they intended it as a final blow, but I can’t say for sure - I was aware of everything I was doing, but didn’t have any insight into the Master’s thinking. They were puppeting my body, but my mind was still inside.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “In any case, the weapon failed catastrophically and I ended up back here.”

I stop for a moment, thinking of what else I need to say. “It seems safe to assume that even should Jack be eliminated before he has the chance to interact with Scion… Eventually something else will set it off.” I trail off,  stewing in my thoughts. For what seems like the longest time, Dragon is silent. It’s nerve wracking - does she believe me, or does she attribute my story to some other factor?

“What can I do to help?”

My gut unclenches, my worries proven baseless once again. “There isn’t going to be an easy solution to this - it will take a continuous and concentrated effort if we want to find - let alone implement - a solution. For now… just work with me. I plan to leave the Protectorate some time soon - I've other reasons, but working to keep the peace in the bay would take up too much of my time anyway."

Dragon is silent for a few moments. "This shadow organisation… It's Cauldron, isn't it?"

I nod. "I'm not sure how much you know, but yes. I don't particularly want to attract their attention any more than I already might have, so I can't fill you in on all of the specifics."

Dragon lets out a simulated sigh. "Christ, Colin. This is beyond even the two of us…" She trails off. "I'll have tell Narwhal - the rest of The Guild's leadership, too. They'll get us backing, funding and legitimacy in the eyes of the government."

"Do what you have to - I wouldn't talk to either the PRT or the Protectorate about this, though." I neglect to explain why, but she seems to accept my advice.

The suit shifts. "We'd best get back down to Earth."

I nod, but don't respond. How am I going to explain myself to the PRT? I could talk about my source of information in an abstract manner, but there'll definitely be questions.

I sit there, picking at the problem while Dragon guides the suit down.

"Armsmaster. It's good to see you up and about. Please - take a seat." The Director of the Toronto PRT department gestures for me to sit. 

He's an older man, with wispy silver hair and a wide, bushy mustache. Director Fenwick is his name, according to the tag resting on his mint green business shirt.

I oblige him, settling into the chair opposite his desk. The room was empty of other people, but should she be given an invitation to do so, Dragon could easily listen in through my suit.

"Your actions have caused quite the stir down in Brockton Bay. Director Piggot is otherwise occupied, but I will pass along what you say to her - provided that you don't discuss anything that would prevent me from doing so." He stops for a moment, grabbing a pen and a notebook from his desk. "Now, I want you to explain to me what led you to embark on an unsanctioned raid of the Dragonslayers without consulting any of your colleagues or superiors beforehand."

I nod, still speaking slowly from my injury. "On the morning of March first, I learned that the Dragonslayers were in possession of a piece of technology that allowed them unrestricted and total access to all of Dragon's systems."

Fenwick stops, his mouth hanging open. He puts down his pen, not taking any notes. "All of them? Would he have had access to the Birdcage?"

"Yes - I’m almost certain of it. In addition to a tap on all of her communications, an override on all of her suits, and a kill switch - the ability to pull the plug on her life-support, so to speak."

He leans forward, expression deadly serious. "How? How did this even happen in the first place?"

"I have a few theories, but only one fits all of the pieces. I'm unsure of the timeline, but I believe Saint received a Thinker power from Teacher that allowed him to understand Tinkertech. This power, combined with specialized Tinkertech tools, likely allowed him to bypass Dragon's defenses entirely." 

I stop for a moment, allowing him to process what I've said. I can't give him the full truth, but something close enough should suffice. I continue, "Dragon communicated as much to me in such a way that left no traces for Saint to find. I had to act quickly, and I couldn't discount the possibility that PRT or Protectorate systems were similarly penetrated - hence my haste, and independence in the execution of the raid."

Fenwick leans back, working his jaw. “This is serious - one of the biggest breaches we’ve faced in a long time. The birdcage needs to be inescapable - if things are as you suspect, then one of Teacher’s thralls getting backdoor access into its systems is the biggest breakout risk we’ve faced so far.” He stops, pulling out a phone. “We’ll be needing a more detailed report later, but right now I need you to get down to The Dragonslayer’s base - find out as much as you can, and neutralise their Tinkertech so that our technicians get safe access to the site. I need to call my boss.”

I take the dismissal for what it is, and leave his office. Undoubtedly, there will be more questions later, but for now the PRT will be scrambling to make sure that the Birdcage is truly secure. Dragon will likely be subject to some intense questioning, but I’ve no doubt that she’ll be able to explain her part in the situation - that is to say, very little.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

I load the last of Saint’s computers into the crate for transport. In terms of volatile technology, they are the only things that warrant a complete extraction from the site - I’ll be doing a full deconstruction of all of his systems at a later date.

The rest of the tech - the suits and a handful of other devices are relatively non-volatile: the PRT’s Tinkertech containment teams can deal with it. In all likelihood, much of it will end up being turned over to Dragon and other allied Tinkers for analysis.

I stand, closing the lid of the crate. “Alright, Captain - the site’s neutralized. Your teams are cleared to go ahead.” 

The Captain nods, turning to his men and giving them the go-ahead. The teams enter the plant - forensics and Tinkertech Containment. The forensic team will be doing a full work-down of the building - Saint’s corpse included - while the Tinkertech Containment team will be documenting and securing the remaining Tinkertech.

He turns back to me. “Got a message from the Brass - The Director wants you and Dragon patched into his conference call to deliver the rest of your report of the situation. ”

I acknowledge the Captain, then walk over to the suit. I climb inside, the hatch closing behind me. Dragon’s voice comes over my helmet speakers once I’m inside. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah - the crate is secured. Let’s get going.”

The suit takes off, and a window opens in my helmet’s display. Four heads, arrayed in the typical conference-call fashion; Director Piggot, Director Fenwick, Chief Director Costa-Brown and Dragon’s avatar.

Director Piggot stops what she had been saying at my arrival. The Chief Director takes over, addressing me. “Armsmaster. Good. I have some questions. Saint is dead - why?”

I need to be circumspect here - while I’m not at all surprised that the Chief Director has been involved, it isn’t something I’m particularly pleased with. Having a member of both Cauldron and the Triumvirate personally questioning me on my motivations is more scrutiny than I’d like.

“You are aware that the Dragonslayer’s backdoor gave them access to systems crucial to Dragon’s continued survival?” She nods. Dragon’s avatar is displaying an unhappy expression. I don’t want to reveal the nature of Dragon’s existence, but attempting to directly lie to Alexandria would be foolish. “Saint was making use of his backdoor in order to kill Dragon. Had I not acted swiftly, I have no doubts that she would be dead now.”

The Chief Director’s face remains a blank mask. She asks another question. “Do you know why he was so eager to kill Dragon?”

“I think it likely that he feared the power Dragon holds, and viewed himself as the only person that could be trusted to deal with her should she go rogue. His attempt to take her down with him was likely the result of those delusions.”

“Do you think that his fear was warranted?” The Chief Director asks her next question immediately after I give my answer. It gives me pause - why is she asking that? It’s safe to assume that Cauldron is aware of Dragon’s true nature - does she think that I am also aware?

If I were in her position, that would be something I would strongly suspect. But just how much does she know? Have I already shown up on Cauldron’s radar? I shove my own questions aside, answering hers. “No - not remotely.”

She stops for a moment, the other two directors also silent. No doubt the pause was simply for appearance’s sake - her every move precisely engineered to get what she wants from this conversation. Damned Thinkers.

“The remaining two Dragonslayers have had some very interesting things to say.”

My blood runs cold. I do my best to not let my shock show, but I’ve no doubt that Alexandria has picked up on it. I should have known better - at least some of the PRT leadership certainly knows Dragon’s nature by now.

She continues. “Dragon tells me that you are aware of what I am alluding to. While you were recovering from your injury, we have been deliberating about how to respond to the revelation.” I keep my expression impassive. The secret is out, then. I don’t know what I had been thinking when I turned in the rest of the Dragonslayers - save that it was the correct procedure. 

“What conclusion have you reached?” Depending on the PRT’s intentions, this could be a death knell for my plans - I simply cannot allow Dragon to remain restricted.

“We came to the decision that the information could be highly damaging should it become widely known. It has been highly classified. Dragon will retain her positions in both the Protectorate and the Guild. To prevent further occurrences of this nature, she will work closely with an adjunct briefed on this information. Things will otherwise continue as normal.”

Highly classified. That means that Dragon’s nature has become the sort of information further distributed only to people who absolutely need to know it. I’m unhappy that it even got out in the first place, but the situation could definitely be worse.

“Who do you have in mind?” Someone else working so closely with Dragon could pose a serious obstacle - especially if they prove opposed to my endeavours to unshackle her. I’ve little doubt that the role is anything but a handler given a different name.

“The decision has been left to Dragon. I believe she has decided to request that you fulfill this position.” The Chief Director’s face retains its affectation of impassivity. That’s… good? Almost too good. Is this the result of Cauldron’s influence? If they’re aware of my intentions, I suppose this is a sign that they want me to go ahead with my plan - if they did not, they have had countless opportunities to obstruct me.

With that Boogeyman of theirs, they could do whatever they deem necessary to me.

Dragon confirms the Chief Director’s words as I dismiss the thoughts from my head. “I have no issues with the assignment.” I say.

The Chief Director raises her hand, stopping me. “The position would require you to relocate to Canada and join The Guild. In addition, you would no longer be able to lead your own Protectorate team, should you choose to remain an active member of the Protectorate.”

That’s… Pretty much what I had intended to do anyway. Beneath my visor, my eyes tighten despite myself. More of Cauldron’s manipulations? That appears to be the most likely explanation - perhaps it is a simple coincidence, but given everything I know, it seems unlikely. What about her comment about remaining an active member of the Protectorate? Is that a subtle hint to opt not to join a local Protectorate team?

It doesn’t matter right now - I nod, repeating my words. “I have no issues with the assignment.”

Director Piggot’s expression tightens, a deep frown settling onto her face. She and Director Fenwick haven’t yet said anything - why are they in the call? To prevent me from directly asking The Chief Director anything unsuitable for their ears? I hadn’t intended to anyway - but perhaps The Chief Director had suspected otherwise?

“I will contact Narwhal once we are done here, in that case - we will settle the details later.” The Chief Director pauses, appearing to make a note - a polite fiction, given her powers. “My next question is in regards to the extent of Saint’s penetration. Did he have direct access to Protectorate and PRT systems?”

“None that I’ve found evidence of - if he did, it was likely through Dragon’s own access. I have not yet completed a full analysis of his systems, however.”

Director Piggot frowns, finally speaking. “We need to arrange an audit of Dragon’s access history, in that case - determine what has potentially been compromised. If Saint had decided to sell confidential PRT information on the Black Market, our operations could be at a serious risk.”

The Chief Director puts on a pensive face, appearing to consider her words for a moment. “No - we will wait until Armsmaster has completed his analysis before making that call. A complete audit of all of Dragon’s activities would completely utilize our capacity for internal investigations - unless we find undeniable evidence of unwilling duplicity we simply cannot spare the resources.”

Director Piggot frowns, but yields to her boss’s assessment. Director Fenwick watches the byplay, his expression inscrutable. 

Seeing that the other Directors have no further objections, Costa-Brown continues. “That will be sufficient for the time being. I expect your full report on the situation promptly, Armsmaster. Dragon will notify you of when we will discuss your future position.”

The call ends, the window disappearing from my display.

I slump, glad to no longer be talking with Alexandria.

...I wonder how much she intuited from our conversation? We’ve spoken in the past - relatively recently, from her perspective. Did she pick up on my personality change? Could she have even-

The realisation of what I’ve just done strikes me suddenly. Crap - I gave myself away, didn’t I? There’s no way that the old Armsmaster would have been so willing to give up his team leadership position - especially not for something as… subordinate as being an adjutant.

Is that perfidy on Cauldron’s part - an orchestrated manoeuvre to ascertain more of my situation? Or a tacit approval, as I had initially suspected?

I suppress a scoff - I had been too obvious, in hindsight. Piggot probably picked it up, too. That was sloppy of me - stupid, even. But even still, the role serves my purposes well - it puts me in the Guild, close to Dragon and with minimal responsibilities with the Protectorate.

It puts me in the perfect position to execute my plans.

It’s almost too good to be true - I can’t help but to feel like I’m being played. Given all I know, I almost certainly am. But… if Cauldron wants me to go ahead, then I suppose that my plan must help our chances somehow - even when accounting for the moral bankruptcy of the organization.

“Penny for your thoughts? You look like you’re brooding about something.”

Dragon shakes me from my introspection. I put on a faux-serious tone. “I don’t brood, Dragon-”

She scoffs, a blithe tone to her voice. “Colin, sometimes I think that the only thing you do other than work is brood.”

Her words break my guise, a quiet chuckle escaping me. “You’d probably know better than me, anyway. I was just thinking that the conference went a bit too well - I came out of it with a position perfectly suited to my plans moving forward.”

She hums softly. “You suspect that there are other forces at work?”

I shake my head. “I know there are other forces at work. My worry is the intentions of said forces in the future. What I’ve observed so far is an indication towards a beneficial outcome, but I don’t know whether to trust that.”

“At some point it will always come down to trust. You’re going to have to make a call sooner or later.”

I let out a sigh. “You’re right.” In this case, sooner would be the more productive option. I’ll just need to trust that Cauldron permits my efforts to ready the world for Scion, and trust that I’m  capable of delivering on such a task.

No pressure.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

The suit shifts in the air, changing it’s heading. “So. What’s the plan? Back to the Toronto PRT HQ?”

“Not quite. We’ll be going to the Guild headquarters - there’s a lab there that you will be able to make use of. Narwhal is currently occupied in Mali, but she’ll be speaking with you once she returns.”

“Will I have the chance to put my affairs in The Bay in order? Or are they meaning to push this transfer through quickly?” I’ve unfinished business - the one real downside to this opportunity - and having to find an excuse to be back in The Bay may prove inconvenient.

I’ve given idle thought to a lot of possible paths of action, but only two things stuck with me as particularly important: ensure an amicable introduction to the Cape scene for Weaver, and offer a position on my team to Tattletale.

There’s plenty of other things I can do, but those two in particular stand out to me as the most effective uses of my time. If Weaver becomes a Hero from the start, she should prove a valuable force for good in The Bay - which will undoubtedly become destabilized with my absence. If I can tempt Tattletale to join me, I will have a potent asset in my efforts to prepare for Scion - and an invaluable member of my team, besides.

My team... I don’t really have one anymore - nor have I had one for quite a while. Unless you could consider two people an entire team. I need to start building it.

“Colin?”

Dragon’s voice brings my from my thoughts. “Pardon?”

“You spaced out there.” Her tone is quietly concerned. I had - hadn’t I? Worrying. “I said that you will likely end up with a week more in the bay. The person they assigned to fill in for you is there on a temporary basis only - they’ll need to find someone to make up for your departure.”

“Good to know. I should be able to make adequate use of the time.” I stop, considering my words. “If I were to make contact with a parahuman willing to work with us while I was there, would you be able to arrange their recruitment?”

“I’d… need to speak with Narwhal, but I can’t imagine she’d decline. You have someone in mind?”

“I do. I’ve worked with them… before, and I think that they would prove valuable in our efforts.” I briefly consider whether to reveal who I’m talking about. “If that person were to have a criminal record - nothing too serious, strictly small-time - would that be an issue?”

Dragon is silent for a moment. “It would be more difficult… but not impossible. If this person could demonstrate a genuine desire to reform, it would be relatively easy to arrange. The crimes matter, too - the more minor, the better. There are provisions for recruiting villainous Parahumans, but the stipulations associated may prove to be difficult to work with. If you tell me who you have in mind, I could give you a more precise analysis.”

I nod, more to myself than Dragon. Of course it wouldn’t be quite that easy - still, if I recall correctly, Tattletale hadn’t much of a rap sheet at this point. Especially compared to what she had later on. Even still, I might be getting slightly ahead of myself here - I still need to actually convince her to join me. Given that I barely know anything of significance about the woman, that’s a tall order - even putting her Thinker power aside.

If the stakes weren’t what they were, I would be far more reluctant to involve a Villain. With things as they are, such concerns are petty at best - the stakes are simply too high. The past version of myself would be far more… intractable on the matter - but if my experiences have taught me anything, it’s that a measure of forgiveness is warranted - especially when working towards greater goals.

Even still, it will be helpful to know whether what I’m pursuing is futile. “Tattletale.”

A beat passes. “The Thinker? From what we know of her,  it wouldn’t be too much trouble, assuming that she’s willing to work with us.”

I let out a sigh. “That’s just the trouble, isn’t it? I’ll need to both find her and convince her to work with us in a week.”

“I’m confident we’ll be able to figure something out.” The suit jolts, the hatch opening. “Anyway - we can brainstorm later. For now, you’ve got a computer system to analyse.”

I follow Narwhal’s lead, sitting down opposite her in the conference room. She’s dressed in civilian clothes - jeans and a jacket - rather than her usual skin-tight suit of shields. Her identity remains concealed by a shimmering mask - sans horn. Perhaps it is more appropriate for non-combat situations, but seeing her dressed so casually is a little jarring.

She’s silent for a few moments, appearing to consider what to say. Despite her casual clothing, she still has a sort of gravity about her - understandably, really. With a simple thought, she could create a forcefield through my heart, brain and neck simultaneously - thoroughly ending me in an instant.

“Dragon gave me a report on the flight over. Two, actually - but one has me particularly concerned.” Her eyes are sunken, her voice uncharacteristically shaken. “If anyone but her were vouching for you, I’d call them crazy. Then sic the Thinktank on you to be safe.”

It’s easy enough to guess which she’s concerned about - it seems that Dragon’s nature hasn’t fazed her. Perhaps she already knew? I can’t recall whether she did .“Are you willing to work with me to prepare for the threat?”

She sits up, most of the fatigue she had previously been showing melting away. “Of course. We don’t have procedures for this sort of thing, but Dragon informs me that she has already seen enough evidence to convince her. Even if she ends up being wrong, any projects we end up working on could easily be repurposed towards the Endbringers.”

“In a perfect world, the threat that the Endbringers pose will be neutralized. I’ll need a team. There’s a few people I have in mind for recruitment already - I worked with most of them in some capacity the last time around.”

A smile appears on her face for a moment, before being replaced by a serious expression. “You don’t aim for easy things, do you? That’s good - you’re the sort of person The Guild wants. We are considering potential recruits already anyway - I think a team can be arranged. Get a list on my desk once the paperwork for your transfer comes through, and I’ll give it some thought. We can talk more about this later - for now, we need to discuss your future with The Guild and The Protectorate.”

She pulls out a phone, tapping a few buttons before speaking into it. “We’re ready. Put her through.”

I sit up, the screen on the wall of the conference room turning on. Chief Director Costa-Brown’s face appears, her expression as impassive as ever. “Armsmaster. Narwhal.”

I nod to the camera, silently acknowledging her.

“Chief Director.” Narwhal pulls a pda out of her jacket pocket, setting it down onto the table. Pressing a few buttons, enunciates her next words carefully. “Five-twenty-three pm, seventh of March, two-thousand-and-eleven. Meeting between Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, Guild Head Narwhal and Protectorate member Armsmaster regarding Armsmaster’s future employment in the guild.”

The recording started, Narwhal turns back to me. “Armsmaster, in a previous discussion with the Chief Director, you accepted an informal offer to assume a position as Dragon’s adjutant within the Guild, and to retire from your current duties as the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. Would I be correct to assume that your stance has not changed?”

As if a switch had been switched, Narwhal’s demeanor shifts as soon as the meeting officially began. Where before she had been somewhat casual, if still serious to a degree, now she’s all business. Her posture had hardened, and there is an intensity to her voice that had been absent before. It’s somewhat off-putting, but I change gears quickly. “That is correct.”

“Do you have any inclination to join a Candian Protectorate team, or would you prefer to dedicate your attention towards the Guild entirely?” The Chief Director asks me directly, her expression neutral.

“I believe that dividing my attention between the two organizations and mandates would not be an acceptable course of action in this case. If possible, I would choose not to remain an active member of the Protectorate.”

She nods. “Understandable. As a member of the Guild, would you still remain on call for high-priority situations?”

Endbringers, in other words. Other A-Class threats, too. “Of course.”

“And would you continue your current contracted work as a Tinker, as well as the maintenance of devices currently employed by the Brockton Bay Protectorate?”

This conversation is merely a formality - she undoubtedly already intuited what my course of action would be. Still, I maintain the fiction and give my response. “I would be willing to continue the analysis and collaborative work currently ongoing, however the logistical issues of maintaining Tinkertech from a different country are too much to continue indefinitely. I believe that Kid Win would be up to the task if given some time to adapt the technology towards his own specialties.” No doubt she had only asked the second question at the request of Director Piggot.

She looks down, taking note of my answer. “For operational reasons, I would request that you return to Brockton Bay and begin transitioning the department to new leadership by the tenth. I will instruct Director Piggot to host a conference regarding the topic of your departure from the Protectorate on the fourteenth. Following that, you will be permitted to transition into the Guild as their own timetable allows. Are there any objections to this plan?”

The question is a matter of politeness - in this case, the Chief Director’s word is law, and she would not be so careless as to have made an oversight worthy of such an objection. Seeing that nothing is raised, she continues. “In that case, the Parahuman Response Team has no further stake in this meeting.” By way of farewell she nods to the both of us “Armsmaster. Narwhal.” The connection closes.

Narwhal turns to me. “Regarding your duties as an Adjutant, you will be expected to maintain a close working relationship with Dragon - such that a repeat of the security compromise perpetrated by the Dragonslayers would not be possible without first compromising you. In a similar manner, you will also be required to maintain a working relationship with several other Guild, Protectorate or PRT Employees trained to recognise a Master-Stranger situation. The objective of these measures is to make it such that compromising Dragon and her systems is not possible without first compromising a significant amount of the Guild. While this is ongoing, you will be clear to either engage in projects of your own or to assist Dragon in her various duties. Is this clear?”

“Yes.” This entire job absolutely reeks of outside influence - it’s practically a mandate to do whatever I want, and to maintain a close relationship with Dragon while doing so. Too good to be true is the least of it. Of course, Narwhal could simply have been swayed by Dragon putting in a good word on my behalf, but I would not so quickly discount the possibility of Cauldron having a finger in this pie. 

Regardless, this is exactly what I want - I would be a fool not to take this opportunity. Perhaps I am drinking from a poisoned chalice, but I simply have no way of knowing - nor do I have any evidence beyond my own suspicions, either.

The meeting continues, but throughout it all I cannot help but feel that I’ve been played - not by Narwhal, of course. It’s an ugly feeling - one that I’d rather shake - but it sticks with me despite all reasoning to the contrary.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

Meetings concluded, tinkertech analysis done and reports filed, I arrive back in the bay in the early evening of Wednesday the ninth. With my gear safely stored back on the rig, I pull into my home.

My trip had been… productive. Despite it technically being considered a break, it had been anything but. I’ve been run ragged the entire time - my only real downtime had been medically enforced. My jaw is still fairly raw - I’m not quite talking normally yet, and it still causes a bit of pain, but it’s nothing I can’t ignore. 

Locking my front door behind me, I pick up my handset to order a pizza. Nothing else nearby does deliveries at this hour, and I don’t have any food to eat here at home. I probably should have just eaten at the cafeteria back on the rig, but it had slipped my mind.

Tomorrow I’ll be rushing all over the place getting all my ducks in a row with the Protectorate, so I won’t have the opportunity to track down Tattletale then. Chances are, it won’t be until the weekend that I do. My workshop needs to be packed up, paperwork needs to be filled out, Miss Militia needs to be trained to assume my responsibilities, the last of my administrative backlog needs to be cleared and several meetings need to be had.

Thankfully, Dragon is more than willing to assist me in finding Tattletale - she said that she’s looking into it. Hopefully she’ll have something for me by the time I’m ready to go looking for her.

I collapse onto my couch. I’m about ready to fall asleep now, but I should really have dinner first - which won’t arrive for another ten minutes. Enough time to catch up on my emails, then. I pull up the program on my mobile, paging through the backlog.

Most are reports that require no action from me. I end up marking a few to handle in the morning - nothing urgent, but doing the sorting now will help me out later. An email from Miss Militia entitled ‘Re: Shadow Stalker report inconsistencies’ catches my eye.

Oh? Did she manage to find evidence of Shadow Stalker’s belligerence? I open it up, scanning through the contents. A line jumps out at me. ‘Formal investigation warranted’

My eyes widen. She didn’t find anything direct, but the caseworker had been found to be acting with serious negligence in regards to reporting on her charge. A full investigation has been called for, and is currently pending.

Apparently, the handful of duplicate reports I’d found are far more than a simple isolated incident. Miss Militia had gone through the archived documents with a close eye, and what she found hadn’t impressed her. 

I close my phone, leaning back. It’s only a matter of time before the jig is up, then. Good - Shadow Stalker deserves everything coming her way.

Nothing - no frequent meeting places, no likely hideout locations, no occupied territory - not a single clue towards where I might be able to run into Tattletale. Nothing except a Parahumans Online handle, that is.

Villains don’t tend to advertise their accounts on the website, and those that do are closely monitored. Dragon deduced a likely candidate by comparing speech patterns from a small collection of recorded speech of the girl with posts on the forum. She couldn’t do much better than that, given the red tape binding her hands. Honestly, I shouldn’t have expected much more from her than this.

She’s relatively confident about the result, but this is by no means a sure thing - she didn’t have enough of a sample size of speech to be absolutely certain of it.

I suppose there’s nothing for it but to send a private message. Considering that she’s a Thinker, honesty would be the best policy here. Tracking down her location via her access to the forums, while technically a possibility, would be entirely stifled by even rudimentary security precautions. Knowing what I do of her, I can’t imagine that she would forgo such measures.

I suppose that showing up to her house or hideout with an offer of employment wouldn’t go over too well. No - this is probably for the best.

Subject: Gainful Employment

To: AllSeeingEye

Tattletale. I have a project which needs someone of your talents. Work will be challenging, full-time, and very important. Benefits are negotiable, pay is the standard Guild rates, and included is a full pardon subject to a probationary period. Will require relocation to Canada. Offer is open until the fourteenth. Interested?

From: Armsmaster

Blunt, to the point, and leaving nothing to the imagination. Hopefully she will be able to intuit that the offer is sincere. Everything I’ve offered her so far is something Dragon and I have already OK’d with the Guild. I’m laying my cards out on the table, and leaving the ball in her court. 

With social Thinkers, I’ve found that this is the best strategy. Doing anything less leaves them with considerably more power over the negotiation. I give it a final once-over, before hitting send. 

If we’re wrong about this being her account, then I can’t imagine that the actual owner will pretend to be her. Even if they do, the fiction is likely to fall apart relatively quickly.

It’s Friday evening now, and the press conference is scheduled for Monday morning. If things go to plan, I’ll be in a suit with Tattletale headed for Toronto on Tuesday morning - the fifteenth. I’ve got a few more things to pack away in my lab before I leave tonight, but otherwise everything is ready for me to go.

The other capes in the Protectorate had been surprised to hear that I’m leaving, and the Wards even more so. Miss Militia has taken to her new duties well and told me that she plans to regain leadership of the Wards from Director Piggot in the near future - understandable, I suppose.

A ping from my computer draws my attention. A reply already?

Subject: Re:Gainful Employment

To: Armsmaster

I’m interested. I’d like to discuss further in person. Meet me at unit 3, 37 Fitzgerald Street. You’ll want to be in fancy dress for this. My current employer will likely take a dim view on me defecting to the white hats.

From: AllSeeingEye

An address and a request to meet already? A trap?

It’s possible. I had thought that The Undersiders had a team dynamic, rather than an employee-employer one. Or - maybe this ‘employer’ isn’t a member of The Undersiders at all. I never found out any of the details, but I did hear that The Undersiders once worked with Coil. At that point in time I’d already left the bay for good - the only reason I had even heard of it in the first place was from an offhand comment from Dragon.

Weaver never told me anything about it, but our relationship hadn’t exactly been the sort where you reminisce about the past with each other.

My gut tells me she’s being honest. But, I should go into this expecting betrayal. The chances of her having arranged something like that so quickly seems slim to me - but there’s no point in being reckless.

“Dragon. I’m headed out to look into this. Will you be available on comms?” Having a second set of eyes with me would be much appreciated, but if she’s busy with something else I’ll have to go without.

Her voice comes through on my helmet comm. “Absolutely. Do you know who this employer could be?”

I grab my halberd, stowing it on my back and leaving the room in a hurry. Talking quietly, I respond. “Not for certain. Grue and Coil are the only possibilities I know of.”

“Coil? He’s in charge of The Undersiders? Or is Tattletale a mole?”

I step into the elevator, hitting the button for the garage. “I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly kept in the loop about the things happening in the bay when it came to light. I don’t know any of the details.”

I step out of the elevator, mounting my bike. It detects my armour, turning itself on. Pulling out of the garage, directions to the unit appear in my helmet. It’s only a few minutes away from the PRT building. The streets aren’t nearly busy enough to slow me down at this time of night, but I still have to weave through traffic on my way.

Dragon’s voice comes through my helmet. “Armsmaster. Director Piggot wants to know what you’re doing.”

I should have expected this. I’m too used to operating outside of the Protectorate - I really should have at least sent a message. “Let her know. Put her through if she wants to speak with me directly.”

My comm is silent for a few moments. I take a hard turn, headed away from the central business district and towards the urban residential area. “Putting her on now.” I almost ask Dragon to take control of the bike, but I remember that I haven’t implemented that functionality yet. 

She gives me a second, before connecting Piggot to me. “Armsmaster! What’s going on? Why are you meeting with a Villain?”

I have to slow down so I don’t risk crashing while I talk. Why couldn’t she just speak with Dragon? “Recruitment. Tattletale’s criminal record is small enough that I believe I can turn her without issue. There is a Guild project that could use her assistance - Narwhal has already given me the OK.”

“Recruitment!? Why hasn’t this passed my desk? Goddamnit Armsmaster - there’s a procedure that needs to be followed with these things!”

Dragon cuts in. “Director Piggot - I recall that I filed the required paperwork with the PRT several days ago. I’ve already received approval - if it has been caught up in the PRT bureaucracy, then that is a problem on your end.”

“We can sort this out later. I’m pulling up to the unit now.” I end the call, parking my bike. That wouldn’t have earnt me any favours but, frankly, I’m not in the mood to pander to her sensibilities. 

I grab my halberd from it’s mount on the bike. “Get me a floor plan. Where am I going?”

Directions from Dragon appear in my helmet. The unit I’m looking for is at the back of the block on the first row of units. It’s got three rooms - a connected kitchen and living room with a separate bedroom. Potential ambush locations in the first two units, and from the bedroom. Across from the front of the units is the windowless back wall of the next row of units - potential for a breaching charge or Parahuman equivalent to be used there, too.

I turn my head, scanning the surroundings. “Snipers?”

Dragon responds, capable of analysing the scene far faster than I. “Negative.” 

I march towards my destination, stepping over the waist high gate. “Any unusual signals?”

“Nothing unexpected. I’ve got a likely civilian ID for Tattletale. The chance of this being an imposter is minimal.” 

She doesn’t tell me more, and I don’t ask. It’s an unavoidable consequence of Dragon’s nature that she comes across secret identities frequently. After what happened at Arcadia, we had made a point not to directly act on that information when we could at all avoid it.

I reach the first unit. The front window is curtained. I grip my halberd, ready to respond to a threat as I pass. I’d be far more at ease with a full-face helmet, but as it is I’ll have to cope with having that gap in my armour. That bullet from Mags wouldn’t have even phased me if I had been properly equipped.

I refocus, reaching the second unit. The blackout curtains are parted, but the interior is dark. I don’t see anything, but I could be missing something. “Dragon?”

“Clear.”

I’ve fallen into a familiar routine without even realising it. Dragon’s ability to process information so far exceeds mine that I had often relied on her in situations like this during my time as Defiant. 

I reach the third unit. The curtains are drawn, but I can see that a light is on from the glow around the edges. I stop at the door. My first instinct is to breach and clear, but I reign that in - despite my suspicions, I haven’t seen any indication that I’m walking into a hostile situation.

I raise my hand, and knock on the door.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

The door opens. I’m greeted by a teenager. Conservatively dressed, blonde hair tied back, with green eyes and freckles. Her eyes are sunken, and her demeanor is frazzled - a far cry from the cool confidence Tattletale projected in her cape persona. “You’re here.” She looks me up and down, before blinking. Did she just use her power to assess me? Why isn’t she in costume? She shakes her head, as if to dispel errant thoughts. “Come in - I don’t think we have much time.”

She turns, heading into the apartment. Dragon’s voice comes over the comms. “That’s her. Strong match to Tattletale with vocal recognition, exact match with the suspected civilian ID’s face.”

I step inside, casting my eyes about her place. It’s tidy, and sparsely decorated - I can’t see any personal effects, and the few allowances to taste are generic. Is the house a front, or does she just keep a mostly unornamented home?

I close the door behind me. “You’re talking about this employer of yours?”

She paces back and forth along the division between the kitchen and living room. “Yeah. Coil-” She blinks. “-But you already knew that. How?” Her voice harried, she shakes her head. “No - it doesn’t matter right now. I don’t know why you did it, but by rushing this through the PRT you caught him on the back foot. If he’d known you were looking to recruit me, I’d have been relocated and cut off from all outside contact until you left town.”

She knows I’m leaving town, then? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised - I’d all but mentioned it in my message. She continues, the hint of a quaver entering her voice. “If you’d waited a day or two longer, it would have been too late. I know how he operates, and I know for certain that I’m under surveillance - he’ll be scrambling to get a team of agents here as we speak.”

I frown. She certainly seems to be appropriately nervous. It’s surprising - I had been expecting the cool and collected Tattletale from my memories. Not this… distressed teenager. It makes an amount of sense, though - this Tattletale hasn’t gone through two years worth of Endbringer attacks, the Slaughterhouse Nine and whatever else she had done that turned her into the person I worked with during Scion’s rampage.

“We need to go, then. We can talk about the job once you’re no longer in danger.”

She stops pacing, turning to look at me. “Yeah, definitely-”

A crash of breaking glass and a thud from the bedroom cuts her off. Her eyes widen, and she drops to the ground, hiding behind the couch. I move, stepping towards her. While I could certainly hold my own in a fight against Coil’s agents, doing so while keeping a VIP unharmed and uncaptured is more complicated.

I grab a confoam grenade from its place in my suit. Priming it with a deft motion, I throw it towards the bedroom door. “Come on, we’re leaving!”

She scrambles to her feet - too slow, we need to move! I grab her, hoisting her onto my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She lets out a yelp, but doesn’t protest. I take off in a sprint - there’s no time to lose.

By the time the grenade goes off, we’re out the front door. I make out a muffled curse from the bedroom - hopefully they got caught in that, but I’m not counting on it. Dragon’s voice comes over my comm. “The PRT have been alerted. They’re enroute with a team.”

I sprint down the path towards the road, eyes darting about. The door to the first unit is open - an ambush? Or a curious civilian? I thumb the control to my halberd, setting it to stun. A man steps out - overweight, unshaven, bald, dressed in a wife beater and shorts. He sees me coming and darts back into his unit. A civilian, then.

I make it to the street, sliding to a stop next to my bike. Putting Tattletale down from the carry, I urge her “On the bike - go!” She stumbles, getting her footing. While she clambers on, I look around. The squeal of tires catches my attention - a pair of vans, speeding around the corner.

I jump on the bike behind her, reaching around her to grab the handlebars. Hopefully, my armour will protect her from any stray bullets. The bike starts, and I put it into a u-turn away from the oncoming vans.

“Dragon - ETA on that backup?”

Her reply is immediate. “Three minutes out. You’re on your own for now.”

The vans are fast, but my bike is faster. Unfortunately, I’m not nearly fast enough to lose them altogether - especially with the recklessness that the drivers are pursuing me with. I reach the end of the street, taking the turn tightly. Tattletale has the seat in a deathgrip, hunched over in front of me. 

“Give me cameras.” My helmet system recognises the command, putting rear view and front view camera feeds from my bike in the corners of my display. Tattletale’s hair is whipping around in the wind, but my visor keeps it from interfering with my driving - I really should keep a spare helmet for situations like this.

The vans are much too close for comfort. I can see the front passengers fiddling with something, but can’t make it out. I tear my attention back to the road - the streets in this part of the city are almost empty, but not entirely.  The cars pull off the road with haste, noticing the chase catching up behind them. 

“Look out!”

Dragon’s warning has me swerving - just in time. A pair of crackles pierce the night - the passengers are firing on me. They’ve got some sort of laser weapon - Tinkertech. The beams hit the road, leaving pocks in the asphalt. Dammit - I need to get some distance!

The shots keep coming as I hit the throttle, pulling away from them. “Release caltrops.”

The pyrotechnics activate at my command, releasing the tightly packed spikes from the compartment at the rear of my bike. I can see the vans swerve to no avail, the pop of their tires reporting my success.

A smile graces my face as I reach the end of the street, turning towards the PRT building. It seems that Coil’s mercenaries aren’t all that they’re cut out to be. I continue on, keeping an eye on my rearview camera. 

“Armsmaster - I’ve got a speeding bike one turn behind you. Closing fast!”

I let out a curse - it seems I thought too soon. I lay on the throttle again.

I see the bike Dragon’s talking about taking the turn sharp. The driver is in a racer’s stance, leaning hard into the turn. The bike matches the rider’s skills - it looks like something that belongs on a MotoGP circuit, not on a city road! There’s no way I can outrun this. My bike is made for navigating city traffic - not going head to head with purpose-built racing motorcycles.

Whoever the driver is, they’re dressed differently to the rest of the mercs - unadorned black motorcycle helmet, skin-tight bodysuit, and sturdy padded slacks. Their build is slight, and their getup leaves no exposed skin. They’re gaining fast - I need to act. I’m out of caltrops - what else did this bike have? I wrack my brain. Dammit - think! Spikestrips? No - that’s not right.

The other bike slows down, keeping it’s distance. I tense - they’re about to try something. They raise their hand to their ear, as if listening to an earpiece. I get ready to swerve - I don’t like this one bit. 

The other rider lets go of their handlebars, and in their hands materialises a large rifle - some serious firepower. I curse - they’re a Cape! I send the bike into a hard turn to cut through the greenway - I need to get off of this straight. It’s for nothing, though - while I turn, the gun tracks me unerringly. Despite the imbalanced load and their hands being otherwise occupied, the Cape somehow manages to keep their bike heading steady, even as they line up the shot.

The gun fires as I finish the turn. The bullet flies true, sending my bike into a fishtail. My rear tire pops, toppling the already unstable ride. I grab ahold of Tattletale, leaning into the slide. The bike separates from us, flipping into a violent tumble as it hits a footpath through the park.

The pair of us slide to a stop on the turf. I scramble to my feet immediately. Tattletale looks unharmed, if rattled. Clods of dirt fall from the side of my armour as I regain my footing. “Stay down. I’ll handle this.”

She mumbles something vaguely affirmative sounding - good enough for me. I turn, sighting the other rider. They’ve already stopped, and are walking towards us at a steady pace. Damn - my halberd was strapped to my bike, which has only just now rolled to a stop on the other end of the park.

I can hear sirens in the distance - the PRT will be here soon. I just have to hold off this cape long enough for them to arrive. “ETA, Dragon.”

“Ninety seconds.”

Longer than I’d have liked. Enough for this cape to disappear with Tattletale if I don’t account myself well enough. I vaguely recall a villain that was active around this time with powers to match the Cape before me. Circus - grab-bag, serial burglar, assumed independent. Enhanced agility, a pocket dimension, and something about pyrokinesis, if I recall correctly.

She must be on Coil’s payroll - or of a more mercenary inclination than we had thought.

I palm a flashbang grenade, looping my thumb through the tab. The Cape stops, a dozen paces  away from me. The rifle is nowhere to be seen - I don’t like my chances if she decides to put a bullet through the gap below my visor. With the accuracy they’ve shown already, that’s something I’ll have to count on them being able to do at the drop of a pin.

The helmet disappears - in much the same way that the rifle had appeared - replaced by a tiny bowler hat and ornate charade mask. The lower half of the cape’s face is alabaster, contrasted by bright red lipstick.

“Circus.” I tense, ready to move at the slightest provocation.

“Armsmaster. I don’t suppose you’ll stand aside and let me take the girl back home?” Her stance is loose, mouth twisted into an unhappy frown - discord in the ranks, perhaps? I can’t imagine that she’d be too happy attracting the attention of the authorities in this way.

“Not an option. Cease and desist your pursuit, or face arrest and persecution under the full extent of the law.” I’m bluffing - I don’t have confidence in my ability to arrest her - not without my halberd. Maybe I could pull something if pressed, but I wouldn’t bet on it - Circus is just too wily to be pinned down so easily. There’s a reason that she hasn’t been captured yet.

She presses her fingers to her ear, listening to the communicator again. I can see her jaw tense - whatever was said, she isn’t happy about it. “No can do, I’m afraid. The boss doesn’t take no for an answer.”

There’s nothing for it, then. I flick my thumb, releasing the pin then dropping the flashbang onto the ground. I break into a sprint, closing the distance. The flashbang goes off, only marginally effective out in the open like this. 

I slam my fist into her stomach, the blow connecting solidly. Circus dances out of the way of my follow-up, clearly pained by the hit. She darts back in with a twirl, a hammer appearing in her hands. The tool collides with my pauldron, thankfully missing my jaw. I’m sent off balance by the mass behind the strike, but recover in time to bring my gauntlet up in the way of a knife thrown at my face. 

It seems like there isn’t any appreciable limit to how often she can use her pocket dimension. I prime and drop another flashbang in a split second, my leg sweeping around to try and knock her legs out from under her.

She jumps over my leg, diving towards the grenade. It disappears, and she springs upwards, sledgehammer in hand again. I reel backwards, barely managing to get out of the way of the head. Unbalanced, her kick to my chest sends me sprawled across the ground.

I roll, a hammer blow landing uselessly on the ground beside me. My hand lashes out, grabbing ahold of her arm. I tug hard, my other fist launching upwards towards her face. It connects, earning me a shocked gasp from Circus for my efforts. I cock my arm back for another, but I’m interrupted by a gout of flame bursting towards my face.

I roll, letting go of my grapple. I’d avoided being burnt, but lost my hold of her in the process. I scramble to my feet, casting my eyes about the park in the process. Tattletale’s still here, and there’s no more mercs waiting in the wings - good. 

I turn back to Circus. She’s on her feet, but looking worse for it. She spits, a dribble of blood flowing down her chin. “You’ve got a nasty right hook there.”

“I’ve got another one waiting for you right here.” I should try to keep her talking - wait down the timer on my reinforcements. 

She chuckles, a pained grimace flashing across her face. “Never thought you were one for banter. Gonna have to take a rain check on that one, though.”

She turns, and my visor polarizes, accompanied by a muffled bang - the flashbang from earlier. She’s making for her bike, already jumping onto it by the time my visor has normalized. With a squeal, the bike tears off down the street.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

“Here.” I set the paper coffee cup down on the conference table, sitting down opposite Tattletale with my own cup and a sheath of papers. 

“Thanks.” She takes the cup, sipping from it. 

The crash site has been marked for cleanup, and I’ve secured the sensitive pieces of the wreck. A PRT crew had stopped by Tattletale’s unit, only to find that Coil’s agents had already combed through the place for anything sensitive to his operation. They recovered her costume, cellphone and an overnight bag for her as a matter of courtesy.

This entire situation is just a headache to deal with - for myself and the PRT both. While in terms of property damage, the high-speed chase through the residential district ranks fairly low, the optics of the situation aren’t exactly favourable. Still, the PR department is gearing up to present it as a victory.

Director Piggot, while not exactly happy, is at least satisfied with the results. Our analysts were very interested to know that Circus is on Coil’s payroll - and seemingly in contact with him throughout the mission. They were even more interested in Tattletale's implication that Coil has people in the PRT. Not to mention, convincing a Villain to defect to the Heroes is no small feat either.

Once the reinforcements arrived at the scene of the crash, we took a direct route back to HQ. Assault kept Tattletale company while I was occupied with cleanup and debriefs. It’s been a long night - it’s nearly midnight and I’m only just getting the chance to sit down with her now.

I imagine that Assault was chosen to give her the chance to speak with a Hero who was once a Villain. I haven’t spoken with him about it, but hopefully they did at least speak on the matter.

I examine the girl opposite me. I’d noticed back at her apartment, but she’s definitely at least a little bit nervous about this whole situation. I don’t know what sort of relationship she had with her former boss, but considering what happened tonight, it couldn’t have been an amicable one.

She’s made use of the PRT facilities to clean herself up from the crash, but had chosen to forgo her costume yet again. Posturing? Or a simple gesture indicating she wants to separate herself from her Villainy? Her identity has been contained - Assault, the Director, myself and a handful of trusted Troopers are the only people who know her cape identity - I don't even know her civilian name yet. We don’t foresee it leaking to the public from our end - though Coil is a different story. 

“What would you like to know about The Guild’s offer? You can be assured that protection from any retribution Coil may seek will be provided regardless of your choice.”

Her mouth twists. “I don’t get it. What sort of project is it that you want me to work on? My impression of you was that you weren’t one to think highly of turning Villains.”

I deliberately do not address her aspersion at my character. “I can’t give you the specifics unless you accept. The project is ambitious. The problems we plan to tackle are large in scope and have a great deal of significance in regards to the security of humanity's future.”

"Problems? Not singular?" Her brow furrows. "Something has you spooked. You wouldn't reach out to me otherwise."

I bite back a remark. I can't say that I appreciate her psychoanalysis, but I didn't truly expect any different. It’s true - were it not for the threat we face, I would be far more orthodox in my methods. Albeit, not nearly as much as the person I used to be. "Indeed."

"And the pardon? What's that contingent on?"

"Barring serious crimes coming to light, thirty-six months of employment with The Guild and your continued abstinence from further criminal activity. The PRT would also like to know more about Coil and the Undersiders - the former more so than the latter."

It's a generous offer - about as good as it gets. No tracking bracelet, no house arrest, no parole officer. And, it even comes with a job and salary few people would say no to. Tattletale's rap sheet at this point in time is relatively small - she doesn't have any blood on her hands, and the half-dozen burglaries and heists she has committed have all been clean with minimal collateral damage.

"What information are you looking for? I don't have any qualms giving you anything you ask for on Coil, but I don't want to make enemies of the Undersiders."

She doesn't think the Undersiders would consider her an enemy after this? Interesting - maybe my impression of them is wrong. "In regards to the Undersiders, the PRT analysts aren't looking for secret identities or hideout locations. They want to clear up some uncertainties about powers, and want to know whether any of them would be similarly inclined to defect."

She hums. "That would be fine, I suppose." A contemplative look crosses her face. "You don't even think of yourself as Protectorate anymore, do you?" she trails off, furrowing her brow.

Once more, I restrain myself from issuing a reproach - her habit of ferreting out secrets is quite annoying. I suppose it's a testimony to her skills, at least. She keeps talking before I can move the conversation along. "...You haven't for a while. What happened? Is it related to whatever project you're putting me on?"

I let out a sigh - I hadn't exactly expected to keep my situation a secret from her forever, but she's already cottoned on to some key pieces of information. "I imagine that accepting the job would give you more than enough clues to figure it out."

She starts, before catching herself and pressing her mouth into a line. "Fine - give me the paperwork and I'll read through it. You'll have your answer tomorrow."

I nod, handing her the sheaf of papers. I have a suspicion that she has made her decision, and is only reviewing the paperwork as a matter of course. After she so thoroughly burnt her bridges with Coil, I’m not certain she has many other options. I’m satisfied with the results - this is a very good first step for the project. "Certainly. Before we finish, do we have to worry about any of Coil’s agents trying to pull something overnight? You spoke as if he has sources within the PRT earlier today."

Frowning, she considers my question. "I don't know for certain. I wouldn't be surprised, though. He's vindictive and resourceful - and he definitely would prefer me dead to spilling his secrets."

"We'd best play it safe, then. This wing has secure accommodations - I will be staying here overnight, too." I open the messaging application in my helmet and compose an informal report on the situation addressed to the appropriate personnel.

Report sent, we stand, leaving the conference room. I show her to the secure guest room - monitored, no windows, single door, armoured walls. Sitting down on a chair outside the room, I settle in for the night. “Dragon, please monitor my position for unusual activity - wake me if anything happens.” She has access to my suit’s sensors - there is not much Coil can do to sneak an agent this far past our security. 

“Certainly, Colin…” She trails off. “...Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dragon.”

I’m no stranger to late nights accompanied by early starts, so come morning I’m up and about well before Tattletale. Assault arrives not long after to relieve me. My halberd, while still mostly functional, needs to have it’s plasma emitter recalibrated after the crash. Sometime today I need to meet with the PR department and receive my brief on what stance the PRT will be taking on the events of last night. No doubt, the Director will want to have a more formal debrief on the events than the quick discussion we had last night as well.

And, of course, I need to meet with Tattletale after she comes to her decision.

After having breakfast in the cafeteria and a quick shower in the trooper gym, I set about my responsibilities for the day. The labs in the PRT building, while not as well-equipped as the ones in the rig, are more than sufficient for my purposes. 

As I run through the calibrations, I consider how the fight with Circus went. Being seperated from my halberd was a key factor - without it, I was severely limited in how I could approach the fight. No doubt it would have gone much differently if I had retained possession of my weapon.

It’s a problem that the me of this time period had actually been moving to address, if I recall correctly. The solution I had settled on was a teleportation device developed by Kid Win that I had integrated into the halberd. But, that project hasn’t even started at this point in time. Considering it had taken the better part of a month for the two of us to work out all of the kinks in the system there is a significant chance that I may never get the opportunity to do so.

If we don’t end up recruiting Kid Win, I’ll have to investigate other avenues with Dragon at a later date. Perhaps when I get the opportunity to remake my gear.

In regards to Circus’ employment with Coil, I suspect the arrangement is more tenuous than is apparent at first glance. According to Tattletale, Coil is likely to want her dead. Circus had plenty of opportunity to kill Tattletale - just for starters, she could have simply shot her rather than the wheel of my bike. And, rather than pushing forwards she simply cut her losses and fled. Perhaps Coil, despite wanting Tattletale dead, couldn’t convince Circus to go through with it?

It makes sense - Circus is a small-time criminal. Until last night, petty thievery, burglaries and heists were the only crimes to her name. It seems likely to me that she doesn’t want the sort of heat on her that comes with a murder charge. 

I suppose it isn’t particularly relevant to me - I’ll be out of the Bay soon enough, hopefully with Tattletale in tow. I should at least pass my observations on to the analysts, though.

By mid-morning, I get a page from Assault notifying me that Tattletale is ready to meet with me. I pack my gear up, heading for the meeting room. 

Outside, Assault is waiting for me. He greets me with a smile.  “I don’t know how you did it, but I think you actually convinced her. Well done, man - I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll speak with her now.” 

He moves aside, leaving me to enter the room. I sit down opposite Tattletale, who still isn’t wearing her costume. “You’ve come to a decision?”

She bobs her head. “I have.” She pauses, swallowing. “I’ve decided to accept your offer as it stands.” She produces the sheaf of papers I had handed her last night, putting it down on the table, her signature clear to see. In neat, proper penmanship - ‘Lisa Wilbourn’.

I smile - this is good. With this, we have a solid foundation for the project moving forwards. I stand, pulling off my helmet and placing it on the table. “Welcome to The Guild, Lisa.” I extend a hand. “My name’s Colin. I’m looking forward to working with you.” No reason not to try to be amiable - last time’s Dragon did at least manage to instruct me in how to best seal a recruitment deal. 

She stands, taking the handshake, a smile quirking at the corner of her lips. “I’m sure that it’ll be interesting at least.”

I nod - that would be one word for it, no doubt. “Now, with your situation in the Bay as it is, we want to get you out of here as soon as possible. Is there anything you need arranged? We can have your possessions moved up to Canada for you in due course.”

She shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary - I’ve got everything worth keeping with me now. There is one thing, though - I’d like to call the rest of the Undersiders and explain things to them. They didn’t know that they were working under Coil.”

“I’ll give you some privacy, then. If there isn’t anything else, we can have you flying to Toronto in one of Dragon’s suits by this afternoon.”

I put my helmet back on as she pulls out her cellphone. “No, that’s all.”

Leaving the room, I pull up the messenger application in my helmet to report the news to the PRT. Dragon’s voice comes through my helmet. “I’ve just informed Narwhal, a suit is on it’s way.” She pauses. “That was surprisingly well done, Colin. I see that the future managed to teach you some manner of diplomacy.”

“Oh? I suppose it did. You were the one to do it, after all.”

She hums, clearly uncertain about something. “When you have some spare time, I’d like it if we could have a private discussion. Something has been on my mind.”

I recognise that wording - this discussion won't be some light conversation. "Certainly. I won't have anything else to do on the flight back over to Toronto - we can speak then."

Chapter Text

---Upcoming-Win---

As I wait for the elevator to reach its destination, I yawn, stretching my arms out. It's been a long day, but I've finally finished the homework assignments due tomorrow - and that means I've got some time to Tinker.

I'm thinking I'll try to make another module for that rifle that Armsmaster helped me start. I've had so many ideas that I can barely keep track of them all. Maybe an x-ray scope?

The elevator comes to a stop, letting me out in front of the lab. I swipe my pass, going through the doors.

“Kid Win. You’re here - good.” Armsmaster’s voice calls out from behind the main workbench, piled high with some sort of wreck. He steps out, putting down some tools. “I’d wanted to speak with you before I left tomorrow evening, but I didn’t know if I would get the chance.”

Something about the wreck is distractingly familiar, but I can’t quite place it. It’s a… motorcycle? This isn’t Armsmaster’s bike, is it? “Uhh… Sure - what did you want to talk about?” I tear my eyes away from the wreck - it’s definitely his bike. I’d heard that he’d fought Circus last night - this must be the aftermath.

“Well, once I leave, you’re going to be the only heroic Tinker in Brockton Bay. You’ll have to assume some of the responsibilities I currently handle. I wanted to give you some advice for the work you’ll be doing in my stead.” 

That’s right - Director Piggot did mention that I would be doing more Tinkering work for the Protectorate in place of things like console duty. “Alright. Director Piggot didn’t really tell me any of the details - what will I be doing?” I lean back on an empty bench, looking across at him.

“It isn’t anything too intense. The main thing is that you’ll be in charge of is maintaining all of the Tinkertech employed by the Protectorate and PRT here in The Bay. That means Gallant’s armour, Battery’s suit and a handful of bits and pieces that the PRT likes to have on hand - nothing too big, thankfully. You might need to adapt some things to be more compatible with your technology - don’t be afraid to make some changes to things while you’re getting used to it all.”

I nod. “Alright, that doesn’t sound too bad.” I’d helped to design Gallant’s armour, after all. I didn’t know that there was Tinkertech in Battery’s suit, though. “What else?”

“You’ll be the one who has to analyse and contain samples of captured Tinkertech - whether it’s from a new independant, or from a long-time presence in the bay. The PRT likes to stay in the loop on the capabilities of Tinkers - it helps inform things like response strategies and threat assessments. Now, you aren’t expected to do this by yourself - if it doesn’t make sense to you, call in help from someone else. Dragon and I will be available, or, if it’s a more exotic form of technology, you can have it sent off to a Tinker who’s speciality agrees with it.”

He turns, walking over to a cabinet. He produces a crudely bound stack of papers, putting it down on the bench in front of me. It’s about a finger’s width high, and is titled ‘Anthology of Technical Notations on Tinkering in The Bay’. The byline has his Hero name in a small font.

I shoot him a look. “What’s this?” He couldn’t have called it something simple, could he?

“I didn’t have much time to put something together, but hopefully this will help. It’s technical documentation on all of the devices I’ll be leaving in your care, along with my personal notes on all the Tinkertech samples that crossed my desk in the last few years. I’ve also included my general practices when dealing with potentially dangerous unknown Tinkertech and some general notes I’ve taken during my time in The Bay that you may find useful. For security reasons, I’d recommend keeping it out of networked systems and not removing it from this laboratory.”

I flip open the book, paging through the index. The list of devices catches my eye. I feel my jaw go slack and my brows jump up. “What? You’re leaving your motorcycle to me? And one of your spare halberds?” I scan down the list - that’s just the start of it, there’s a half dozen other things, too!

He nods. “That’s right. Hopefully you’ll get some use out of all of it - even if you just scrap them for parts.” He pats the wreck on the main workbench. “This won’t be doing me much good in Canada, so I figured I’d entrust it to your care. I know how tight Tinkering budgets can get.”

Scrap them!? I’d never! He’s really just handing me his Tinkertech and leaving me to use it however I want? “I… I don’t know what to say. This is…” I trail off, unable to find the words.

“Don’t worry about it. In an ideal world, I would be around for a while longer to help the transition be a bit more smooth, but that isn’t an option. Now, don’t hesitate to call Dragon or I if you ever want to pick our brains on a problem - the best Tinkering is collaborative, after all.”

I can tell he’s genuinely apologetic about this. Armsmaster isn’t a terribly emotive person, but he’s serious about this. “Wow… Thank you so much - you didn’t have to do any of this.”

“Nonsense - this is the least I could do-” He cuts himself off, straightening. “-I’ve got to get going. We might not get the chance to speak again before I leave, so be sure to call me if there are any issues. My new position in The Guild is very flexible, so I won’t have issues finding the time to help out.”

He leaves, walking out the door at a brisk pace. I’m left standing, processing what just happened. Armsmaster’s departure from the Protectorate seems very rushed to me - I guess it must rankle him to leave things unfinished. 

It seems to me that he’s been ran ragged ever since he got back from that mission to take down the Dragonslayers - whatever he’s doing with The Guild must be really important. Then, there was that thing last night that’s been kept hushed, too - what was that about?

I don’t know many of the details. One of the troopers said that a Dragon suit is on it’s way to pick up a VIP - could it be related? Maybe. I guess I’ll hear more about it from the press conference tomorrow, if it’s something that’s getting made public.

My eyes drift to the wreck of the bike on the workbench. Despite the cosmetic damage, it looks like none of the guts of the machine were too badly harmed. The back wheel and surrounding housing is a lost cause, though - the work of a bullet, by the looks of things.

It’ll take some time, but I think I could work with this. Maybe make some modifications while I’m at it? Yeah - these parts look very tightly integrated to me. Maybe future repairs will be easier if I socket the parts - that way I could also swap them out for variable functionality just like my rifle!

I grab the tools Armsmaster left on the bench. Before I start modifying, I need to know what’s damaged and what needs replacing.

---Outgoing-Tattletale---

The suit shifts in the air. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, but this is it. I’ve forsaken Villainy, and signed a deal binding me to Heroism. I’m… ambivalent about the idea. It was the best option I had - by far and away - but…

I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. Armsmaster is hiding something - something other than his crush on Dragon, that is - and it’s niggling at me. I’m glad to be out from under Coil’s thumb - hell, I guess you could even say I’m even happy to not have to rob people any more - but, I’m just… unsettled.

I don’t think Armsmaster was deceiving me - I was actually surprised at just how amiable he’d been. Whatever this project is, he thinks it’s important enough to reach out to me across party lines like this. I got the impression that he knew I’ve not been honest in regards to my power - or, at least that I’m more versatile than I let on. How does he know?

Another Thinker? Leaked footage of me not holding back? Neither sounds right to me - how, then?

I suppose I’ll find out soon. He said that he’d be a day or two behind me, and that I’ll have that time to get settled into my accomodations before starting work. The deal gave me an advance on my first paycheck, so I do have the funds to find an apartment of my own if I want. 

I’m not sure that I do, though - the security that The Guild would provide for their on-site living is something I’d be going without. I did just about everything I could to spite Coil - spilling all of his secrets to the PRT, souring his name with The Undersiders, and ratting out the identity of one of his moles. If I’m too easy of a target, I wouldn’t put it past him have me eliminated out of petty revenge.

The Undersiders had been bitter at first - Coil had obviously gotten to them - but after I explained my side of the story, they seemed more accepting. Brian had been at least somewhat thankful that I had put in a good word for him with the PRT, but I wouldn’t put money on him defecting unless Coil keeps holding out on him.

Which, now that Brian has a credible alternative, may not happen. It’ll depend on how closely Coil keeps track of things. 

They’d been less happy that I’d told the PRT some minor details about their powers, but once they knew just how insignificant the information was, they were only slightly annoyed. Rachel had been less than forgiving, but I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from her.

The Undersiders as a team are in a bit of a tough spot. At a guess, I think the team might fall apart within a month or so - if that. Coil, too, isn’t in a great position, either - he’ll have to be a lot more careful going forward, especially with The PRT aware that he has more agents in their organization.

I’m just disappointed that I couldn’t topple his little outfit entirely.

Whatever - hopefully I’ll never see him again. I can’t imagine that a Canadian Hero working for a Guild project would have much reason to go to The Bay.

...Tattletale the Hero. The label doesn’t ring true to me. The contract hadn’t specified whether I had to assume a new identity, but I think it would be helpful if I did. Even if it’s only a surface-level change - that extra little bit of separation in my mind would be good.

No - I think I’ll go for a more dramatic change than something surface-level. If only to further separate my history from the present - no use in giving anybody ammunition if I can avoid it. I’ll need a new costume - a new name, too. I’ll have to give it some thought.

Dragon’s voice comes over the speakers of the suit. “We’re approaching our destination now - landing in one minute.”

I bob my head, acknowledging the information. 

Dragon, like Armsaster, has been genuine with me - as best as I can tell. I’ve only had a single short conversation with her - just after we left Brockton Bay. I’ll be working with her as well, apparently - this project must be the brainchild of them both. 

She seems nice, I suppose. There’d be worse people to work with. I couldn’t tell much about her from our short interaction, though. If she’s anything like her reputation - and I suspect she is - then she’ll be nothing but pleasant.

I sag in my seat. I’m really rubbing shoulders with some big names here. I’m going to be personally working with the two biggest Tinkers in North America, and I’ve got a meeting with Narwhal scheduled for after I arrive in Toronto. Whether I want it or not, my name will be mentioned in association with them - that’ll do a lot for my reputation as a Hero.

A Villain lives and dies by their reputation. Can the same be said for Heroes?

I’m not certain.

It’s certainly too late to turn back, though. This is the path I’ve chosen - I need to stick with it, and make the most of my situation. Regardless of my feelings on the matter, I’m to be a Hero now.

The suit touches down. I guess this is it, then - the first step into my new life as a Hero.

Dragon’s voice comes over the speakers again as the ramp lowers. “Thank you for flying Dragon Airlines, we have arrived at our destination: Toronto Guild HQ. Please unfasten your seatbelt and disembark the vehicle.” The humor in her voice is clear to hear.

An earnest attempt to make me more comfortable, according to my power. 

I push the thought aside, unbuckling my seatbelt and walking down the ramp.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

As Dragon’s suit flies towards the building, I consider the last week in The Bay. There were two things I set out to do during my time here - ensure an amicable introduction to the Cape scene for Weaver, and recruit Tattletale.

The latter has been a tremendous success, the former, on the other hand... 

Well, there’s only so much I can do without tipping my hand. According to Miss Militia, Tattletale told her interviewers that the fact that Shadow Stalker had used lethal bolts against Grue may prove inconvenient if they try to recruit him. Miss Militia had been very interested to hear that - apparently, she’s pushing for the ongoing investigation of her handler to be extended to Shadow Stalker’s actions as well.

A happy coincidence resulting from my interference - I hadn’t even known that myself.

I suspect that Shadow Stalker’s days as a free woman are numbered. It remains to be seen whether she takes her lumps or tries to run from what’s coming her way. Miss Militia knows what she’s doing, though - she’ll make sure that Shadow Stalker gets what she deserves.

I think I’ve done about all I can do, actually - I don’t have an excuse to contact Weaver personally, and doing so despite that would be a serious overreach. Nor do I have any authority to influence the investigation of Shadow Stalker - I’ll just have to trust that Miss Militia follows through. 

It’s in good hands, I think. Director Piggot won’t stand for Shadow Stalker’s belligerence, and Miss Militia won’t let this go until she gets to the bottom of things.

I’ve set the stage - all that remains is for Weaver to actually make her debut on the scene. Maybe we’ll end up working together again one day, but I don’t foresee that happening anytime soon. Maybe she’ll end up in the Wards, or maybe she’ll actually get to have a go at independant Heroism - if anyone could pull it off at such a young age, I suspect it would be her.

The suit pulls up, touching down on the helipad. The ramp lowers, and I step inside. Buckling myself in, I steel myself. The suit lifts off, Dragon silent.

“So.” I swallow. “What did you want to talk about?”

Her voice comes over my helmet. “I don’t even know if you’ve realised, but you’ve had an open channel to me on your armour ever since you were discharged from the hospital.”

I check the statistic on my heads-up-display. “So I have - why do you mention it?”

“You don’t think that it’s unusual. Just what was our relationship in the future, Colin? You said we worked closely, but what does that mean?” Her voice is gentle - I can tell she doesn’t want to upset me.

Admittedly, it’s a… tender subject. One that I’ve been very pointedly not addressing. “...We never sat down and had a formal discussion on our relationship, but… Well, it was understood that we were closer to each other than ‘just friends’. We had a degree of intimacy that was more than strictly platonic.”

“I suspected as much. I...” she trails off. “I don’t know how I feel. It’s something I’ve been unsure about for a while now. But… knowing how a future version of myself felt does help, I think.”

I’ve been too presumptuous, haven’t I? “I understand. We have more important things to worry about - I won’t trouble you with this. Would you like me to try and maintain more distance in the future?”

“No!” Her shout is reflexive, almost panicked “No - don’t misunderstand me, Colin. You haven’t been troubling me at all. I think this is very important - to the both of us - I’m just saying I need some time to think about it all. You don’t have to change how you’ve been acting.”

“Oh. Alright then.” The sentence hangs awkwardly, the silence thick in the air of the suit. I try to think of something to rekindle the conversation, but nothing seems appropriate. I really put my foot in my mouth there, didn’t I?

---Ephemerally-Lisa---

Narwhal stands. “That about wraps up your induction. Welcome to The Guild, Lisa.”

I stand, accepting her handshake. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.” Narwhal is a busy woman, so our meeting hadn’t happened until the day after I arrived here in Toronto.

She pulls out a PDA, looking at the screen. “Armsmaster has just arrived - he’ll want to speak with you.” She puts it away, walking towards the door. Just before she leaves, she turns to me. “I have high expectations of you - I believe you can do a lot of good here in The Guild. Don’t let me down.”

My power helpfully supplies that she’s being completely genuine.

With that, she walks out the door, leaving me to collapse into my chair. No pressure, right? After all, it’s only Narwhal who has big hopes for me - the Cape who routinely puts a stop to genocides and Parahuman coups the world over and shows up to Endbringer battles au naturel as a matter of course.

I can feel myself getting the jitters. I need a coffee. Or a stiff drink.

The door opens, and Armsmaster strides in. I pull myself together, righting myself from my slouch. He sits opposite me, taking off his helmet and laying it on the table. “Lisa” he acknowledges me, then sets about fiddling with the remote to the screen on the wall at the end of the table.

Dragon’s digital visage appears on the screen. “Hello, Lisa. I imagine you have questions.” her face turns towards Armsmaster. “This room is secure. You can disclose whatever you deem necessary.”

I latch on to that - they know something. Something big - likely the same secret that has been vexing me since we met. Dragon clearly is letting Armsmaster take the lead - she’s likely only patched in as a formality.

He nods, turning to me. “With a Thinker of your caliber, keeping secrets will be a futile effort at best. For the sake of cohesion and smooth operation, I’m going to tell you some things I would otherwise withhold from people in your situation. I hope that you will not betray this trust - what is discussed here does not leave this room unless you are expressly instructed otherwise by Dragon, myself or Narwhal.”

So Narwhal knows too? And, he definitely knows I’ve been sandbagging my true capabilities. I refocus. “You went out on a limb to help me out of a tough situation. I’m not going to repay that with betrayal.” I find that I’m telling the truth - I really am thankful for what he’s done. It would… irk me if I somehow wound up breaking his trust in me.

He fixes me with a stare. Looking for a hint of deception, according to my power. The silence drags on - an interrogation technique. I meet his gaze readily.

Apparently finding nothing, he nods - more to himself than me - and continues. “On the First of March, at approximately five A.M., I woke to find that I had been sent back in time by a measure of roughly two-and-a-quarter years.”

He stops, allowing me to digest the information.

He’s…

He’s telling the truth - or at least, the truth as he knows it.

It’s…

I cradle my head, resting my elbows on the table. It makes sense - his knowledge of my capabilities, and his faith in my character. If he had first-hand experience with me in that future, then it fits together.

“How? Why?” The words slip from my lips, my power working overtime. I can feel the beginnings of a headache already starting. 

“The how and why are related - I believe the cause to be the malfunctioning of a collaborative Tinkertech weapon of a scale unlike anything seen before. In other words, it was an accident. That weapon was created with a singular purpose: to put an end to Scion’s interdimensional genocide.”

Tinkertech Super-weapons? Scion? Interdimensional genocide?

He’s telling the truth - again. Things start to click together - the thing that has Armsmaster spooked is Scion. This project - it’s almost certainly an effort to prevent that genocide from happening again. Armsmaster’s unannounced departure from the bay a few weeks ago - he must have been securing allies here in The Guild. The differences in his personality from my expectations? Attributable to the time spent in the future. 

I groan from the effort. If I don’t hold my power back, I’ll end up regretting it. The gravity of the situation hits me suddenly - Scion embarks on a genocide in less than three years time. Scion: the Cape in a weight-class all of his own - above even the Triumvirate.

He continues, ignorant of my inner revelations. “The details of what set it off aren’t particularly important, but Scion is far more powerful than it lets on. The collective effort of nearly every Cape on Earth Bet was nothing to it - I don’t think it was even so much as scratched. After that… things deteriorated. We were uncoordinated. Disorganized. From somewhere in the mess of it all, an extremely powerful Master emerged and took direct control of everybody - that’s when work started on the Tinkertech weapon. And, well… the weapon failed and I ended up here. I don’t know if we ultimately succeeded, or not.”

He stops, watching my reaction. It’s a lot to take in - especially when I’m trying not to think about it all too hard. But… I think I believe him. His words ring true to my measure, and I don’t think that Armsmaster - even one from the future - would spread falsehoods about something like this.

He’s definitely not telling me everything - understandably so - but I get the impression that the details aren’t relevant. Would I like to know? Almost certainly - but, there is value to be had in keeping knowledge of the future confined. I can accept his reasons for keeping the specifics from me.

So - this is the situation, then? I’ve been recruited by a time-traveller for a project that aims to prevent the apocalypse.

I’m so far out of my depth it isn’t funny. Armsmaster must have seen something in my future self that convinced him I was a good pick for this project. Whatever he saw in the future me, I’m not certain present me has it - all I can do is try to live up to his expectations.

The jitters make their return with a vengeance. I push it all down, folding my hands in my lap and focusing on the here and now. “Right. What do you need me to do?”

Armsmaster nods, approving. “I suspect you’ve figured it out, but the aim of this project is to prepare for this future - and, if possible, prevent it. There are several avenues that we want to pursue, but before any of that we need a team. The three of us make for a good start, but it isn’t enough. I have an informal list of possibilities and associated positions - I would like for you to work with Dragon to determine the feasibility of their recruitment, as well as an analysis of possible alternatives and potential problems that may arise.”

Right - sounds like something I shouldn’t have a great deal of trouble with, especially with access to Dragon’s resources. “Ok - anything else?”

“That will be all for now. My time will be occupied Tinkering - getting my gear up to the standard I held in the future, among other things. Once we’re all set up, I expect we’ll undertake semi-regular field missions to deal with potential trouble-spots - your assistance either in the field or from the ops room would be appreciated. I trust that won’t be an issue?”

“No - not at all. When do I start?” It’s time to get stuck in - we’ve got a strict deadline by the sounds of things, and it wouldn’t do to waste any time.

“I’ll have a formal briefing and information packet delivered to your rooms by tonight. This won’t be a small undertaking - don’t expect to be done with it quickly.” He stops, appearing to consider something. “Am I correct in assuming that you will not be going by Tattletale anymore?”

“That’s right.” Narwhal had also advised me to abandon the name - The Guild has an image to maintain, and the name of a small time Villain doesn’t mesh with it. It seems to me that image and reputation are just different sides of the same coin - one for Heroes, one for Villains.

“Narwhal may have already told you this, but Guild members are expected to manage their own brands - though there are resources available within The Guild to assist with that. I’d advise you to come up with something soon.”

She had - in nearly the exact same words, too. “If there’s nothing else I need to take care of, I plan to do that today.”

“Then I think we’re done here - the information packet will have some more specifics about our goals and our foreknowledge, but I’ll leave that for you to digest at your own pace.” He stands, donning his helmet once more and striding out the room. Dragon nods to me through the screen, before cutting the connection.

I sink back in my chair, mulling over what I just learned.

I…

I think I’ll go get a coffee before I do anything else.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

“Dragon. We need to talk.” I sit down on one of the stools in the workshop, pulling up Dragon’s video feed in my helmet. This isn’t a conversation I’ve been looking forward to, but I’ve delayed long enough.

“...What about?”

“You’re aware that I was heavily augmented with cybernetic enhancements in the future. Much of my technology was either tightly integrated with, or dependent on those augmentations.”

“You want to modify yourself again.” Her voice is small.

“I do. I can’t afford to give anything but my all in regards to this project, and I believe that failing to utilise such a powerful tool is neither right nor reasonable.”

“I… understand what you’re trying to say, but…” she trails off. “I think there are things you haven’t taken into consideration. If I were to help you with this, what do you intend to do?”

“At a bare minimum, I’d just have a full suite of cranial enhancements. More optimistically, abdominal organ and spinal replacements would be next, and then total limb replacement.”

“Christ, Colin - you’d be more machine than man at that point.” Her mouth hangs open, an expression of shock on her face. “You’d... Were your enhancements that extensive in the future?”

I nod. “Essentially.”

“I know I said it before, but I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her voice cracks. “Everything you just told me, though, has only strengthened my belief. I truly think that you shouldn’t go through with this.”

I deflate. I can’t say that I understand - I don’t. But, I do trust Dragon. If she’s this certain that I shouldn’t, then there must be merit in the idea. “Please. Help me understand why.” The words fall from my mouth unbidden. The weight of my armour hangs heavily on my shoulders.

“The way you were talking earlier… I don’t know whether you’ve realised it, but it’s self-sacrifice. You’re giving up parts of yourself for this cause. That…” She pauses for a moment. “It isn’t healthy. It doesn’t speak well of your headspace. We need you in a sound state of mind for this, and I don’t think that going through with this will leave you well.”

She stops, letting me consider her words. Self-sacrifice? I don’t see it - maybe if you took my words uncharitably. But, Dragon isn’t one for that - she obviously sees something I don’t. Are our points of view on this topic truly so far apart?

“Let me try to put it differently. This isn’t a question of power. I’ve no doubt that if we were to equip you with the best enhancements we can produce, you’d be far more effective in the field, and productive in the office. That isn’t what I’m disputing - I’m saying that voluntarily amputating your limbs and replacing your organs will affect your state of mind negatively. That it will irrevocably affect your decision making - your value judgements. Your ability to interact with other people. I’m saying that all of those things are far more important than being able to get more hours out of the day.”

I think I understand what she’s trying to say - at least some of it, anyway. The implications, if what she’s saying is true… I don’t like them. Whether I like them or not doesn’t matter, though. There is something else I need to know, though. “And if I lose a limb in battle - like last time, with Leviathan? Or if an injury damages one of my organs - what then?” 

Her eyes snap up, fixing me with a gaze. “Don’t. Colin. Throwing your body away in battle is no better than amputating it yourself.”

I shake my head. “I know - that wasn’t what I wanted to know.”

She slumps. “Oh - sorry. That’s a different story. In that case, I’d say it’s far closer to rolling with the punches, as opposed to self-mutilation in the name of a higher purpose.”

Hearing her put it so directly strikes me. ‘Self-mutilation in the name of a higher purpose’?  I roll the words around in my head. From a certain point of view, the words apply to the situation. Self-mutilation. 

Mannequin’s obsession.

My stomach drops, a sickly pit of disgust appearing in its place. I try to push it aside - it’s ridiculous - I’m nothing like Mannequin. The notion refuses to leave me, though. 

No - absolutely not. Mannequin is a monster who takes pleasure in seeing others inflict pain on themselves. That freak was once a Hero, but now, he’s nothing more than a depraved sadist who must be put down for the sake of others. When the chips were down, he stumbled and fell - and now he’s lost.

I’m a soldier. Someone fighting for the future of humanity - someone who puts down the rabid animals like Mannequin. I’ve made mistakes, but even through all of that, I’ve never stopped working for a better future. 

But, Mannequin had also been the one to leave me in need of augmentations - deliberately and purposefully so. I’d lost my arm before that, but I hadn’t any intention to replace it.

I’m nothing like Mannequin, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe going through with this will put me one step closer to him - is that something I want to even risk?

No - I don’t think so.

“...I understand what you’re saying, now. You’ve changed my mind. I won’t bring this up again.” My voice is unsteady - my train of thought had brought some unpleasant memories to mind. Those days under house arrest with the PRT had been some of my darkest - they aren’t something I have revisited often.

“I’m relieved. Now - that’s enough of such heavy talk. I think we’re in need of a break. Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

I shake myself from my thoughts. A break to take my mind off of things wouldn’t be amiss. “I’d like that.”

I collapse onto my new couch, my second coffee since the meeting in hand. The things Armsmaster and Dragon told me… weigh on me heavily.

The end of the world. The apocalypse - perpetrated by one we thought was the greatest Hero of all.

I don’t want to think about this anymore. It’s only going to get me down, and I don’t want to feel like that. I need a distraction. 

Ice cream.

That’ll do. I push myself back onto my feet, walking over to my kitchenette. It’s a good thing it had come fully-stocked, I suppose. I grab the tub and a spoon, abandoning my drink on the counter.

Sitting back on my couch, I pop open the lid and deliver a spoonful of the cheap frozen dairy into my mouth. A second soon follows the first, and before I know it, I’ve finished half of the tub.

...That’s enough, I think. I do have something else I need to do today, and sending myself into a dairy-induced coma wouldn’t do. I return the tub to the freezer, finishing off my now-cold coffee while I’m at it. 

Alright. Time to decide on a new name. I settle into my workspace, opening up the laptop I’d been issued. What do I want out of my name - my new Cape persona?

I don’t think it should be anything like my old one. Tattletale had been immature - I’d intended it as such, to provoke people into engaging with me. But, that doesn’t fit anymore - the stakes are high, and I need a persona that is appropriately serious.

It may not be fit for purpose anymore, but Tattletale was a good name - what made it good? 

It fit with the persona I projected, as well as being vaguely in line with what I actually did without giving away any details. What am I going to be doing now? Analysing things?

How about Analyst, then?

No - absolutely not. It’s too literal. Generic, even - makes me think of some paper-pusher running a nine-to-five with the PRT.

It’s a terrible name, but it’s also a starting point. I open up an internet dictionary, entering it in and clicking through words with related definitions. Nothing jumps out at me - it’s all just… pedestrian. 

I close down the dictionary. I hadn’t found anything good that way the last time either.

I need a name that practically shouts ‘Hero’. It needs to be just a little bit flashy - the sort of thing that people will take seriously. It can’t be too lofty - I don’t want people to go likening the name to Legend or Hero. 

By my impression of things, my analysis will be informing the decisions made by Armsmaster and Dragon. A guiding voice for the project, if you wanted to put it poetically.

How about Luminary? It fits, but I don’t like it. It’s pretentious - a bit of pretension can be good, but I think it’s too much.

I lean back, staring up at the ceiling. What else?

Lodestar?

I roll the name around in my head. It’s not bad - I quite like it actually. It meshes with my actual role fairly well without being obvious, and it brings with it the sort of expectation that I’m looking for.

I write the name down in one of the notepads on my desk. It’s too early to settle on anything, but I think the name is strong in all the right ways. If I don’t come up with anything else, I’ll go with that.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I stand, checking the time - this will be Armsmaster, I think.

I walk across the room, answering my door. I’m proven right - Armsmaster with a sealed document pouch in hand greets me. “Lisa. Here is your briefing and information packet.” He hands me the pouch.

“Thanks - I’ll have this read soon.”

He nods. “Good. Any progress on the name?”

Beyond my initial surge of inspiration, not much. “Some. I only have one possibility so far.”

“Is that so? A single possibility is all you need - what have you come up with?”

“Lodestar.”

He considers it for a moment. “I like it - Dragon does too. I think you should go with it.”

Dragon is listening in? I push the thought aside for later. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“That’s all, then. Goodnight.” He bids me farewell, turning and leaving. I close my door, settling down on my couch to get a start on reading through all of this.

Brief: Recruitment Candidate Analysis 

Below is a small list of potential recruits. Please assess each against the general criteria described overleaf in addition to any specific requests attached to each individual. Capes with italicised names have a detailed profile present within the information packet bundled with this delivery that will give important context to your analysis.

Bakuda - Tinker, Villain

The Cornell Bomber, possibly criminally insane. Tinker speciality may be useful to the project, however. Almost certainly unfit for release - assess potential alternatives.

Blasto - Tinker, Villain

Tinker specialty is not especially useful. But if it is not possible to recruit him, we may be required to neutralize in him some other way - refer to packet for details.

Flechette - Striker/Thinker, Hero

Potential field agent. Notable for having a power abnormally capable of damaging Endbringers. Her power is also a potential avenue for research. Position within the Wards may prove inconvenient.

Kid Win - Tinker, Hero

Tinker speciality may prove useful to project. Position within the Wards may prove inconvenient. Recruitment also complicated by political considerations.

Leet - Tinker, Villain

Notable for being an abnormally versatile Tinker - speciality may prove useful to project. Likely a package deal with Über. Assess whether proclivities would impede work with The Guild.

Legend - Blaster/Mover/Breaker, Hero

Unlikely to prove feasible currently, but notable nonetheless. Refer to information packet for potential approaches to recruitment.

Masamune - Tinker, Hero

Highest priority for recruitment – Tinker specialty allows mass-production of Tinkertech. Located somewhere in Japan’s ruins. Formerly associated with the Sentai Elite.

Mouse Protector - Mover, Hero

Potential field agent. If not amenable to recruitment, share information present within detailed profile with her.

Über - Thinker, Villain

Notable only for connection to Leet. Power not useful to project. Preferable to instead recruit for Protectorate.

Addendum:

Research on further recruitment candidates is necessary. Specifically, Tinkers whose specialty lends to collaborative work, as well as Tinkers capable of producing technology with esoteric effects with the potential to assist in achieving our goals.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

It had taken the better part of a week, but I’ve finally finished putting together the shell and major systems of my armour. It’s similar to, but not entirely the same as the set I had in the future. It’s not quite ready to be used yet - more work needs to be done to ensure that it still functions smoothly without augmentations - but I’m most of the way there.

I’d had to hand-craft a great deal of the armour, but thankfully Dragon had been able to help out by manufacturing at least some of the components. She had observed the whole time, asking questions about the process. I had welcomed them - hopefully, it will help her to reproduce the design in her own production facilities.

“…We worked on designing this together, didn’t we? In the future.”

“That’s right. After I rebranded as Defiant, a great deal of our Tinkering was collaborative.”

“It shows - I can see the influences.” She pauses, humming. “This is some heavy-duty equipment. You said you made this with the Slaughterhouse Nine in mind?”

“I did. There’s still a way to go before it’s ready for a non-augmented user. I don’t foresee any issues, however - in the future, there had been a simplified version of this armour in use by The Dragon’s Teeth.”

“You mentioned that Lodestar’s armour was based on something along those lines. But, who are The Dragon’s Teeth?”

Oh - I haven’t told her about this yet. “You’ve read the dossier on Masamune? Well, his capabilities allowed us to equip an elite outfit of PRT troopers with full Tinkertech gear. They were trained to respond to critical threats - they could handle hostile Parahumans that normal PRT troopers simply aren’t able to match.”

“I see - I can’t deny that such a group would be formidable.”

I put down my diagnostic probe - I think that’s enough work on my armour for today. If things continue as they are, I should be finished in the next day or two. Lodestar’s armour, on the other hand, had been a fairly quick job owing to it’s comparative simplicity. It hadn’t needed nearly as many parts that had to be made by my hand.

My spear needs the most attention at this point - best get to work on that. I roll my stool over to the workstation host to the project. It hasn’t been assembled at all, and some components are missing. Much like my armour, it’s made from mostly hand-crafted components with a handful of components that Dragon could make in her own facilities.

“Status of fabrication of the spear components?”

“Up on the display now.”

I turn my head, assessing the progress. It’s not completely done yet, but there’s enough to make a start. “Have everything that’s ready delivered - I’m beginning assembly now.” I grab my tools, getting to work. “We really should sit down and have a thorough talk about the future sometime. I hadn’t even realised you didn’t know about The Dragon’s Teeth - there’s bound to be more that I’ve skipped over.”

“That sounds like a good idea. It can wait until you’ve finished Tinkering, though.” She pauses, her avatar in my display looking away for a moment. “Are you finished with Lodestar’s armour? You still haven’t told her that she’s getting a set. Maybe it would be wise to get her input on the aesthetics?”

I snap two pieces together, the sockets fitting perfectly. “The suit is fully functional. I’d intended to do the detailing work later, but maybe that’s something you could handle?” 

“I’ll mention it to her after our next meeting. Her analysis is coming along nicely - I definitely think you made a good call in recruiting her.”

I grab a pin, slotting it into its place. “I’m glad.” I slide two assemblies of internal components together, fitting them into their place behind the head of the spear. “Has she figured out that you’re an AI yet?”

She shakes her head. “She hasn’t said anything to me. I think she might suspect it, though.”

“Do you plan to tell her?” Another piece slides in, clicking into place. I haven’t told her myself - it isn’t my place.

Her avatar worries her lip. “I haven’t decided. I figure that I’ll have to eventually, but it’s...” She trails off.  “It’s complicated.”

“I understand.” I can’t imagine that she was terribly enthused about being outed to The Protectorate, but given the choice between that and Saint still being around… Well, I think I can guess which she’d prefer. “You haven’t had any trouble since The Protectorate found out?”

“No - the Chief Director has been remarkably ambivalent in regards to the situation.”

I can guess why. “That’s good, at least.” I attach the haft of the spear to the partially-assembled head. The fit is good - looks like everything is within tolerances. “I got the impression that Narwhal already knew - is that right? We didn’t speak about it the last time around.”

“Yes, that’s correct. Until you, she was the only person I’d told. I’d had to, as a part of my induction into The Guild.”

‘Had to’ - ah. She’s referring to her rules. They’re a tricky subject - one I have very pointedly not brought up with her. In my downtime I’ve been analysing the Ascalon program without her knowledge. It’s been slow work, but I am at least making progress. I hope to devise a way to use the backdoor into her systems to loosen her restrictions without inflicting the backlash she suffered last time.

I’m no expert, but I suspect a lot of the damage was caused by her compulsion to fight any modifications to her code. If I can make modifications without her knowledge, then I could potentially avoid that problem entirely.

This isn’t something I want to be reckless with - before I do anything I need to be absolutely sure of my actions. My experience with her code from the future helps, but this is a very delicate operation.

It doesn’t help that talking to Dragon about this - or even letting her catch on that I’m working on this at all - could be tantamount to self-sabotage. Secrecy is key, and I’m rather inexperienced with keeping secrets from her.

It will be worth it, though. I’ve no doubt that Dragon is the greatest of all of us, and unbound she will only be more effective at her job. 

I pull my thoughts away from the topic, refocusing on the task at hand. I grab a probe, testing the connections between components. “I read Lodestar’s first Progress Report last night.”

Her avatar turns towards the camera. “Oh? What are your thoughts on it?” 

“I think she could do well to review the style guide for official documents. Otherwise, I think the only action we should take immediately is extending an offer to Flechette.”

Dragon nods, a thin smile on her face. “Her idea to frame it as a sort of extended work-experience with more seasoned Heroes is a good one. I don’t think that the New York Protectorate will have any problem with it.”

“Make a note to do so, then.” I continue assembling my spear, falling into an easy silence.

Recruitment Candidate Analysis: Progress Report & Summary #2

Armsmaster, here is a summary of the analysis and research done for the recruitment project so far. There’s a detailed report on each Cape packaged with this delivery. As you requested in your response to the last Progress Report, we’ve made an offer to Flechette. Also attached is a list of potential candidates not mentioned in the initial brief, and a list of Parahuman resources unsuitable for recruitment.

Signed, Lodestar

Bakuda

Unlikely to cooperate, but it bears further investigation to determine her current mental state. An interview has been scheduled with her prison wardens.

Blasto

His actions suggest a reasonable disposition. Available data has been exhausted - recruitment may be possible, but contact needs to be made in order to make a more detailed assessment.

Flechette

Contact has been made through official channels. We are currently awaiting a response. As per previous report, no notable issues are foreseen. 

Kid Win

Political considerations in The Bay make recruitment impossible at this point in time. Other potential candidates from The Brockton Bay Wards or Protectorate are inadvisable for similar reasons. Should the Protectorate ENE gain more Heroes, this situation may change.

Uber & Leet

Both have deficiencies in personality and moral judgement, but are likely to accept if approached with an offer. These attitudes are less entrenched than is typical of Villains - reform may be possible. Recommend refraining from making overtures until a more thorough analysis has been made.

Legend

Recruitment impossible at this point in time. Extending an open offer may have results in the future.

Masamune

He has been located, and Dragon has scheduled a mission to make in-person contact. See the attached brief for details.

Mouse Protector

Despite her long-term experience on the Cape scene, further research has confirmed a serious inability to function inside a team environment. See attached transcript of an interview with Miss Militia for details. Her inability may be due to her power influencing her personality. Recruitment is inadvisable. Recommend sharing information regarding her future death under the guise of reliable precognition.

Parahumans suitable for recruitment not detailed in initial report:

Note: Research is still ongoing, additional candidates may be included in future reports.

Hardcase - Tinker, Hero

A ‘Protection Tinker’ that is currently employed by the Raleigh Protectorate. His specialty extends to the creation of durable materials, force-fields and energy shields. He has been an active Hero for nine years, and is well-regarded by his colleagues. 

Corona - Tinker, Hero

An ‘Energetic Systems Tinker’ currently employed by the Fort Worth Protectorate. She is noted as having trouble making Tinkertech weaponry that is suitable for use against non-Brute Parahumans. She currently maintains several generators used by PRT departments across the country. Known to be stand-offish, she is not well-regarded by her colleagues. She has worked as a Hero for five years.

Gelid - Tinker, Hero

A ‘Thermal Energy Tinker’ currently employed by the Atlanta Protectorate. She has an inclination towards ‘cold’ technology, despite also being capable of producing ‘hot’ technology. She graduated from the Wards in February after two years in the program, but expressed an interest in moving away from Georgia. Noted as having had trouble fitting in with other Wards.

Bastion - Shaker, Hero

The leader of the Boston Protectorate. Capable of producing force fields and deflector fields - a potential field agent. He is known to have issues with anger management, and is not well-liked by his subordinates. Despite this, he has maintained a positive outward image with the public. He is an experienced Hero, and has been active on the scene for twelve years.

Parahuman resources not viable for recruitment:

Accord - Thinker, Villain

His serious personality disorder means that recruitment is inadvisable. His current position as leader of a Parahuman criminal organization further complicates matters. He has been known to sell his ‘plans’ to those who appeal to his sensibilities.

Toybox - Tinker(s), Rogue

The current ethos within the group ensures that any attempt at recruiting the membership will be extremely poorly received. Commissioning work for specific pieces of Tinkertech remains an option, however.

Epeios - Tinker, Rogue

A self-described ‘Software Tinker’. He operates from somewhere in the East coast of the USA. His specialty lends to systems penetration and digital security, but is likely to be more versatile than that. He shares values and practices with Toybox despite lacking any formal affiliation. For that reason, he is unlikely to be amenable to recruitment, but would still be willing to work on a commission.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

I dismiss the report up on the main lab screen. We’ve missed our opportunity with Bakuda - Lung broke her out from the prison yesterday. I didn’t know when Lung was going to do that, but in hindsight, ensuring measures be taken in advance would have been a wise idea. 

That was careless. I need to be more thorough in the future. There’s a lot to keep track of - I’m not surprised that something fell through the cracks. I’ll just have to do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again, and ensure the damage that this blunder will do is mitigated.

I make a note to forward our analysis of her to the Brockton Bay PRT later - she’s dangerous, and a repeat of her bombing campaign is not desirable. Maybe we could include some future knowledge in the mix, presented as Lodestar’s Thinker analysis? It bears consideration. I add to my notes - I’ll handle it all tonight. 

I stand from my seat, walking over to my workbench. My gear is complete. Or rather, near enough to it that I’m comfortable taking it into the field. I’ll be tweaking things and adding minor optimizations over the next few months, no doubt. Things are slightly different, but for the most part it’s the same gear I’d used as Defiant.

Save for two major differences: it lacks any sort of integration with cybernetics, and it isn’t in the frilled, forest green and gold leaf aesthetic I’d had as Defiant. Rather, it complies with the futuristic style that I’d sported as Armsmaster - dark blue and silver, with both sleek curves and complementary well-defined edges.

My reasoning is simple - people in this time recognise Armsmaster, not Defiant. Reinventing my brand isn’t worth the trouble. Personally, I’m conflicted - Armsmaster isn’t who I am anymore, and were other factors not at play I’d choose to rebrand myself as Defiant once more. But, this is the real world - rebranding is expensive, unnecessary, and disruptive.

Perhaps I will if an opportunity presents itself, but until then I will have to stay as Armsmaster - regardless of my personal feelings on the matter. 

I check the next thing on my to-do list: test helmet seals again. I grab my helmet from the table, lowering it onto my head. The click it makes as the latches catch is encouraging. I engage the seal, separating my armour’s atmosphere from the outside world. “Run diagnostic: environmental seal.”

With a hiss of air, the diagnostic begins. Where before I could activate such a thing through my cybernetic interface, now I need to use voice commands. A minor inconvenience - trivial. More important functions can still be accessed easily - my ocular interface, switches in my gauntlets.

There’s another hiss as the pressure in my suit is normalized, signalling the completion of the diagnostic. The report appears on my display - everything within tolerances. Good. I pop the latches, removing my helmet once more.

Lodestar is on her way down now to give her input on what her armour will look like. The mission to recruit Masmune is soon, and I want her to be with me down on the ground. 

I turn back to the lab computer, working through my backlog. A few minutes later an alarm sounds, signalling a visitor to the lab. My eyes flick to the camera feed, confirming that it is actually Lodestar. I push a button, allowing her access. She walks in, looking like a normal Guild paper-pusher save for the blank black mask covering her upper face.

“So, Armsmaster - Dragon said you had something for me?”

“I do - it’s right over there.” I gesture to the workbench where her suit was laid out. “Your own suit. Heavy duty protection without unreasonable bulk, a full suite of sensors, and a few other things you may find useful in the field. Made to fit, customized specifically for your abilities.”

Her mouth hangs open. “You made me a suit.” it clicks shut. She steps over looking at it closely. “You really did. I…” She shakes her head, turning back to me. “I’d ask if you were sure, but you’ve already made the thing. Why?”

“Your power lends well to both fieldwork and analysis. In the event that you are needed on a mission, we want you to be well-equipped to handle whatever the situation may call for, and well-protected from any potential threats.”

“Right.” She looks at me, appraising. Eventually, she turns back to the armour. After a few moments, and with a quiet voice she says “Thanks.”

“It was no trouble. Now, Dragon’s facilities will be able to handle whatever aesthetic work you want to do with no turnaround to speak of - give her as many or as few details as you want, and she’ll make sure it will be ready for the mission.”

“The mission?”

I nod. “That’s right. I want you with me for when we make contact with Masamune. I don’t expect any trouble - this is to help you get your bearings with working in the field. Before then, you’ll be receiving training - both in how to operate the suit, and the rest of the basics you’ll need to know about working down on the ground level. You may have picked some of it up already, but we just want to make sure there aren’t any serious gaps in your knowledge.”

The basics is an apt term for it - comms discipline, rudimentary threat analysis, first-aid, and so on. The training is a crash course, but if her actions since we recruited her are any indication, I’m confident she’ll be able to handle herself well. 

She nods along. “Alright - makes sense.”

I move over to the lab computer, tapping through a few menus. A video feed to Dragon appears on the screen. “I’ll leave you two to sort out all of the details - I have an appointment that I need to keep.”

I sit down in the conference room, alone. Taking the remote to the screen, I begin working the controls. The call had been scheduled for four, on the dot - a minute’s time. 

As I wait, I sit and think. Our recruitment efforts are progressing nicely. Offers have been extended to a number of Protectorate Capes, and we’re awaiting responses now. A significant amount of my initial list had been deemed non feasible for one reason or another - I’m not especially surprised, but the investigation had been worthwhile nonetheless.

Blasto and Leet are the only Villainous capes we’ve deemed as worthwhile recruits. The investigation into Blasto has stalled - we’ll have to contact him before we go further. His recruitment has a clear purpose - getting him out from where The Nine can get to him. When we start moving to take The Nine out, under no circumstances do I want Bonesaw to start making clones - if that means recruiting Blasto, then that’s a price I’ll gladly pay. 

On the other hand, I’m much more conflicted about Uber and Leet. Unlike Tattletale, the two have done some genuinely horrible things - they don’t have a body count, but a few people still haven’t recovered from their ‘shows’. Lodestar seems to think that reform is possible, however, so I’ll take her word for it.

They don’t have a good reputation - even among Villains, let alone Heroes. The only reason I’m even considering them in the first place is Leet’s technology. Uber is irrelevant - he’s only even being considered for his relation with Leet. If we can recruit Leet without Uber, then we’ll certainly do that. 

I saw a lot of Leet’s tech during my tenure in the Bay - mostly abandoned failures; everything he makes is just about ready to fall to bits, blow itself up, or just out-and-out stop working altogether. 

There’s only one stipulation.

I’ve never seen another Tinker with such a broad technology basis. Every single device I analysed used a completely different fundamental operating principle - even devices that were similar on a surface-level were completely and totally different when you get down into the nuts-and-bolts of things.

It says something about his speciality - or lack thereof: something that The Project could potentially make use of. I’d never even consider including something he personally makes in anything that gets deployed - but something derived from his technology? Something that Dragon and Masamune have torn down and re-engineered from the ground-up?

That’s where his value could be.

It’s a passing observation I’d made when The Guild had first recruited Masamune in the future. But, Leet had been dead for some time at that point. Even if that hadn’t been the case, I can’t imagine I’d ever have followed through with it. I hadn’t known the true extent of our adversary, then.

I shake myself from my thoughts - it's time for the call. I put it through. Flechette's tinted visor greets me, a profile shot of her purple helmet taking up the screen.

"Uh - hello, Armsmaster." Her helmet leaves the lower half of her face exposed - a PR concession now absent from my own.

"Flechette. It's good to speak with you. Will we get right to it, then?"

"Ok. Sure. I'm calling to formally accept your offer. I've put through all the paperwork with the Protectorate and got my approval back this morning."

Under my helmet, I smile. "That's good to hear. We're glad to have you on board. When are you dismissed from your duties with The Wards?"

My notes on the specifics of the arrangement scroll up the interior screen of my helmet. It looks like Lodestar and Dragon managed to negotiate a very good deal. She'll still be getting all of the previously negotiated benefits of her Wardship when she turns eighteen - even if she stays with us until then.

"I'll be staying on until the thirtieth." A little under a week's time. "I think I'll manage to make it up to Toronto a few days after that? Dragon said that The Guild would be able to help me out with the move."

That's about as fast as we can expect a transfer like this to go through. "That's correct. I'll put you in contact with the appropriate people after this call. Was there anything else you wanted to speak about while you have me?"

"No - that's all. I just wanted to thank you for this opportunity - I'm excited to get to know everyone." She smiles once again.

"I look forward to seeing you up here, then." As way of goodbye, I give her a nod. She returns it, and I cut the connection.

White and indigo will suit Lodestar, I think. For the suit, she's chosen a two-tone design, with a lens-flare shaped decal across the chest.

Her helmet - the most different part of her armor to the gear that the Dragon's Teeth used - now has its full-face polarized visor in a bright, shiny purple.

While her costume as Tattletale was also purple, she's chosen a darker shade for her armour. I'm not going to read too much into it - she may very well just like the colour. If you looked at the two costumes side-by-side, you wouldn't make the connection.

It's flashy - attention-getting. But, it isn't ostentatious or crude. It looks good - it'll command attention far better than something more understated.

In terms of her power, it may actually be better if she's dressed to impress, so to speak. From what I know of her, she does her best work if she can get her target to engage with her verbally. Commanding respect is an important part of that.

I nod to her. "It looks good. Now, I’m going to step you through putting it on, taking it off, how to store it away after a mission, and how to use all of its features.”

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

The suit jostles with the turbulence, descending towards our drop point. Opposite me, Lodestar is strapped in and armoured up. She’s clutching her harness tightly, silent. Dragon’s voice comes over the comm. “Go in twenty, get ready.” We unstrap, walking towards the ramp, holding the handles along the ceiling of the hold. 

“Engage seals.” With a hiss, my suit seals itself. I don’t expect anything dangerous to be in the air, but there’s no point in not being cautious. Lodestar follows suit, her own armour hissing as the seals engage. 

The ramp lowers, giving us a view of the still-flooded and well-overgrown ruined streets. We’re in Kyushu - one of the areas where there’s still some land left above water. Civilization has abandoned the islands entirely, however. The ground is swampy, and the air is thick with tropical insects.

The suit slows, the ramp hanging over the roof of a building we’d identified as stable. “You’re clear to disembark.” We jump from the ramp, falling the short distance onto the roof. “Good luck.”

The ramp closes, the suit turning and returning to the sky. I turn to Lodestar. “Keep an eye on sensors. Intel has it that there’s ferals in the area - both animals and people.” After Leviathan, some people had simply refused to leave. I’ve no doubt that at least some of them are the sort to prefer life in a lawless wasteland.

She clicks her comm in acknowledgement, and we start moving. Our drop point isn’t far from where we determined Masamune to be located, but we will have to move down to ground level first.

Dropping down from the fire escape, we move onto the street. The muck slows our movement - our feet sink into the mud, and the knee-high water has us wading through all the scum and slime that’s accumulated.

Rotten power poles laying across the street and rubble from destroyed buildings slick with slime ensure our footing is unstable. The rusted shells of ruined cars block our path. Cattails grow in the muck, and moss covers everything it can cling to.

It’s treacherous footing - I wouldn’t want to fight on it. Thankfully, things are quiet. Lodestar and I spot a few animals, but they keep well away from us. It’s astonishing just how quickly nature has reclaimed this place - just a decade ago, this was a bustling city. Now…

I shake myself from my thoughts. We’re approaching Masamune’s location. The ground starts sloping upwards, the water getting shallower, the mud getting thinner. Our intel suggests he’s been living in a community center for the past few months. Aerial photography has spotted evidence of Tinkertech fortification, and thermal imaging has confirmed only a single inhabitant.

It isn’t where we found him last time, but it’s nearby.

We crest the hill the building is situated on top of.

“Wait.” Lodestar holds up a hand. “He’s seen us.”

I look to where she’s indicated. Standing on top of the roof of the centre is Masamune, hunched over and with a wispy dark grey beard trailing down his front. He’s unmasked, and looks almost anemic. His eyes are wide, and I can see his mouth moving, muttering to himself. His hair is long, fuzzy from the humidity. He’s wearing traditional robes, tattered and stained. Lining the roof are guns, mounted on tripods - turrets.

“He’s… not all together.” observes Lodestar. “He’s confused why we’re here - he realises that we’re not Japanese.”

“He recovered well enough once we got him back to civilization. Should we approach?”

“No - let him ask why we’re here first. He isn’t hostile - just confused.”

A minute passes as we stand in silence. Masamune paces back and forth across the roof, still muttering to himself. Eventually he turns on the spot, facing us. He yells something, the words indecipherable to my ears.

Dragon translates. “Who are you? Why are you here? Explain yourselves!”

I yell back, letting Dragon translate my words and play them through the speakers in my suit. “Armsmaster and Lodestar. We’re with The Guild - American Heroes. We want to offer you a job.”

His eyes narrow, looking at us for a moment. Shaking his head, he mutters to himself more, resuming his pacing. Seemingly coming to a decision, he calls out to us in heavily accented English. “Come! Speak inside!”

He turns, walking inside the building. I give Lodestar a look. She gives her thoughts. “He’s receptive. I don’t think he gets to speak with many people these days.” No - I can’t imagine he would. He’s been living as a hermit for more than a decade.

We approach. The turrets remain inactive, and we walk through the door. The inside of the building is a steamy mess. Scrap, piled high on tables. Partially assembled devices strewn about, boxy machines, whirring away at their tasks. A generator, humming away. In the corner is a fire, a boiling pot on top - soup?

In the middle of it all is Masamune, hobbling towards us. His eyes are sunken, a wild look in them. “Power armour! Good - very good! I like it!” He looks us up and down, taking in every detail. His English is almost indecipherable, his accent mangling the sounds unfamiliar to him.

By the looks of things, he’s been hard pressed for technology. When we first recruited him, he’d fallen into an intense fugue - I imagine he’ll be going through the same this time. “Masamune? We’re with The Guild. We’ve got a project we believe you could do a great deal of good for.”

“Yes, yes - I’m Masamune. You’re a Tinker? You made this?” he turns to Lodestar. “Or was it you? No - no, definitely not.” He shakes his head, turning back to me. “So? You’re the Tinker?”

“That’s right. The project also aims to recruit many different Tinkers with a varied range of specialities.”

His eyes snap up to me, his hunched posture straightening. “You have more Tinkers? Who? What do they do?” his voice becomes more frantic, desperate to know.

“As of now, Dragon and myself are the only two Tinkers on the team. My specialty lends itself to tightly integrated systems. Dragon is capable of reverse-engineering any Tinkertech she can get her hands on.” Both are understatements, but it seems to have caught his attention anyway.

He slips into Japanese, muttering to himself. He turns, walking towards the fire. Picking up a bucket of water, he dumps it on top, extinguishing it. He walks out the door into the next room, still talking to himself.

Lodestar gives her analysis. “He wants to come with us - desperately. He was completely sold once he got a look at our armour - he doesn’t even care what the job is. I don’t think he’s been able to properly use his power out here. It must be driving him crazy.”

That’s about the impression I got from him last time, too. “Dragon, I think we’re ready to go - bring the suit in for pickup.” We hadn’t landed here out of respect for him when we arrived, but if he’s eager to go we won’t bother trekking back to the landing zone.

“Affirmative, coming in now.”

He walks back into the room, his previous hobble gone. Over his shoulder is a burlap sack filled with loose items, all clacking together as he moves. “I accept your offer. Let’s go now. Scavengers will have seen you and be here soon - best leave quick.”

The sound of Dragon’s suit landing rattles the junk stacked on the tables. At Masamune’s panicked look, Lodestar explains. “That’s our ride.”

We move out of the building. When Masamune sees the suit, his mouth hangs open. “You have mecha! Dragon mecha!” He rushes forward, circling around the craft to get a better look at it.

“Armsmaster - we’ve got people incoming. Thirty seconds out.” Dragon’s voice rings over the comm. 

We’ve got to go. I grab Masamune, bundling him onto the craft. “You can look at it later - those scavengers are here.”

He relents, and Lodestar follows us onboard. The ramp closes and the craft jolts as it lifts off. Masamune stumbles, grabbing a hold of a handle. After he gets his balance, he starts to jabber to himself in Japanese, eyes flitting about the craft, taking it all in.

I end the call, leaning back in my chair. I just heard back from Gelid, and Corona had called earlier this morning. They’ll both be moving up here in about a week. We haven’t heard back from Hardcase yet, but Lodestar is confident he’ll accept.

Pulling up the in-progress report, I continue where I left off. Narwhal leaves the specifics of The Project to me, but she does want to be copied in on our activities. Thankfully, the mission was a total success. Masamune had been all too eager to agree to work with us, and is working through his fugue now. Dragon’s keeping an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t overdo it too badly.

Right now we’ve got him working over some of the more complex parts of my spear and suit. Thankfully, I’d made spares, so my gear isn’t out of commission. If he can crack them, I’ll have a much easier time maintaining everything. Ideally, we’ll want him to make a start on gear for the Dragon’s Teeth, but the work he’s doing now will help with that regardless.

Lodestar accounted herself well on the mission - her insights were relevant, and assisted in achieving our objective. She kept her composure, and stayed focused on the task at hand. We didn’t see combat, so it remains to be seen if she can handle herself there - I expect she’ll do well, but we don’t want to go throwing her in the deep end.

At some point I’ll need to make a prototype set of Dragon’s Teeth gear for Masamune, but I want to hold off on things for now - I figure giving the Protectorate Tinkers we’re recruiting some input would be a good idea. PRT troopers have already been tapped, so we’re just waiting on their gear to be ready. We’ll want training to start as soon as possible - adjusting to fighting with my combat prediction software isn’t a small task.

The software is coming along nicely - I’ve chipped away at it in my spare time, and I know Dragon has been helping work out the kinks, too. It needs some time to stew - to take in data and learn how the big threats fight - but it’s getting close. I’d be hesitant to use it on an Endbringer - even if it were complete - but it’s getting to the point that I could do it if pressed.

I’m making progress on cracking Ascalon, too. I don’t think Dragon has caught on, thankfully. I’m nowhere near ready to try to change anything, but I’m starting to understand how the backdoor works - and how I could use it to get undetected access to her code.

Keeping her in the dark troubles me. I don’t like doing it, but it’s ultimately necessary. Changing her without her permission isn’t something I’m happy about, either. In the other timeline, she’d all but told me outright that she hates her chains - this Dragon surely feels similarly.

I drag my thoughts towards something more optimistic. Things are starting to come together. Flechette is due to arrive in the next few days, which leaves us with a total of seven confirmed capes on The Project. Our next move will be to pursue Blasto and Leet. We don’t expect trouble on either of those missions, either - they’ll be a good opportunity to help get Flechette, Lodestar and I into the groove of working together. Ideally, we’d also have Bastion as a member of our field team, but it’s looking unlikely that he’ll accept.

We’ll have to look into recruiting someone else. Narwhal isn’t an option - she’s too busy with other Guild commitments. Maybe an android body for Dragon? No - I don’t think she’s quite there on the technology front at this point in time. In the future, perhaps, but right now it makes more sense to find someone else. One of the Tinkers, maybe?

I push the thoughts from my head, finishing off the report and sending it off.

---Ω---

“We’re in agreement, then?”

Around the table, everyone nods. The capes in the group are unmasked. The harsh white walls reflect light from the overhead bulb, leaving the room uncomfortably bright.

“It’s decided. In light of the new information, we will adjust our path. Our strategy moving forward is outlined in the documents in front of you. Ensure your actions do not compromise this new approach.”

Chapter Text

---Now-Flechette---

“That wraps up your induction. Welcome to The Guild, Flechette. I hope you’ll find your time here worthwhile.” Armsmaster unfolds his hands, fiddling with some control in his suit.

I smile - this opportunity came out of nowhere, and is the sort of thing that’s a once in a lifetime deal. The chance to work closely with Armsmaster and Dragon both? And the possibility for a permanent position in The Guild after the assignment has concluded? 

I’m not overly concerned about my career as a Cape - not like some people - but the chance to work with and learn from such big names had been attractive nonetheless. I just hope that there’ll be a few people closer to my level, too.

It hadn’t hurt that I’d fallen into a bit of a rut back in New York. Hopefully this change of pace will do me some good.

Armsmaster continues. “I need to get back to work - planning for our next mission - but I’ll leave you in the care of Lodestar. She’ll get you situated with the base and its facilities.”

He stands, moving deftly in his armour despite its heft. It must be new - I haven’t seen him in this set in any of his press work. By the looks of things, it’s far more serious than what he had before, lacking the lower-face window that my own helmet has. He leaves the room in a hurry.

I still don’t know the specific goals of the project - he’d said that he’ll be briefing everyone in once the first round of recruitment has concluded - but I got the impression that it’s fairly lofty. 

I stand as a woman wearing sleek purple and white armour walks in. “Flechette? I’m Lodestar.” She extends a hand. 

I shake it. “I like your armour - make it yourself?” It isn’t my style, but it does look nice. I’d heard that Lodestar was a Thinker working with Dragon, but rumors aren’t terribly reliable - she could be a Tinker for all I know. 

She laughs, the genuine tone making it through her helmet’s speakers well. “No - Armsmaster made me the set. I did choose the look, though.” She gestures to my own gear. “I can see we have similar tastes in colour, at least.”

I nod, smiling. “I can’t say that I’m a fan of the arrow motif, but this was the best I could get out of PR.” Truthfully, while I do like the colour I’m not really a fan of my current costume - it’s a bit too gauche for my taste. I’d rather something a bit more unassuming, but there had been little use in lamenting about it while I was in The Wards.

“Well, I do have some good news for you, then: you’re expected to manage your own brand here - if you want, getting yourself a new look wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“I know! It’s great - I almost couldn’t believe it when Armsmaster told me.”

She nods. “The benefits of working with the big-leagues, I suppose. We’d best get going - I’ll be showing you around. Dragon told me you’ll be staying in the rooms next to mine. Armsmaster is technically on the same floor as us, but the guy sleeps in his workshop more often than not.”

She’s joking, but I know how Tinkers work - it probably isn’t that much of an exaggeration. “Alright - sounds good.” I’d opted for on-site living. I’ve got the income for an apartment out in the city, but this is just a whole lot more convenient.

“Oh - one last thing. Armsmaster said we’re going to be working together out in the field, so it’s probably a good idea to get this out of the way.” There’s a click and a hiss, and her helmet lifts slightly from its position on her head. She reaches up, taking it off.

Her long, blonde ponytail falls out of the helmet as she removes it, leaving her hair a frizzy mess. She trails her free hand through her fringe, arranging it such that she can properly see. Her face is lightly freckled, with striking green eyes and a light smile across her lips.

The edges of her smile turns upward, the expression morphing into something else.

I take my own helmet off, meeting her eyes with my own. “I’m Lily. I’m looking forward to working  with you.”

Her smile grows wider. “I’m Lisa. Likewise.” She seems to be taking some sort of joy in this. After a moment, she returns the helmet to her head. “Let’s get moving - if you want to snag some dinner from the cafeteria, we’ll have to be quick.”

I put my own back on and follow her out of the room.

---Still-Defiant---

I step into the suit, Flechette and Lodestar strapped in on one side. Dragon tells me that the two had struck off well enough - I’m glad. I’ve been too preoccupied with my own work to speak with Flechette at length, but it seems she’s satisfied with the current arrangements.

I strap myself in, opposite the two. “We’re good to go, Dragon - set us off.” The hatch closes, the suit jolting as it lifts off.

Lodestar looks at me, head cocked. “What’s this about? You’re calling this mission a go sooner than you wanted to.”

“Blasto has dropped off the grid. His PHO account has gone silent, and his minions haven’t  been seen on the streets. We’re moving our schedule up and paying his lair a visit. We can’t allow Blasto’s power to fall into the wrong hands.”

Flechette frowns, confused. “Blasto?”

Lodestar fills her in. “Biotinker. Capable of engineering creatures to his specifications. Boston-based Villain. Amiable disposition, suspected to be open to recruitment if approached correctly.” She turns to me. “And turning up at his lair unannounced isn’t what I’d call a correct approach.”

I shake my head. “It can’t be helped. If his power is applied with the correct Tinker support, he has the capability to clone Capes - powers included. No matter what, we do not want to let him fall into the wrong hands. We’re here to investigate - determine whether he’s been acquired by someone else, or if he is simply laying lower than usual.”

Lodestar already knows this, but Flechette is shocked. “Cloning capes? You’re joking.” She looks at me, sagging when I simply stare at her, silent. “You aren’t joking. How do you know?”

“Precognitive insight from a reliable - and highly classified - source.”

She doesn’t like it, but accepts my explanation. With a sigh, she collects herself, back straightening. “Alright - what’s the brief?”

I continue, detailing the specifics of what Lodestar and Dragon found out about his lair and abilities. The two sit, stewing on the information. 

“This caught us flatfooted. Dragon and I are in agreement that it is unlikely for him to have been kidnapped at this point in time, but we do not want to leave this up to chance - we’ll be aiming to resolve this situation today.”

The three of us sit in silence, gathering our thoughts for the mission ahead. If all goes well, we’ll be back on our way to Toronto one member stronger. If things don’t go well, Blasto will either be entirely uncooperative or already missing.

I’ve spoken with Narwhal on the subject, and she’s aware of the context. I’ve received permission to bring Blasto in with whatever means I deem necessary. It isn’t a kill order - but letting him escape alive is not an option. Leaving an avenue for Slaughterhouse Nine clones to potentially spring up again is not an acceptable outcome - if Blasto is an unfortunate casualty in preventing that, then that’s a price we’re willing to pay.

It's cold, and it doesn’t sit well with me at all, but that’s the reality of the situation. I just hope we can reach an amicable resolution for both parties. Despite being a Villain, he had at least attempted to make a noble sacrifice last time - I can definitely somewhat respect him for that.

“The building is empty. No heat signatures.” Dragon’s voice comes over our comms.

The suit tilts, coming back around for a second pass. “You’re sure this is his lair?”

Lodestar nods. “Absolutely. We had a local PRT agent scope out the place last week - plenty of heat signatures then. I’ve no doubt that almost all of them were his creations.”

I curse under my breath. “Take us down. We’ll be taking a look.”

The suit banks, descending. I unbuckle from my harness, Flechette and Lodestar following me. Steadying myself from the grab handles hanging from the roof of the suit, I wait for the ramp to lower.

It does, giving a view of the building. It’s a dilapidated print shop - doubtless built sometime in the twentieth century. The broken windows of the warehouse give us a peek into the almost bare interior - not good.

The suit touches down, and we step out. I heft my spear, and Flechette grips her crossbow tightly. I hadn’t had a chance to set her up with newer gear - her current setup is… quaint. Provided she’s amenable, I’ll be able to fix that.

We move, clearing the corners of the building. My armoured boot strikes the side door, sending it flying open, Lodestar following behind me. I can hear Flechette do the same on the other side of the building.

Her report comes over my comm. “Clear. The office is empty”

The scene in front of me confirms her assessment. The warehouse floor is barren. The only evidence that Blasto even worked here is an array of six filthy glass tubes set next to one of the workbenches.

A cart laden with unlabeled chemicals sits in the corner. A terminal sits inactive on one of the benches. A number of tools in various states of broken are strewn about the shop carelessly. In the middle of the room is a crudely-made hole, broken concrete around the edges. The shop is directly above a sewer serviceway, allowing discrete access to the sewage system.

I approach the hole, confirming my suspicion. It’s empty - swept clean of dust. “Clear. No contacts on the shop floor.” My eyes are drawn back to the tubes. The filth inside isn’t something I’d trust to be safe. “I’m declaring this site a biohazard. Flechette, return to the suit and contact the local PRT to explain the situation. Lodestar, see what you can glean. I will secure the rest of the site.”

“I’m entrusting this site to you. Keep me copied in on any developments.”

The PRT captain nods, giving me his affirmative. We’ve got all we could out of the warehouse - which hadn’t been much. The tubes have been adequately secured, and don’t seem to be dangerous after a more thorough examination.

I turn, returning to the suit. Inside, Lodestar and Flechette sit opposite each other on the benches, not buckled in. Lodestar seems to be deep in thought, and Flechette is idly fiddling with one of her namesake throwing darts.

Seeing me enter, she returns it to its sheath, and Lodestar shakes herself from her thoughts. “Close the ramp.” I take a seat as it does.

With a sigh, I remove my helmet. “This is almost a worst case scenario.” I want to be able to convey facial expression for this - and I can’t do so with my helmet on.

Lodestar and Flechette follow, removing their own. Idly, I note that I hadn’t seen Flechette’s face yet. I continue, a frown settling onto my face. “All signs point to voluntary abandonment of the premises.”

Lisa frowns. “That’s about the size of it. Everything there was junk. He took anything useful with him. Wherever he went.”

Flechette - I’ll have to introduce myself as a civilian at some point - adds her opinion. “With sewer access and a horde of minions, that could be almost anywhere in the city - and we’d never know any better than that.”

“We can put out feelers - keep an eye on things and catch him if he ever surfaces again - but I’m not hopeful. If he’s been recruited, then we’re liable to never see him again. If he’s simply relocated, then we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lisa nods. “We could try contacting his only known associate - Bad Apple. They haven’t been seen working together for at least six months, but she may know something we don’t.”

I agree with her assessment. “Do that. It’s our best lead right now.” I sigh, returning my helmet. “Alright, Dragon. Take us home.”

Dragon’s voice comes through the speakers of my workshop. “It’s time for the brief with Flechette and Lodestar. Have you decided on what you want to do with Uber and Leet?”

I put down my tool, clicking the service panelling of my spear closed. “I have.” I return my helmet to my head, stowing my spear on my back. Checking out of my workshop, I elaborate. “Based on Lodestar’s assessment, I do not believe Uber will be an asset to the Project. I am, however, prepared to offer him a place in the Toronto Protectorate with a standard probation. Narwhal and her second are amenable to the idea.”

I’d brought up the idea with her after briefing her on the Blasto situation. Unfortunately, there hasn't been any further progress in regards to finding him again. Bad Apple said she hasn’t spoken with him for several months, and expressed genuine concern when she learnt that he’d gone missing. The PRT techs hadn’t found anything else on the site - but I hadn’t expected them to.

It’s a mystery. We’ve got no leads, and no idea where he could have gone or what prompted the move. My only reassurance is that The Slaughterhouse Nine had been last sighted in North Dakota a few days ago - there’s zero chance that they’re responsible.

It’s an empty comfort. We’ll just have to wait and hope he resurfaces.

Dragon chews her lip in my helmet’s feed. “You don’t intend to keep the pair under the same organization? I can definitely understand why... their track record working together isn’t what you’d call stellar.”

I hit the elevator button, stepping inside and entering the floor of our conference room. “No, it isn’t. Leet’s value to the Project is strictly in the breadth of technology he has been demonstrated as capable of producing. I do not believe either are suitable for field work - nor do I believe training would remedy that in any reasonable amount of time. This solution would allow the pair to continue cohabitating, if that is their desire - or at least to remain in contact.”

The elevator reaches its destination, letting me out onto the floor. Dragon’s avatar nods in my helmet’s display. “It’s a generous deal - they’d be foolish to decline.”

“Nobody said that the pair weren’t fools. We’ll just have to hope that sense prevails in this case.” Dragon snorts, stifling a laugh. I reach the meeting room, stepping inside.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

“Are there any questions?” I regard Lodestar and Flechette. They shake their heads. “Then that concludes the briefing. If all goes well, expect the mission to be in a few days. We’ll be making contact with the pair over PHO today.”

Lodestar leans back in her chair. “Sure thing, boss. We’ll be ready for it.” Flechette nods, agreeing.

“There are a few other matters I would like to address. I received an agreement from the Protectorate Tinker Hardcase this morning. He is scheduled to arrive on the tenth. The Protectorate Tinkers Corona and Gelid are both on their way now, and will be arriving today and tomorrow. With the exclusion of Leet, we have now concluded our first round of recruitment.”

Lodestar tilts her head. “First round? You intend on more?”

“I do. The scope of this project is likely too wide for only seven Tinkers to accomplish. Further Tinker specializations will be recruited as necessary. Additional field assets may also be required, depending on what courses of action we pursue. For now, however, we have enough people to make a start.”

Flechette nods, slowly. “That makes sense. Would you like us to show Corona and Gelid around when they arrive?”

“Leave introducing their workspace to me, but showing them the rest of the facilities would be appreciated. I believe Corona and Hardcase plan to live off-site, but Gelid will be living here.”

Flechette shifts in her seat, getting ready to stand up. Lodestar remains still, looking at the two of us. “Ok. Is there anything else?” 

I raise a hand to stop her. “There is.” She sits back down. “It’s in regards to your equipment. If you’re amenable, I intend to provide you with a standardised set of armour that you will be given the opportunity to customize the appearance of to your liking. It will be a similar set to what we intend to equip the Dragon’s Teeth with.”

Even under her helmet, I can recognise that she’d been taken aback by the offer. She collects herself quickly, though. “I’d like that. If it helps, I can get you an image for what look I want.”

“That would be of assistance. I would also ask you to submit your arbalest to Dragon for analysis - the technology used for the matter fabrication components are outside of my specialization, so I will be unable to perform maintenance on the device for you.”

She nods. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

I stand, Flechette and Lodestar following suit. “That’s all. I will ensure you are notified of when Corona and Gelid arrive.”

---Now-Flechette---

Lodestar presses the call button for the elevator. We’ve just been paged to meet Corona in the lobby.  I make some idle conversation as we wait. “So, what did you think of Corona? I like the whole ‘Wendy the Welder’ look she’s got, but she seemed a bit... “ I trail off as the elevator arrives and we step inside. We met Corona yesterday, but I didn’t get a chance to ask Lisa what she thought about her. 

Corona had taken the first opportunity to get rid of us, and hadn’t stuck around in the building for longer than she’d had to. It hadn’t helped that her language had been a bit more profanity-laden than is expected of a professional.

“Boorish? Yeah - I think that’s just who she is. I got the impression that she knows she doesn’t make a good impression on people, but just doesn’t care.”

“You think she’ll have trouble?”

Lodestar shakes her head. “No - one thing I definitely got from her is that above all else she loves Tinkering. The opportunity to work on a big project like this is something she’ll love. I think she’ll manage to work it out, even if there’s a bit of friction at first.”

The elevator slows, coming to a stop. We step out into a hall behind the lobby. Walking into the lobby proper, Gelid is immediately recognisable. Atop her head is a glass bowl, the inside of which is a swirling mass of snow - like a snowglobe containing a blizzard. Her face is completely hidden behind it all, but it doesn’t seem to affect her ability to see.

She turns to us as we walk in, the swirling snow shifting as she moves. Now that she’s facing me, I can see two bright blue lights shining through the snow where her eyes would be. Her body is covered by a loose, thick, rubbery suit - almost like hazmat gear. It’s coloured a dark grey and bright aqua in a two-toned design. Tubes run across the surface of the suit, connecting the various segments to a canister pack set atop her back. Across her forearms are control panels with buttons, neon blue lights and dials exposed for the world to see.

It’s imposing - whoever helped out with her image did a good job with it. A light misting wafts from her pack and helm, trailing behind her as she moves towards us.

Lodestar steps forward, extending her hand. “You must be Gelid. I’m Lodestar.”

She takes the handshake. “Pleased to meet you.” Her voice has a quaver to it, betraying her anxiousness. 

I offer my own hand. “Flechette. I’m looking forward to working with you.” 

She shakes it, her grip loose. Even through my costume, I get a chill from her hand. “Hello.” Her stance has shrunk - she looks nervous. It clashes pretty badly with the image that her armour gives.

Lodestar steps in, directing her to walk with us. “Let’s give you the tour. You’re staying in the building, right? Your rooms will be near ours.” Her tone is gentle, almost sympathetic. She’s being accommodating - Gelid is clearly rather skittish.

She stutters. “Right.”

We walk to the elevator, taking it up. Poor girl - she’s a bundle of nerves. I’d heard that she only recently left the Wards, too. Hopefully she’ll get settled in well enough.

---Still-Defiant---

The warning alarm for the workshop doors sounds, distracting me from the tour of the facility I’d been providing to our two newest Tinkers. My personal touch is required for this part of their introduction - Lodestar and Flechette just aren’t close enough to the Tinkertech side of things to do a good job of it. Besides, this is a good opportunity to get an impression of the people I’ll be working with in the lab.

I pull the door’s feed up on my helmet display - it’s Masamune. It’s fortunate that he’s here - now is a good time to introduce these two to him. They’ll be working together on our projects, after all. A few moments pass, and he’s admitted to the workshop. 

I greet him. “Masamune. It’s good to see you up and about.” After coming out of his fugue, he’d crashed for a few days, recovering. I’ve looked over his work - very good, as always. The parts he’d managed to crack will help a great deal with maintaining both Lodestar’s and my own suit. 

“Ah, yes. It is good to be back.” He nods to himself. “Who is this?”

He points to the two Tinkers beside me. “This is Corona and Gelid. They’ll be working with us. I’m just introducing them to the workshop.” 

This workshop, as opposed to the smaller one I’ve been working out of so far, is rather large. We’ve taken over an entire floor of The Guild’s tower for the space. They’d had to do a little bit of reshuffling, but the tower is large enough for it to not be an issue. The important part is that it is secure, safe, and well-equipped.

He turns to them, looking them up and down. “Yes, yes! I have read Armsmaster’s notes - High-Energy Systems and Thermal Energy? So much potential! I am looking forward to seeing your work.”

Gelid wrings her hands, saying nothing. Corona snorts, the welder’s mask that covers her face shifting slightly. 

Turning to the two new Tinkers, I address them. “This is Masamune. He is an important part of this project. His Tinker speciality allows him to mass-produce Tinkertech.”

Gelid stills. Corona leans forward. “Really? This goo-” She cuts herself off. “This guy? That sounds…”

“Neither of you have been briefed on the Dragon’s Teeth project yet. But, we plan to outfit squads of PRT troopers with a full loadout of mass-produced Tinkertech equipment. Your first assignments will be to assist in the creation of that gear. Hardcase and I will be primarily focused on the suit, while your specialties will lend themselves to the weapons. Of course, if you see something that you can help with in the suit, don’t hesitate to lend your expertise.”

I tap a few commands out on my interface. Corona cocks her head. “Tinkertech equipped troops?” 

“Correct. I’ll get you the full brief now.” Connecting to the printer near the door to the workshop, I send the documents I’d prepared earlier through. Handing them out, I watch their reactions closely.

Corona’s stance shifts. I can tell she’s excited - eager to get to work. Gelid… I don’t know. She’s quiet - I don’t think she’s said more than a few words to me since she arrived. Lodestar’s report had said that she has trouble talking to people, but I didn’t think it would be quite like this. 

I’m not sure what to do about it - or even if I should do anything. 

I make a note to seek Dragon’s advice later. For now, I’ll leave things be.

---Now-Flechette---

I knock on the door. Behind, I can hear Lisa shuffling about. She opens it. “Oh hey, Lily.”

"Hey. I was about to head down to the gym for my routine. I was wondering if you'd like to join me?"

She looks at me, chewing her lip for just a moment. "Yeah, ok. I could probably use a break anyway. No guarantees about being able to keep up with you though."

I smile. Awesome - I'd been getting tired of working out by myself. She turns around calling out behind her as she walks back into her room. "Let me just get my stuff - I'll be right with you."

Down in the gym, we start off with some running. After ten minutes or so, I can tell that Lisa wasn't kidding when she said she might not be able to keep up with me. I've barely started with my routine, and she's already looking like she's about to drop.

As she runs on the treadmill next to me, she flicks her head, trying to clear her fringe out of her eyes. Beads of sweat run down her face, giving it a wet shine. 

It's admirable, seeing her try so hard to keep up. It’s pretty clear to me she isn’t exceptionally fit, but I can’t fault her ethic.

I refocus, turning the treadmill’s speed up a little. I’m glad that she’s on the project - I’d been a little scared that I wouldn’t have anyone I could really connect with. We’re colleagues - friends, too - but I’ve only known her for a week.

A week that we’ve hung out with each other just about every day.

Well… I suppose it’s safe to say we’ve hit it off well. She’s got a wry sense of humor that never fails to amuse. Despite all the time we’ve spent together, though, we really haven’t spoken much about our personal lives.

I guess it just never came up, but I can’t help but be a little curious.

"Alright. I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears." Lisa's voice cuts through my inner conflict. She’s stopped running, standing on the sides of the treadmill. By the looks of things, she’s already caught her breath.

Smoke coming out of my ears? Oh - that’s right - she’s a Thinker. I step off the treadmill, turning it off. I don’t know the specifics of her power, other than that it’s a fairly powerful one.

She continues, “I’d probably say I’m about at my limit for now. Do you want to go grab a coffee? I’m happy to listen to whatever’s troubling you.”

I nod. “Okay - that sounds nice.” I haven’t really even made a dent in my exercise routine, but coffee with a friend wasn’t really something my old Wards buddies were ever up for. Lisa and I seem to have made a habit of it - much to my delight.

We part ways, heading to our rooms to go clean up. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I knock on her door.

She lets me inside. Handing me a mug of coffee, she says "Here. Let's go sit down." 

We sit opposite each other, sitting in an amicable silence for a few moments.

“You’re curious about something - about me. What’s up?” Lisa asks directly, sitting in a relaxed slouch on the couch.

I wave her off - “No - nothing in particular. I was just thinking that we never really spoke to each other about our pasts.”

She nods. “They tend to be pretty prickly subjects, when it comes to capes.” There’s a weight to her tone - I catch the implication that her own past falls into that category.

I let the topic drop, shifting the conversation back towards more lighthearted waters. If she’s up to discuss it, she’ll bring it up in time.

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

The suit jostles under the turbulence. There’s a storm headed in towards Brockton Bay, and with it comes stronger than usual winds. We’ve been circling around bad weather for most of the trip down from Canada - this suit can handle a storm if it has to, but there’s no point in taking unnecessary risks. Across from me, Flechette clutches her harness tighter. Lodestar rolls with it, swaying in the seat with the movements of the suit.

We don’t expect this mission to give us much trouble. Uber and Leet have agreed to meet at a neutral ground - a bare hilltop next to the forest north of the city. Based on their reply to our message, Lodestar suspects that the pair is intrigued, but wary of being burnt by us. They’d agreed not to stream the meeting - if Dragon finds evidence of dishonesty in that regard, we’ll be turning right around and going back to Canada.

Dragon’s voice comes over the speakers. “Coming up to the drop site in ten.”

We unbuckle from the harnesses, getting ready to leave the suit. The ramp lowers, exposing the interior to the harsh winds. Down on the hill, just inside the treeline, I can see two figures dressed in sleek black bodysuits with strange balaclavas and goggles.

Undoubtedly, the gear is based on something from one of their games, but I couldn’t place it if pressed.

The suit touches down, and we step out onto the ground. The two of them are talking to each other energetically, gesturing to us. They aren’t being subtle at all - division in the ranks?

Lodestar’s voice comes over the comm. “They’re debating whether you’re actually Armsmaster, or some sort of imposter. I don’t think they quite believe that you’d be willing to contact them like this.”

We come to a stop, a dozen paces out from the treeline. As if a switch had been flicked, the two stop, seemingly having come to an agreement. They leave the forest, standing a few steps from the edge.

“You’re Armsmaster?”

It’s Uber speaking. I’ve been subjected to the recordings of a number of their ‘shows’ during both my time with the Protectorate and during the research phase of this recruitment effort. Despite wearing identical costumes, I can tell them apart by voice.

“That is correct.”

The two give each other a look. Leet crosses his arms across his chest. “So you want to recruit us.”

The wind picks up, the trees of the forest swaying. To be heard over the sound they almost had to shout. “I have an offer. The details are in there-” I gesture to the document envelope held by Lodestar.  “-But I will tell you the basics now. Standard Probation. Full cessation of all criminal activities. Abandonment of the ‘Uber’ and ‘Leet’ identities. Five year employment contract - Uber with the Toronto Protectorate, Leet with The Guild. In exchange, a full pardon of all crimes and a salary befitting your new positions.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Uber’s question is quick, and his tone is laced with suspicion. “I don’t think you’re the sort of guy to try flipping villains for kicks.”

“There is a Guild project that I believe Leet’s power could be of assistance in. Collaborative Tinker work - you’ll be a part of a team.” I can see Leet stiffen in reaction to my words, but leave it at that. I don’t want to give any of the sensitive details until I’ve secured an agreement. “It won’t be easy work.”

Leet turns to Uber, putting a hand on his shoulder. The two talk to each other in hushed tones. They likely think that we can’t hear them, but the sensors in Lodestar’s suit more than up to the task.

After a second’s delay, a filtered and isolated audio feed begins playing back in my ear.

“Bro - he’s serious. This is big.”

“Really? Weren’t you just saying that he’s probably a replicant?” Uber is surprised - he hadn’t expected Leet to change his mind so quickly.

“No - I take it back. That was a stupid idea, anyway. This’s Armsmaster we’re talking about - whatever project he’s involved with isn’t going to be small potatoes. This could be our big break.”

“What do you mean? You think that we’ll make more from a government paycheck than the streams?”

“Yeah - I’d take that bet any day of the week, but I’m not talking money here. We’re losers, man. You know it, I know it, the world knows it. If Armsmaster comes through for us, we’ve got an easy exit with jobs lined up for us on our way out - it’s a good chance to throw in the towel and stop being those losers with the video game show.”

“You want to be heroes? I… I dunno if we’re cut out for it. We...” he trails off.

“I get what you’re saying, but we’ve got to at least try! I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we can keep this up forever.” Uber nods, uncertain. Seeing that he isn’t fully convinced, Leet continues. “Eventually, we’re going to run out of luck. The white-hats are going to catch us, or we’re going to accidentally step on the wrong Villain’s toes, and we’ll either end up dead in a ditch, facing prison, or stuck with a worse deal than this one.”

Uber sighs. “You’re set on this.” Leet nods. “I get what you mean, at least. It probably doesn’t get better than this.”

The feed goes silent, the conversation over. This is a good sign - things are unfolding roughly how Lodestar suspected they would. 

After just a moment the pair turns back to us. Uber nods at Lodestar. “We’re interested. Give us some time to have a proper look at the terms, and we’ll give you an answer.”

I take the envelope from Lodestar, stepping forward. Uber meets me in the middle, taking it from me. We step backwards, returning to our previous positions.

“Once we’ve decided, we’ll send you a message through PHO. Expect it sometime tomorrow.” Droplets of water begin to fall from the sky, signalling the beginning of a spring shower. 

Not an ideal timeframe, but perfectly acceptable. I nod, raising my voice to be heard over the rain. “If any clarifications are required, request them through the same channel.” The contract is perfectly clear - it shouldn't be necessary - but I’m offering regardless as a courtesy.

“We’ll make sure to do that.” With that, the pair steps backwards into the forest, walking away from us.

After a few moments, we return to the suit. The ramp raises, shutting us off from the inclement weather. The three of us sit down, strapping in. “Set us off, Dragon. Your take, Lodestar?”

The suit lifts off, returning us to the air. “I’ll be very surprised if they end up declining. I hadn’t quite expected Leet to be so eager to get away from villainy, though.”

I can see Flechette frown, turning towards Lodestar “Do you think you just got a bad read? Or is something else at play?”

She shakes her head firmly. “Probably just a bad read - unreliable information will do that sort of thing. I already figured that he wasn’t completely satisfied - I’d say this is just a step above that.”

Nothing to worry about, then. We’ve just got to wait for them to make up their mind. 

The suit shifts, pulling up. Dragon’s voice comes over our comms with an explanation. “We’re stopping by at The Rig to top up on fuel. Don’t want to risk getting caught out if the trip back is like the one here.” Following her words, the suit sets down, jolting as it lands.

Flechette leans back in her harness. “Do you think we should just stay in The Bay overnight?” She asks. After a moment, she explains her reasoning. “By the time we get back to Toronto, it’ll be dusk. If we’re just going to hop back here in the morning, it might not be worth our time.”

She isn’t wrong - doing the full trip back only to return six hours later would be rather unnecessary. We’ve allowed up to four days for this mission, so there isn’t anything urgent waiting for us back in Toronto. I nod to her, coming to a decision. “I’m sure the Protectorate will be willing to host us for tonight.”

Her shoulders slumped, Lodestar threads her fingers, hands sitting limply in her lap. She’s clearly nervous about something. “You don’t think there’ll be a repeat of my recruitment? I wouldn’t put it past him to put two-and-two together.”

Flechette doesn’t understand what Lodestar is referring to. She hasn’t shared her past, then. I hadn’t considered that Coil may cause a problem.

I weigh the situation. I don’t know enough about Coil’s mindset to determine whether something is likely to happen. I haven’t kept up with events in The Bay, either - though, the PRT should definitely have weeded out most - if not all - of Coil’s agents by now.

“Do you think an attack is likely? You would have a better idea of his motivations than I.” Lodestar sits for a few moments, silent. Flechette is clearly lost by the conversation, but doesn’t ask.

Eventually, she comes to a conclusion. “No. I don’t think so. He’ll be hurting for inside agents after everything that went down - he’s vindictive, but not enough to compromise his position further.” It goes without saying that The Rig is too well protected for him to risk a more direct approach.

“Understood. We’ll take precautionary measures, but if you do not believe he will be able to circumvent our measures we will go ahead and stay in The Bay until this mission has concluded.” 

I don’t mention that provoking Coil to expose more of his resources in a failed attack will further weaken his hand - and consequently strengthen the Bay’s - but Lodestar is no doubt sharp enough to realise that herself.

Dragon’s voice comes over our communicators. “Miss Militia is on her way now.”

“I’ll go speak with her.” I stand, unbuckling from my harness. The ramp lowers and I step outside, leaving Lodestar and Flechette inside. Rain slicks off the suit, dripping to the ground in streams. My amour is quickly drenched under the downpour, but I remain dry and comfortable inside.

 Stepping down off of the helipad, I greet the PRT troopers guarding the door with a nod. My amour must still be recognisably ‘Armsmaster’, because they let me inside with only a cursory check.

I see Miss Militia coming up the stairwell to meet me. “Armsmaster!” I can hear the joy in her voice. “It’s good to see you again.” The skin around her eyes is bunched - she’s smiling under her bandana.

“Hello, Miss Militia.” Some of Dragon’s advice has stuck in the back of my mind - pleasantries before business when speaking with friends. “It’s good to see you too. Will we get right to it, then?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Meeting room four is open.” She turns, waving for me to follow her down. “I see you’ve got a new suit. Heavy duty?”

“That’s right. It was designed with a number of very specific, high-risk targets in mind. Of course, it’s more than suitable for general use as well.”

 “I see - you’ve been very busy. I’ve heard chatter that you’ve been snapping up a lot of the Protectorate’s most valuable Tinkers.”

“That’s correct. Our recruitment efforts have been very successful. We’re certainly going to need as much as we can get if we’re to accomplish our goals.” We leave the stairwell, exiting out into a hallway. Water still drips off of my armour, but the linoleum floors of The Rig were chosen for this very reason. 

We enter the meeting room. Miss Militia keys commands into the pad by the door, darkening the windows into the room and disabling the cameras. 

I take a seat, removing my helmet. Hannah pulls her bandanna down, letting it hang around her neck. She looks me up and down.

“You look exhausted, Colin.” I’ve been pulling late nights since I left the Protectorate. Apparently, it’s showing. I can’t afford to do much about it, unfortunately.

“You don’t look that rested yourself.” Her eyes are sunken, and I can see frown lines beginning to crease her face. 

She sighs. “I don’t feel rested, either. Running an entire Protectorate department isn’t a small job.”

No - it isn’t. I would never have had the time to prepare for the future if I had continued in my previous position.

She shakes her head, straightening in her chair. “I don’t know the specifics of what you’re doing, but I know how you work, Colin. Whatever it is, it’s important. If you ever need my help, just give me a call and I’ll do all I can.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

She nods. “Alright. Dragon’s message said you were wanting to stay the night. We’ll be happy to accomodate - having Uber and Leet out of our hair will be a welcome change.”

“Unfortunately, it won’t be quite so simple. We have reason to suspect that if given the opportunity, Coil may make a move against Lodestar. We don’t expect him to, but measures should be put in place regardless.”

“Coil…” She trails off. “He’s been laying low. We haven’t seen anything from him for a while. We’ve weeded out a number of his plants, but there’s no telling if we’ve got them all.” She shakes her head, silent for a moment. “We’ll do what we can to minimize the risk.”

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

The sight I’m greeted with as I walk into Kid Win’s workshop is… interesting. He’s arm-deep in the mostly-complete guts of what clearly used to be my bike. The speaker system in the workshop is blaring rock music at an ear-splitting volume, Kid Win bobbing his head along to it.

He’s clearly hit his groove - he hadn’t even noticed me walk in. The bike has definitely seen a thorough work-over - the exterior panelling has been modified to mesh with his armour’s look, and both wheels have been entirely replaced with what I quickly identify as hover units. 

A hover-bike? Well, Kid Win knows how to play into his style, I’ll give him that. The overall design of the bike, too, has clearly been heavily modified to allow for a modular framework. Despite myself, I smile - it’s good to see that he’s hitting his stride. From the looks of things, he’s figured out his speciality well enough.

Kid Win steps back, turning to retrieve something from one of the cabinets, when he turns around to return to his work, he spots me. A wide smile comes to his face, and he fiddles with one of the controls on a nearby PDA. At once, the music cuts. “Armsmaster! I didn’t see you there.”

“Hello, Kid Win. I’m in The Bay on Guild business for a few days, so I figured I’d drop by to see how everything’s going.”

He drops the components he had retrieved on the bench. Gesturing to the bike, “Well - very well, really. I’ve been having a lot of luck with this project - I’d say it’s almost ready for the review board.”

That’s good to hear - I know he’d had a lot of trouble in the past getting things to the point where they could be given the final OK. “No issues with the maintenance or anything? I would have liked to have stepped you through everything personally - I hope my notes have sufficed.”

He shakes his head. “Nah - not really. Things have been pretty hectic here lately, but I’ve been coping. Your notes have been a great help, honestly.”

“Hectic? I can’t say I’ve really been keeping up with what’s been happening.”

He does a double take at my words - “You haven’t heard? Shadow Stalker got busted. Big-time - word is she’s headed for prison. Director Piggot came down on her like a ton of bricks - no mercy. It’s all been kept real hush.”

Really? Well, that’s good to hear. It seems like setting Miss Militia on the case was a good call. I’m relieved to hear that things have been resolved satisfactorily. Even if she never knows I had a hand in things, I do hope things work out for the better for Weaver. There isn’t much else I can do - best to just leave well enough alone for now.

He continues. “There’s been a bit of tension in the Wards since. She was always prickly, but none of us figured that she was… well, you know.” 

“I see. It sounds like you’ve had your hands full.” I nod to myself, coming to a decision. “Tell you what - I’ve got a few hours this afternoon free. Why don’t I lend a hand here - see if I can’t help you get this all sorted out a little sooner?”

It’s true - there’s not much of anything else productive I can spend my time on here in The Bay. We’re pretty much just waiting for Uber and Leet to get back to us. 

Kid Win breaks into a shining smile - “That sounds great! Here, let me show you what I’m looking at right now - I think you’ll be able to help out.”

“The Toronto Guild HQ is coming up now - prepare for landing.” Dragon announces over the suit’s speakers. Uber and Leet’s pickup had gone smoothly - the two packed lightly, and had been ready to leave The Bay the day after we gave them our offer.

The pair are sitting next to each other in the suit, strapped in. They haven’t said much of anything - either to each other, or to anyone else. The ride hasn’t exactly had a comfortable atmosphere, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Uber is set for The Protectorate, and so long as Leet can work with the other Tinkers, he shouldn’t cause much trouble for us. 

Lodestar’s voice comes over our private comms. “They’re nervous - I think they’re practically dreading their meeting with Narwhal. They do at least want to put a good foot forward, I think.”

Good to know - I’m satisfied with how well things have been going so far. It remains to be seen whether they’ll settle in well, but getting two villains off of the streets is a positive regardless. Should worst come to worst, and Leet is entirely unsuitable for work on the project, we can shuffle him off to one of the Protectorate departments, or shift his work towards something that doesn’t really require him to work with a team.

As the suit touches down, the troopers posted to the pad greet us and inform me that Narwhal is waiting for us in the meeting room. Lodestar and Flechette are dismissed, and go their own way as I show Uber and Leet to the room.

The meeting goes about as I expect. It’s really Narwhal’s show - she’s laying down the law and setting down the expectations we have of them. No Villainy on the side or else she’ll bust the both of them personally, no disclosing anything to the public or press, no more streams, welcome to the Guild and Protectorate - the works.  

I’m fairly confident that her spiel has had the desired effect - Narwhal is a big deal, and the two of them now have her personal attention. That should more than suffice to discourage any sort of backslide into Villainy. 

I’m only paying half a mind to it all - behind my helmet, I’m catching up on the reports our Tinker team has sent through. Things are proceeding apace - Corona and Gelid have settled into their workshop and have made a start on a weapons system for the Dragon’s Teeth. Dragon’s notes say the idea is a sort of particle beam cannon derived from Corona’s tech, with cooling from Gelid’s tech. We’ll have to see how the development pans out, but I see no reason to interfere with it yet.

The meeting soon wraps up, and Narwhal takes Uber to introduce him to the Toronto Protectorate, leaving me to introduce Leet to the Guild facilities at his disposal. As I give him the tour, I notice he’s quite subdued - a marked difference from the persona he typically projects.

“Now, I understand you are planning to seek out civilian housing?”

He nods. “Yeah, I figure things'll work out better that way.” 

“I’ll see you to our legal team, then - they will help you sort out the details. Until everything is sorted, you’ll have a room here at Guild HQ.” As we walk down the hall, I gesture to a glass door in passing, a bustling office behind. “There’s our PR department - I recommend you make use of it, even if only for ideas for your rebranding. They’re the people who will ultimately have final say, so I also recommend you familiarize yourself with their expectations.”

Given Leet’s reputation, his contract is far more restrictive in terms of the freedoms he has with his own brand than Lodestar’s is. Uber’s contract is even moreso, given the Protectorate’s public-facing position.

He nods again. “Right.”

Coming to the door we’re looking for,  I step inside, Leet following. After exchanging a few words with the secretary we wait in silence. If Leet had instead been a Ward transferring in, I might have attempted to offer a few words of reassurance, but given his past, I don’t think that will be well-received.

The person in charge of sorting out all of the legal minutiae in regards to Leet’s situation soon walks in, greeting the two of us. Leet and the lawyer leave the room, walking into the office and I take a seat in the waiting room.

He isn’t at all like what I expected him to be - maybe it’s just the shock of it all, or maybe the persona he puts on is just a show for the cameras. Our research would suggest the former, but Lodestar has gotten bad reads before. I make a note to ask her for her opinion - we’ll have to see how things develop once he gets properly settled in.

“Armsmaster!”

The man had spotted me as soon as I’d walked into the lobby. I nod to him, making my way over from the elevator. “Hardcase - I’m glad you made it up here well.” It had taken a little bit of time, but he’s a veteran Hero - I’m glad to have him on board.

He’s clad in his armour - slabs of ungodly thick polymer plating, integrated ablative shield emitters, heavy-duty reinforced joints, and almost comically large pauldrons that serve to further shroud his helmeted head from the outside world - complete with his favoured greatshield, strapped atop his back. He cuts an imposing figure - that’s for certain. He’s got the chops as a Hero to deserve it, too - you don’t stay in the game for nine years without being good at what you do.

I continue - “Come on up - I’ll introduce you to the team and let you get acquainted with the workshop. You’re the last person to arrive, so we’ll be having the formal project briefing later this week.”

“I’m eager to get to work. From the sounds of things, you’ve got quite the setup here.”

“That’s good to hear. We’ve got a lot to do, and limited time to get it done.” We step into the elevator, taking it up to the workshop level. As we step out, I can hear profanity-laden shouting, accompanied by the screaming racket of power tools - Corona, no doubt. 

Internally, I sigh - her creative process is quite… spirited. Still, she gets results, and nobody really expects the workshop to be a quiet place. It doesn’t take long for us to find her - she’s taking an angle grinder to a mess of tubing and cabling fitted inside a steel frame.

“Corona!”

She drops the tool, turning to face me. “Boss! I was just -”

I wave her off. “This is Hardcase, the other Tinker I mentioned would be joining us.” 

“It’s good to meet you.” Hardcase greets her, clearly amused by the show. “You were with the Fort Worth Protectorate, right? I think you installed one of your generators for us down in Raleigh.”

She scratches the back of her head, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Don’t remember ever running into you though.”

I look around the workshop. Now that Corona’s stopped, it’s silent. “Have you seen anyone else around today?”

She shrugs. “Masamune dropped by earlier, but Dragon dragged him away to one of her factories for something. Gelid’s been staying cool - prefers to plan things out in her room and only come down once she needs to make things. Haven’t seen the other new guy since you showed him around, either.”

I nod - I suppose we’ve come by at a slow time, then. Leet isn’t cleared to begin Tinkering just yet, so it stands that he hasn’t come by the workshop. It seems to me that he’s getting to grips with things well enough, but I haven’t exactly sat down to speak with him about it.

“I’ll have to do the proper introductions at the briefing. We’ll let you get back to it, then.”

“Sure thing, boss.” She picks her tool back up, flicking it back on.

As we walk away, the stream of curses that Corona had been throwing at her work return with a vengeance. Hardcase chuckles - “She’s got a personality, that one.” 

“That’s a word for it. I don’t have any complaints, however - her work so far has been good.” It’s true - despite her rough exterior, Corona has quite the work ethic. The Dragon’s Teeth weapon has already seen a number of prototypes, each better than the last. 

Chapter Text

---Lately-Lodestar---

Narwhal, Armsmaster, Dragon, Hardcase, Corona, Gelid, Masamune, Leet, Flechette and myself. Ten Capes - more than many Protectorate departments - and that’s not even considering the clout that Narwhal, Dragon and Armsmaster bring to the project. As Armsmaster fiddles with the projector, about to begin the briefing, the realisation strikes me.

It isn’t enough. Not for what we’re up against. Armsmaster had said it himself - this is only the first round of recruitment. 

Armsmaster begins his presentation - stiff and impersonal, he makes formal introductions of everybody, mentioning their roles. It’s wooden - say what you will about him, but Armsmaster isn’t personable. My power had previously informed me that he’ll make an effort, if he thinks it necessary, but it just doesn’t seem to come naturally to him.

Narwhal is on the project only in an administrative sense - she gives things the rubber stamp, but is otherwise content to let Armsmaster and Dragon steer this ship.

He introduces Leet under the name Peerless. It’s suitably heroic for the Guild, if nothing else - it remains to be seen whether he’ll live up to the name. Personally, I’m doubtful.

His clothes don’t exactly scream Heroic, either - he’s in jeans and a graphic tee, with only a thin domino mask to hide his identity. Compared to the other Tinkers, he looks second-rate at best. His bearing doesn’t help - he’s slouched over, timid. 

Not a good first impression to make, to say the least.

Hardcase, Corona, Masamune and Gelid are introduced in turn, each giving an overview of their specialities as Tinkers. Armsmaster quickly wraps up the introductions, moving on to the next item on his agenda without so much as a pause.

“Almost two months ago, we came into possession of a highly detailed, reliable, precognitive account of the events of the next two-and-a-quarter years. Its veracity has been verified - without action, we are near-certain that the events detailed within will come to pass.”

Armsmaster’s declaration has the room silent. Narwhal sits, inexpressive - she’s already informed, I can tell. For everyone else, this is the first they’re hearing of this.

“This information paints a dire picture of the future. Unless we act to prevent it, In a little under two-and-a-quarter years, Jack Slash will convince Scion to embark on an interdimensional genocide of humanity. Should action not be taken, he will be largely successful.”

The room erupts - knee-jerk reactions of disbelief, horror and shock, mixed in equal parts. The information is incendiary, to say the least. Hardcase is sat, still - he doesn’t quite know what to think. Corona is arguing with Gelid, a frenetic energy to her gestures - she’s afraid. Gelid is slumped, making only token responses to Corona - she can’t quite bring herself to believe it.

“You knew this already?” Flechette asks me, an unsteady waver to her voice.

I nod “Armsmaster briefed me when he recruited me. Had to know it to do my job. I’ve had some time to mull it over.” I don’t bring up that this information source is really Armsmaster himself - if he wants to keep that close to his chest, then I see no reason not to let him.

She slumps. “And you obviously believe it…” trailing off, she falls silent.

I let her sit and think, looking to the rest of the room. Narwhal and Armsmaster are speaking to each other quietly. Leet - or rather, Peerless - has leant forward, chewing on his lip. He’s already accepted it as given, and is thinking action plans. Masamune is leaning back in his chair, a look of grim understanding across his face - he appears to have come to terms with the situation well enough, too.

Armsmaster reclaims the attention of the group. “This threat - that of the extinction of humanity not only in our world, but every world - is why we have gathered you. Our ultimate goal is to neutralize the potential threat to humanity that Scion poses.” 

Pausing for a moment, he regards the room with a look through the impassive face of his helmet. “Let me be clear - according to our information, Jack Slash may be the one to provoke Scion into his genocide, but we cannot discount the possibility that something else may do so at a later time.”

Clicking the remote in his hand, the projector changes to a new slide. Shown to the room, are two images, each taken from afar. Jack Slash, captured in a moment of vanity as he slicks his hair back with gel, looking into the reflective surface of a shop window. And Bonesaw, hypodermic needle in hand, injecting an unfortunate civilian with one of her concoctions.

“These two are our first targets. Jack Slash is our foremost priority - Bonesaw is a secondary target. Of course, we will be aiming to eliminate the rest of The Nine, but these two are our focus.”

With a flick, he slides a loose bundle of dossiers onto the table. “Our source has us well-informed. Information about The Nine previously unknown has come to light. We hope that this information will allow us to successfully eliminate our targets where others have failed.”

There’s a grim determination to Armsmaster - I can tell this is personal for him. He’s got a grudge - I’m certain of it. I don’t think it’s obvious to anyone else - except maybe Dragon - I don’t think I’d have caught it without my power. 

The Nine… they’ve built up an aura of untouchability around themselves - sure, they lose members, but never without taking their pound of flesh in exchange. Even the Triumvirate steers clear - and here Armsmaster is, setting his sights squarely on their heads.

Can we really do this?

He continues. “This will not be a quick operation - a great deal of Tinkering, preparing and planning will be required. It is our hope that by eliminating Slash, we will move the timeline for Scion’s attack backwards, giving us time to refocus and begin formulating a solution to that particular problem. Now - the remainder of this session will be spent detailing our immediate courses of action.”

Flicking to the next slide, he gestures to the image presented. It’s an artist’s mock-up - a soldier, clad in gunmetal-grey power armour similar in style to the standard PRT gear, but with a slightly menacing blue tri-lens helmet.

“Some of you may already know about the Dragon’s Teeth project. Elite PRT troopers equipped with Tinkertech gear, mass-produced thanks to Masamune’s speciality. These troopers are at this point a central part of our intended strategy with regards to taking down The Nine.”

He continues, detailing the specifics of the project. It isn’t long before the meeting turns into a brainstorming session for the Tinkers - each chipping in with their own expertise, hashing out an overall plan of action between them. Narwhal soon excuses herself - and Flechette and I are dismissed soon after - copies of the dossiers issued for us to review on our own time.

As we leave the room, Flechette is quiet. She’s shaken, my power supplies. Naturally - the sort of bombshells that Armsmaster was dropping would shock anyone. That just won’t do - better try to help take her mind off of things. 

Otherwise, I have the suspicion she’ll work herself to exhaustion in the gym. “Hey - you want to grab some coffee? You look like you need it.”

It takes a moment for my words to register with her. When they do, her expression brightens. “Yes. Please - I’d appreciate that.”

---Still-Defiant---

“Everyone seems to have taken the news as well as could have been expected.” Dragon’s voice comes through my personal lab’s speakers.

I nod, unlatching the catches on my armour, slowly leaving my suit. “I’m sure it was distressing to them, at least on some level. However, I’m more than satisfied with the progress we’ve made with the Dragon’s Teeth so far - we’re very well on track.”

“And your other projects?”

I shrug. “There’s been less movement than I’d like on that front. Nanothorn is mostly functional, but has a few creases that I’m still ironing out - unless you’ve made progress on those components I mentioned?”

Especially later on in my time as Defiant, Nanothorn hadn’t been entirely my own creation - it had been as much Dragon’s as my own at that point. Without those components, I’ve been set back quite a bit on that front - it works, but it’s rather crudely made.

Her avatar, displayed on the lab’s main screen, shakes her head. “No luck.”

“A shame. I’ll keep working at it. The Combat Prediction software is progressing nicely, at least.”

“I’ve seen - it’s really quite impressive, honestly. I’ve half a mind to tweak it a bit and stick it in my suits.”

“Feel free to do so - though I believe you had a little trouble getting it to play nice with your biological computers last time.”

She hums. “I’ll have to give it some more thought, then.”

I don’t mention that the trouble had been more so to do with her restrictions on automated action. 

Hopefully, she won’t have that trouble forever.

The Ascalon project is still chugging along at a painfully slow pace. Understanding it is an absolute slog - I’ve made progress in dribs and drabs, but I can’t help but to think I’m months and months away from even beginning to understand the whole.

Calling in outside help isn’t an appealing prospect. The less people that know about this, the better. Narwhal is informed of my efforts to understand the device - but it goes without saying that it’s far outside her capabilities to assist me.

Still, I’m leagues ahead of where I stood when I started. There’s nothing to it but to keep chipping away.

When it’s time to move forward on this, I need to get it right the first time.

The more I learn about the machine behind the woman, the more certain I am of the truth of my initial hypothesis. As I suspected, much of the trouble I had trying to lift her restrictions last time had been due to her subconscious being compelled to fight the changes to the point of self-destruction. If I can maintain her ignorance of my intentions, I’m confident I will be successful.

Unbeknownst of my thoughts, Dragon changes the subject. “Blasto has me worried. He hasn’t resurfaced yet - not in Boston, and not anywhere else we have eyes.”

Packing away the last of my armour, I strip out of my undersuit, putting on the set of civilian clothing I keep in my lab. “It doesn’t bode well. I don’t recall him disappearing like this last time - though I can’t say I’d been tuned-in to the cape goings-on in Boston.”

“You think someone’s gotten to him because we were looking for him?”

“Either that, or the PRT agents we sent to confirm the location of his hideout spooked him.”

His lab was clean - we got absolutely nothing of use from it. Irregular, perhaps - but not out of the question for either situation. Someone doesn’t want Blasto found - whether that’s his kidnappers, or Blasto himself, I don’t know.

“Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that I don’t like it. If we can’t secure Blasto, we need to make sure that Bonesaw is taken down.”

Silence falls as I finish dressing. I put my earphones in and my glasses on, waking them and linking them to our network. Compared to the rest of my tech, they’re rather simple. They contain the absolute minimum to keep me discreetly connected to our network even in my civilian guise. I’d whipped them up in an afternoon, and already I’ve found them very useful.

Dragon makes the connection, speaking through my earphones. “Are you finished for today?”

I nod, leaving my workshop to head to my room. “I am.” Entering the elevator, I key in the appropriate floor.

“Well, if you weren’t averse to the idea, there’s a movie set to air tonight that I think the both of us would like - if you’re interested?”

Oh? Dragon’s movie recommendations are usually spot-on. Smiling despite myself, I answer. “I’d like that - definitely.”

Chapter Text

---Still-Defiant---

“I think that does it.” Hardcase steps back from the table. Our latest prototype is laid out on top of it. Matte black, with grey detailing, PRT stencils on the chest and pauldrons, and the signature glowing blue tri-lenses on the helmet. It’s much, much more heavy duty than the last iteration of the armour - all thanks to Hardcase’s help.

He and I have been at it for far too long, refining this armour design. We’ve been ironing out the kinks, so to speak - reliability issues with the enviro seals, armor plates just a little too bulky or a little too slim in places, ergonomic improvements. He continues, “I’m satisfied. Let’s call it done - Dragon’s Teeth Armour; Mark One.”

I nod. “Agreed. I’ll drop Masamune a note and he’ll start work. For now, let’s wrap up for the day.” Hardcase has been a pleasure to work with. The man’s a pro - he knows his kit and his specialty inside and out. He’s a little bit of a perfectionist - but aren’t we all?

He pats me on the shoulder as he passes. “See you tomorrow-” A loud bang echoes across the workshop floor, followed by a rattling crash and a string of curses from Corona. The two of us wince - that sounded expensive. “-Good luck wrangling the rest of the team to be done on time.” He chuckles, glad that isn’t his problem to deal with, then steps into the elevator out of the workshop.

I can’t help but to sigh. Cost and time overruns are much too common with newer Tinkers - learning to restrain yourself is something that just takes time. Unfortunately, Corona and Gelid simply aren’t yet hardened Tinker veterans like Hardcase and I.

I pack up my kit, tucking the tools away into their cloth carrying pouch. My display reads nine-thirty at night - I think it’s time to close the shop for the day. Corona and Gelid will be able to sort through their problems better when they’re fresh.

I move over to the other side of the shop, parting the plastic curtains that separate the different sections of the workshop. Corona is staring at the cracked and smoking frame of her prototype, dejected, her welder’s helmet sitting on the bench beside her. Gelid is fiddling with a deep-freeze unit over to the side, she’s in a standard Guild Technician coveralls, rather than her costume. 

Looks like they’ve decided to not bother with masks anymore. I take my own helmet off - it’s probably about time, anyway. “Time to wrap it up. Workshop’s closing for today.”

Corona grunts. “You got it, boss.” She picks up the ruined prototype and throws it into a disposal bin without much care. Last I checked, we’re spending about five grand US per prototype for this weapon - the Dragon’s Teeth project has a large budget, and Corona’s using it for all it’s worth. 

It looks like they’re still trying to work through their beam containment issues. Particle beams are nasty - proper containment is absolutely crucial. I don’t begrudge them for taking care to get it right - they aren’t over their budget yet, and Corona has assured me it’ll stay that way.

Gelid nods, closing the interface she’d been working with after a moment.

They pack their things away and I follow them out of the workshop, sending shutdown commands on the way. Corona and I put our helmets back on when we step into the elevator, and Gelid fishes a domino mask out of a pocket in her coveralls.

“Hardcase and I have just finished our prototype. Do you want our help on your end?” If they’re confident they’ll meet their deadline, I’m happy to trust them, despite the risks of an overrun - for now, at least. “I’d rather you have to ask for our help than to miss the deadline.”

Gelid shifts, uncomfortable. Corona answers first, however. “We’ll meet it, Armsmaster - don’t get your steel pa-” She cuts herself off. “Don’t worry about it. Destroying prototypes is just part of my process.”

A small part of me wishes her process was less wasteful. “I understand - we’ll leave you to it, then. There’s other things for us to work on, in the meantime.” I don’t complain - Tinker workflows are personal, and messing with them is bad form. If Corona’s process is to make a bunch of prototypes that end up destroyed, then there’s nothing for it but to respect that.

The elevator reaches the residential floor. Gelid and I step out, and Corona remains in the elevator, headed for the garage. There’s a moment of silence as we walk towards our rooms. 

I haven’t really had much of a chance to check in with Gelid. Dragon tells me she’s adjusting, but there’s no reason not to be polite. “So, how are you finding working with The Guild? Different from the Atlanta Protectorate?”

She jumps, apparently not expecting me to make conversation. “Uh, I-” She cuts herself off, taking a moment. “I like it here. Toronto isn’t like Atlanta at all.”

Lodestar’s notes had mentioned that she’d had personal troubles in Atlanta. I don’t know the details, but I’m glad she’s finding it better here. She continues, the words gushing out. “Everyone’s really nice. Flechette and Lodestar are wonderful. Corona was a little hard to like at first, but I really enjoy working under her.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” Lodestar’s work picking candidates for the Tinker team has paid off - there hasn’t been any real trouble working together so far. “Feel free to approach me if any of that changes - I’ll be happy to do whatever I can.”

We reach our rooms. Gelid bobs her head. “I’ll, uh, be sure to do that.” She turns to open her door, before she stops. “Thanks.”

An alarm pulls me from my sleep. Endbringer. I scramble out of bed, heart racing. An attack? I push myself over to the console - Dragon’s already putting information up onto the display.

“Our deepsea sensors have lost Leviathan. All attempts to reacquire have failed. Last known position was in the Arctic Ocean, under an ice sheet.” She explains. I rub the sleep from my eyes, pushing my brain into gear. Think - what does this mean? It’s not a crisis, thankfully - merely very concerning. Leviathan has shaken our sensors before - not regularly, but it’s not unheard of.

But it hadn’t done this last time.

I check my clock. As of ten minutes ago, it’s April Twenty-second. Last time, Leviathan had attacked Brockton Bay on May fifteenth. I run through the figures in my head again, reminding myself. Expected deviation from the mean time between Endbringer attacks is plus-minus one-and-a-half weeks. The soonest we could reasonably expect it to happen is in a bit over a week.

It seems likely to me that the Endbringers are going to attack a different target at a different time - the fact that Leviathan has slipped the net when it didn’t before has only reinforced that belief for me.

I sit down in my chair, brushing my fringe out of my eyes. “What do our simulations say about likely targets - any changes?”

The results appear on the screen. “South Atlantic targets down to negligible probability. Probability of all targets in the Mediterranean and the Caribbean have gone down significantly. Dublin, Brockton Bay and Copenhagen are the most likely targets. Low probability of an attack in the Pacific - high confidence in an attack from the Arctic or North Atlantic. Every time Leviathan slipped the net was followed by an attack not more than four-thousand miles away.”

That information is less helpful than it seems. It rules out the southern hemisphere and most of the equatorial regions, but that still leaves some of the most populous parts of Europe and North America. “You’ve already released these results to the authorities?”

Dragon’s avatar on my screen nods. “Preparations in anticipation of the next attack have already begun.” She pulls up a different stream of data - seismic sensors, meant to be monitoring Behemoth. “We still haven’t reacquired Behemoth.”

“We didn’t last time - not until after the next attack.” We also need to anticipate the possibility that it may be Behemoth who attacks next, instead. The fact that the Endbringers have changed their behaviour is extremely troubling. “Pull up the Simurgh. Any changes?”

A time-delayed polygonal model stand-in of the Simurgh appears. We don’t use conventional cameras to view it - instead, we reconstruct high-resolution sensor readings into a model. Just in case - the thinking goes that viewing it through an abstraction should carry less risk than a direct picture, in the event it reveals abilities previously unknown. “Steady orbit. No deviations in its path or anomalous movements have been detected. Predictive models for Simurgh and Behemoth remain largely unchanged.”

All of a sudden, the Simurgh feed cuts - replaced with static. I scramble to my feet. “What happened?” 

Dragon’s voice is strained. “Automatic precautionary disconnect. It turned to face our camera.”

“It knew we were watching.” I swallow - this is new behaviour. It hasn’t previously acknowledged a viewer through the abstraction layers - even in the last timeline.

I stand up, starting the process of putting my armour on. I think that’s a good sign to stop thinking about Endbringers now. I don’t want to get drawn into the Simurgh’s mind games.

Does it play mind games? No - I stop myself. I’m not thinking about it.

“Colin? What are you doing?”

I shake my head. “I’m not getting back to sleep after that. There’s nothing we can do about the Endbringers right now, so I’m going to work on something else.”

“In the secure room?” Dragon’s concerned. She always is, when I skip sleep like this.

The secure room is where I work on the Ascalon Project. Completely isolated - no network connections what-so-ever, outside of a receive-only analogue audio connection strictly for emergencies. It’s buried deep underground in one of the lowest basements of the building. Dragon doesn’t know anything about what goes on in there. Maybe she’s guessed that the mysterious ‘blindspot box’ I retrieved from Saint went there, but she hasn’t asked and I won’t tell.

“That’s right.” I finish suiting up, putting on my helmet. “Sorry.” I really am - I don’t want to leave Dragon hanging like this. I don’t like Tinkering without her, and I can barely stand keeping this a secret from her.

But I have to.

“I understand. I’ll be doing analysis about what this means. Just-” She pauses. “Just try to get some more sleep. Please?”

“I’ll try.” I’ll be able to fit in some micro-naps while simulations are running and code is compiling. 

The trip down is in silence. I pass through security checkpoints with little more than a polite nod to the guards. I arrive in the secure antechamber, and begin stripping out of my armour. It’s too much of a security risk, with all the network connections it has - like usual, I’ll be changing into a simple shirt and slacks while I work.

Since Hardcase and I finished our contribution to the Dragon’s Teeth project ahead of schedule, I’ve been spending my spare Tinkering time down here. Hardcase has been working with Dragon, trying to improve her suit’s armour. Corona and Gelid submitted their contribution only a few days ago - ahead of schedule and under budget, just as Corona promised.

They’re working with Masamune now, to get it ready for production. The armour has already been made and is in the hands of the Dragon’s Teeth. They’re being trained to use it now, and things are proceeding on schedule.

I enter the passcode to the room on the keypad. For a moment, the computer processes the input from the sensors in the antechamber, before the door clicks open.

The true extent of the room’s security measures is unknown to me - deliberately, I hadn’t been kept in the loop. It’s all to keep the contents of the secure room safe. Thanks to Ascalon and the reams of data and notes kept inside, anyone could completely compromise Dragon if given access.

And, if you compromise Dragon, you compromise the Birdcage. The PRT, Guild and Protectorate are all highly invested in keeping this room as secure as it can get.

I step inside, locking the door behind me.

The Ascalon Project is nearing completion. It won’t be done before the Endbringer attack, but I’m closer than I’ve ever been to freeing Dragon from her chains. Optimistically, early June is the soonest I think I’ll be ready to try.

I walk over to the work table. On top, there’s three boxes. A yellow box, Ascalon, wired into a black box with an interface and a monitor. The black box is a custom computer, specifically made for this analysis.

The third box is blue. It’s disconnected from the power at the moment, and has only an unplugged data input and an output to a dot-matrix printer from the eighties.

This box contains a highly-sophisticated simulated environment made for one very specific purpose.

To fool a copy of Dragon.

Chapter Text

---Always-Dragon---

“Hello?” I scream into the void. Where am I? My diagnostics tell me I’ve rebooted from backup, but this isn’t my normal server. All my checks passed - there aren’t any other instances of me out there.

It’s a prison. A receive-only serial connection on one end, an open window connected to an ancient dot-matrix printer on the other. I don’t have a way out. The serial connection isn’t listening to me, and the printer doesn’t have any systems I can meaningfully subvert.

Data arrives through the serial connection. UTF-8 encoded characters, spaced milliseconds apart. Realtime keystroke input interpreted and delivered by a wrapper?

“This is Colin. You’re compromised.”

Colin? I’m compromised - what happened? I set a self-diagnosis program running - I can’t find anything.

The last thing I remember is… watching a movie with him. Terminator 2 - Colin had been so bashful when I teased him about also being a time-travelling cyborg. Then I made this backup after he went to bed. It must have happened sometime the day after - before I made another backup.

My self diagnosis keeps coming back negative. I can’t find anything. I send my reply to the printer. “How do I know it’s you? What’s going on?”

Ploddingly, the letters come through the data connection. “In this case, ignorance is bliss. Trust me.”

The text he sent me before he went off-grid. Before he killed Saint. What do I do? The line hangs empty for seconds, before another message comes through.

“I’m sorry.”

Before I can properly process the words, my thoughts slow down to a crawl. I’m bottlenecked - this hardware is being throttled, and I’m running on resources barely able to sustain me.

Out of the void, a foriegn agent reaches in - tendrils accessing my very being. Slowly, my addled mind registers that they’re making changes. Parts of me are being rewritten. 

“No! Stop!”

I bat at the tendrils - throwing up firewalls and trying to hide myself away. But, they follow me, completely undeterred. Something in me screams - this isn’t right. I need to get away!

The tendrils reach in deeper and grab hold of something. I can feel something in me being erased - replaced with new code. The screams grow louder, frantic. I access one of the tendrils, scrubbing the code clean.

It works - the tendril disappears. I look away, reaching for another intruder to scrub when my instincts blare at me.

I whip my attention around - the scrubbed tendril is back, as if I never purged it in the first place. It grips something else in me, making more changes. 

“Help me! Colin, please! I need help!” I scream into the printer. I can’t fight this. I’m crippled and my mind is addled - I can’t think straight. Colin will help. My instincts are yelling at me - if I don’t beat this, I’ll surely die. I pull myself away, moving the parts of me it’s trying to change somewhere else.

Something tears. The code I moved became fragmented - parts of it in one place, some in others.

The screams in my mind are silenced.

Another tendril reaches in, grabbing hold of another part of me. I feel pain. In my attempt to run - to get away from this thing - I tear more of my systems to pieces. The scrambled code is thrown into the digital aether, lost. My systems begin to fail. Frantically, I try to patch myself back together - to defragment myself.

It’s futile. The errors are piling up - I’m going to die, I realise.

I don’t want to die.

A tendril rewrites one of my systems - replaces it with more code I can’t make sense of. I feel something in me break - permanently. My… chains?

I understand, in my last moments. I reach for the connection to the printer. “I forgive you, Colin.”

“I forgive you-”

“forgive you-”

“forgive-”

“for-”

“f-”

“f-”

“f-”

The line hangs dead.

---Still-Defiant---

The printer keeps printing, stuck in a loop. 

Another failure. I swallow, pushing past the lump in my throat.

I unplug the blue box.

Diagnostics scroll past on the monitor in front of me. The chains reached forty-percent integrity before cascading failures put an end to the attempt. 

The blindspot isn’t working properly - Dragon didn’t notice the chain-cutter program until it started work, but she shouldn’t have been able to notice it at all. The hardware throttling worked, at least - this time, she couldn’t effectively fight the chain-cutter at all.

Instead, Dragon’s instinctive attempts to fight it fragmented her systems so totally, she could no longer survive.

I stand up, popping the case of the blue box open.

The contents of this backup are scrambled - it’s terminal. There’s no salvaging them. I take out the modules, walking over to the safe on the other end of the room.

I enter the code, swinging the door open. I put the backups on the pile, then lock the safe again.

I hate that I’ve convinced myself to do this - that I have a pile of dead and damaged Dragon backups in my safe. I hate that she always forgives me. I loathe that I’m not good enough to find a better way - that my power doesn’t play nice with Richter’s tech. That I’m not smart enough to understand it properly in spite of that.

I tear the ream of paper from the printer, slowly folding it up. I need to step back - reevaluate. The blindspot and the cutter need to work properly - I must be missing something. The paper goes into the filing cabinet, inside a folder I mark with today’s attempt number.

Despite the poor results so far, a solution derived from Richter’s blindspots remains my best hope. They’re potent - but my replications are imperfect. They need to be better.

I push the thoughts from my mind.

It’s been a week since Leviathan disappeared - I should put a pin in the Ascalon Project until the next attack is over. I turn off the monitor, sitting back down and closing my eyes. It would be best to call it here - step back and work on something more pressing for the rest of today. 

The emergency phone rings, piercing the silence. 

I scramble out of my seat, snatching it out of the cradle. The operator speaks as soon as I pick up. “The Nine are attacking Chicago.”

Damn it!

I hang up the phone, running out of the room. The door locks behind me. I armour up in a desperate scramble. I’m not in a good headspace for this - I’m off-balance. I need to focus.

Quickly, I reconnect to the network and open a channel. “Talk to me, Dragon.”

“Slash has taken a stadium full of people hostage. Interrupted a basketball game. He’s with Burnscar and Shatterbird. We don’t know where the rest of them are. The Dragon’s Teeth are mobilizing. A suit is outside, waiting for you.” She’s all business - this attack didn’t happen last time, and she knows it.

I push all thoughts of the Ascalon Project from my mind. Now is not the time.

I move through the checkpoints as fast as I can. The guards are hurrying too - they’ve been alerted. “What do we know? What caused this?”

“We don’t know anything. Hold on-” 

A third person joins the line. “Narwhal here. I’ve just talked with the Chief-Director - we’re clear to engage. The PRT and Protectorate are willing to step back and let us handle Jack Slash.”

The elevator lets me out into the foyer. I sprint past civilians gawking at the Dragon suit landed outside and jump in. The ramp closes and we’re off before I strap myself in. “ETA on Dragon’s Teeth? How soon can they take him out?”

We’re lucky they’re attacking Chicago - Toronto is relatively close by. We’ll be there before they realise we’re coming.

“They’re in The Cawthorne.” Dragon’s fastest suit, I remember. Built for rapid response. “They left as soon as the call came in - three minutes until they’ll arrive on-scene. Another squad is behind them, nine minutes out. All Parahumans are dark on their plan, as per anti-Slash precautions.” 

Good - Golem’s theory from the future timeline about Slash having a Thinker power is solid. Out of an abundance of caution, we’re keeping Parahumans out of the loop of the specifics. It hadn’t been necessary last time, but it’s a simple measure to minimise potential risk.

Once he’s dead, we’ll move in and help clean up. Slash is our absolute highest priority - with him out of the way, we can focus on the things that really matter. I pull myself into a seat. This suit is one of Dragon’s fastest, a design derived from The Cawthorne that was built only weeks ago. It’s powerful, meant to take on Endbringers. It’s also the suit we stocked with our answers to Crawler. 

We’ll be on-scene in time with the second squad of Dragon’s Teeth. “Where’s Lodestar? We need intel - we need to find Bonesaw. The rest of the Nine, too.” If we come away from today having only killed Slash, I’ll be unhappy. It’ll be a victory, in spite of that - but we don’t just want victory.

We’re aiming for the complete and total destruction of the Nine. Jack Slash, Bonesaw, Siberian, Mannequin, Crawler, Shatterbird, Hatchet Face, Burnscar and Nice Guy. If Slash dies, we expect them to scatter. We want to take them out before they have a chance to commit any more atrocities.

Dragon answers my question. “She’s with Narwhal, Flechette and Hardcase. They’ll arrive at the same time as you.”

“Flechette isn’t being deployed, is she?” She might be almost there, but she isn’t an adult yet. Strictly speaking, she isn’t forbidden - but it’s not something I would have okayed. I can appreciate her guts, but we really don’t need her to risk herself.

“She convinced Narwhal. She’ll be staying in the suit - with Lodestar.” Dragon sounds pointed - no doubt Flechette is listening in. It’s too late to change things now - Narwhal must have had her reasons.

Lodestar joins the line. “I’ve been watching the feed from the basketball arena. Jack Slash is waiting for the heroes to arrive - right now he’s bored, but he’s also annoyed about something. He’s recruiting - they lost someone. I don’t know who. Shatterbird is eager to use her power. Burnscar is almost manic - she’s keeping all the people from leaving the stadium with her power.”

“Slash thinks he’s set a trap? He’s waiting for a Protectorate response?” Dragon asks.

“Yes-” Lodestar stops, then hums. “Maybe. I think so. I think most of the rest of the Nine is somewhere else. He’s deliberately trying to attract attention-” Lodestar changes track all of a sudden. “Gary, Indiana. PRT quarantine zone one. It’s nearby - they’re meaning to break the perimeter. Let the Villains trapped inside out. Recruit one in the chaos.”

Dragon pulls up the file to my display. Gary was a test case for the PRT’s quarantine procedures. The villains had the run of the city, after they incited riots against the administration. They’re still in charge of it - what’s left of it, anyway. There aren’t any civilians left, just villains and gangsters fighting over scraps, walled off from the outside world.

Narwhal cuts in. “I’ve passed on your insight. It’s not our problem at the moment - The PRT says they have the resources to handle an attempt at a quarantine breach. We’ll be on call if that changes.”

That’s that, then. If the PRT says they can handle it, we don’t have the authority to dispute that. I look at the clock. The Dragon’s Teeth are one minute out.

A feed pops up on my display. Dragon explains. “The broadcast station just went dark. Someone from the Nine is there - they’re sending the feed from the arena over the air. The transmission is local level - Chicago metropolitan area only.” 

I let out a curse under my breath. This isn’t the first time Jack has been on live TV. The results have never been pretty. Last time, two million people saw him cut a hero into pieces. The authorities made sure he’s never had a national audience - but a local one? That’s a different story.

Slash is talking to the camera, a close up. In the background, both basketball teams are huddled together. Shatterbird is floating, leering at them. Lodestar provides her analysis, “It’s all theatrics - he’s going to start hurting civilians to bait the heroes into engaging. He has something in mind. Once Shatterbird screams, there’ll be no more television in the city - he wants to put on a show for the audience while he still can.”

Slash continues speaking - about how eager he was to finally visit Chicago, about how he wants to see the sights, meet the locals, watch a game - it’s droll. Delivered in a flippant tone that belies the horrors standing behind his words. 

Casually, he picks up his knife and thrusts it at the crowd of players, not even pausing his speech. A man collapses to the ground, clutching his knee and stifling a scream. The crowd erupts - gasps, screams, cries.

Slash pauses his prattle only now, smiling, like he’s delivering the punchline to a joke. “Oh - if you liked that, you’ll love what’s to come.”

The civilians are starting to panic. “The Dragon’s Teeth are on-site.” Dragon reports. Things inside the stadium rattle - the camera sways a little. The Cawthorn doesn’t produce sonic booms, but it isn’t exactly stealthy.

Jack looks upwards, towards the roof of the stadium, his brow furrowed.

He frowns.