"Only in that, I agree you can't just bludgeon into this situation. Look at your emotions, Dean. You're angry. Very much so, and you're not even the wounded party here, are you?"
He shifted from foot to foot, sucking down a sharp breath to keep speaking before he hesitated.
"Can you imagine just how bad this will be for Taylor? How much worse will this be for her? Even coming from a friend with good intentions."
"We can't just keep her in the dar-"
"I promise Dean informing Taylor is something I want to do too. But if it's going to happen, it has to be done the right way or not at all. Otherwise, you'll only end up hurting her more.
The young man looked like he would argue further then the alarm on his watch went off for his patrol.
He paused, looking at the traitorous machine.
"You're on the clock…" Colin drawled, speaking before anything more could be said by either his fellow Tinker or the younger Hero. "If you'd like to keep on discussing this, then you're free to come back when you're done. If you can handle five hours of sleep and school in the morning…do not overstep your bounds here, Gallant."
The young man looked at him, and even though Colin couldn't see his face, the look of utter betrayal on the teen was obvious and cutting even so.
Armsmaster sighed as the door opened and closed again. This time he openly rubbed at his forehead; that headache was coming fast.
"Colin."
The disappointment he heard in the synthesized voice was biting enough…
He spoke. "I'm not going to pretend this is...good Dragon. But can you believe me when I say it was for the best?"
"...I....I'll believe that you believed it was for the best...but you know if you try to ignore it this very likely will come back to bite you, Colin. This...coverup is...
He took a breath, punctuating every word. "It was the best solution…"
"No, Colin. It was A solution. And one I'm sorry to see that you took."
"What exactly am I supposed to do?" The Tinker snapped. "If we had just cut Hess and sent her to Juvie, that's one less parahuman on our side. Sophia wouldn't have gone quietly, she would have taken down everyone around her. Would have likely hired the Barnes attorney to stall out of spite. She'd have implicated the entire department in her criminal activity if not to anyone who would believe her, at the absolute least to Ms. Hebert herself. This. Was The Right. Call."
"So playing keep away and lying to Miss Hebert is your only option?"
"Perfect solutions don't work out for us. Picture it. Taylor Hebert. With her versatility and raw power. Where do you see her independently in a year? A month? I'll tell you where I see her. Across from me, on the boardwalk aligned with E88, either coerced or willingly. In an alley with a criminal, she just killed as a vigilante. She's better off here. No matter what we did or didn't tell her."
"You're forcing the dots to connect the way you want them to, to justify what you've done here, Colin. Don't." Dragon said it with such authority Colin was almost surprised to see the amount of emotion in the woman, who he knew to be somewhat reserved, usually.
Dragon sighed. "Yes. You're right. Taylor might have considered you an enemy. She might have been coerced or convinced into joining a villain group if she'd stayed independent. But you and I both know that is not a certainty. That is not something that was an inevitability if you hadn't taken this course of action."
"Not a certainty, but extremely likely." He protested.
"Perhaps. But what also might have happened if you'd been honest with her is that she might have chosen to be a hero with the Protectorate anyway. She might have decided to join with open honesty and a solid foundation rather than this fragile house of cards you've built up around her. How much worse do you think this is going to be when she finds out?
"She won't find-"
"Stop lying to yourself!" The woman demanded. "Anything could tip her off, Colin. An offhand comment or a slip of the tongue from anyone that knew Sophia's identity. The Wards, the PRT troopers, even Victoria Dallon knows who Shadow Stalker is. Do you think nothing will come out for years? You can't just try to ignore this, Colin. You had to know from the word go that this was untenable. You lied. Fine. You wanted Sophia and her skill-set on the team for a little while longer Or for Taylor to make friends with the other Wards so that her first impression of them wasn't completely tarnished. Don't keep digging the hole deeper in hopes of coming out the other side unscathed. It's time now to start digging yourself out now."
Colin sighed loudly in frustration looking at the woman on the screen. Dragon's soft look of admonishment was staring him dead in the face. The hero known as Armsmaster pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Fine…" He sighed. "I'll talk to the director. See when we can finally come clean. When we do, I'll bring her in privately with Hannah and myself. At least that way we can control how it comes out." He looked at her.
She nodded. "Timetable."
Colin blinked. "What?"
"I want a timetable." She demanded, raising an imperious eyebrow. "I know you Colin. You'll let yourself get sidetracked and distracted. Already you're planning to at least delay it until after Stormtiger and Alabaster's transport mission."
He frowned. "Ms. Hebert's idols could be the difference between that being a success or-"
"I'm aware. That's why I'm not pushing it. What about after?" She demanded.
Colin ground his teeth.
…
"Ten days." He said. "The Transport. Success or failure does not matter… and I will organize everything within ten days afterward. That should be more than enough time to be certain there won't be another immediate emergency, and get Hess'... paperwork filed." He promised.
She nodded. "Alright then. Though this was, as people say, pulling teeth." Dragon shook her head, a look of disappointment in her eyes."I'm going to go through diagnostics at the Containment Center. I'll talk to you later. Tomorrow if you're asleep. Goodnight, Colin." She disconnected.
Colin sighed and covered his face with his hands as he dragged them over. Looking at the screwdriver in his fingers, he tossed it on the workbench.
He didn't much feel like working anymore tonight.
2.4
Time, as it's wont to do, inevitably rolls on, and soon enough, it was the weekend again, the bell ringing shrilly to call an end to the last class of the day.
I started gathering my books, content to let the other students start filing out to not subject myself to the crush of bodies making their way out the door and into the halls.
"So what are ya doin this weekend!?"
I jumped, almost at least, turning and blinking at the brightly smiling Vicky.
I shrugged. The action came easier now, having grown at least partially accustomed to someone being… my friend.
"Not much, was gonna hang with dad actually. I think he's lonely."
Vicky blinked. "Huh. Yeah. I guess your whole… thing musta been a big change, huh?"
I nodded, adjusting my glasses as I noted that somewhere they'd gone a little low on my nose. "What about you?" I asked, beginning to move.
Vicky shrugged. "Ehh, Probably patrol, Drag Dean somewhere. Drag Amy somewhere else. Then on Sunday or Saturday get the band back together somewhere for milkshakes or something."
I shook my head. "Don't you ever just decide to have a quiet night at home?"
She stuck her tongue out, making a sound of disgust. "Bleh. No. Home is boring. Don't tell me you can stand just sitting around watching TV?"
"TV no," I answered. "But I like to read books. I've actually got a bit of a backlog with… everything."
"Hmmm." She hummed as we reached the front doors. "Any recs?"
"What genres do you like?" I asked.
"Romance!" She said instantly. "Gimme something good!"
I shrugged. "Not my biggest thing, but I'm pretty sure I've got one or two that are decent somewhere in my library. I'll text you."
"Sweet!" Vicky smiled, and she actually seemed excited by the prospect, not just humoring me. I found myself smiling back.
Vicky blinked. "Oh. Hey. That's your old man?"
I turned, following her gaze.
It was.
Dad was waiting here, standing by the side of his old beat-up truck. He smiled at the sight of me, I smiled back.
"Yeah, it is." I answered, beginning to march down the steps of the school, Vicky following after me.
"Hey Kiddo." Dad said, eyes moving over to look at Vicky.
"Hey dad. This is Vicky, Vicky, My dad."
"Hey there Mr. Hebert." The Dallon girl smiled, holding out her hand. Dad shook it. His eyes squinting a bit.
"Sorry. I… I just swear I've seen you before." He said.
Vicky snickered. "Yeah, I bet. With a tiara and a red cape."
Dad just looked confused, then his eyes widened.
"Oh. Glory Girl?"
And yup. That was smug pride on Vicky's face.
"Yeah." I answered. "She's actually been really nice at school." I decided to add. Because credit where it was due. Vicky was not another Emma.
Dad's look of gratitude was obvious, and he smiled a bit more. "Good. I'm glad." He looked around. "Probably a stupid question, but do you need a ride or-"
"Oh no, I got my own car, and I can fly," Vicky answered. "I was just sayin good bye. It was nice to meet you Mr. Hebert. I'll catch you later Tay, alright?"
I nodded back. "Sure Vicky."
She actually started floating away. Not very 'high', not even a foot off the ground, but it was there. "I'll text you later and see if you wanna hang out." She said, apparently already forgetting our previous discussion.
I shrugged. "Alright." I looked back to Dad. "Ready to go?"
(X)(X)(X)
The Drive back home wasn't tense. But Dad told me as soon as my seatbelt was buckled that he had something to talk to me about when I got home. So I was a little on edge, even if he assured me I wasn't in trouble and it wasn't anything 'bad'.
So I'm not sure what I was expecting when I got home.
But dad handing me the casing with Mom's perfectly pristine flute inside was not it.
It took… a long time for me to swallow down the urge to cry.
"I thought Emma destroyed it." I found myself mumbling.
My father's hands were on my shoulders.
"She did."
My breath hitched, catching in my chest like a fist.
"Zoe had it restored."
I felt my eyes burn, my teeth grinding as I shut the box and wiped my eyes.
"So what. She wants to buy us dropping the lawsuit!" I snarled. I… I thought at least Zoe would-
"No," Dad answered firmly. "I wouldn't have even spoken to Zoe if the lawsuit was still ongoing."
I blinked, looking up at him. "What do you mean? It's over?"
He nodded. "Yes. Alan and Zoe pleaded out. The evidence was too overwhelming."
"So they're… forking over all the damages?"
"Around eighty percent." He nodded. "I decided to drop the twenty percent when they pushed to pay our legal fees if we simply dropped the civil suit." He shrugged. "We more or less would have come out with the same amount if he hadn't, so I figured it was good enough- civilly.
That… made sense.
"And the criminal charges?"
"I have no control over that, sweetie." He said simply. "But from what I've gathered from the prosecutor. The girls will be getting hit with something. I believe Clements has been remanded to community service, not sure how many hours. I'm not sure what's happening with the Hess girl."
"And Emma?" If anyone was getting off scot free, it would be Emma with Alan in her corner…
Dad's eyes grew sad… and I felt my stomach opening up into a yawning chasm.
He took a breath, leading me over to the dining room table and dragging a chair to sit beside me.
I sat, trying to keep calm, my fingers gripping the cherrywood box
She's gonna get away with it.
She's gonna get away with it again.
"Some things have come to light kiddo." He said slowly. "The Prosecutor was aiming for a harsh sentence at the start but-"
"Just tell me, dad." I bit out. "How's she getting away with it?"
"She's not." Dad snapped, and my eyes darted to his.
He took a breath. "Emma is… Emma's been remanded to a psychiatric facility, Taylor."
I reeled. That was… not what I was expecting.
"She's pretending to be crazy!?" I never thought she'd be desperate enough to brand herself with that label.
Dad shook his head. "No Taylor. Emma is crazy. At least as far as the court doctor testified in her trial."
I blinked.
"I…" I trailed off.
A part of me should have expected this, I realize. People don't just change over a single two-week stint so drastically without something being wrong but…
I…
"I guess I never thought it'd be true," I mumbled, more to myself than him, my eyes trailing down towards the flute. "I… she spent so long saying that I was… weak that she had to throw me away-"
I spent so long thinking there was something wrong with me…
But there was something wrong with her…
Not me.
Dad's hand rubbed at my shoulder.
"Zoe told me what happened." He said. "When she brought the flute. She wanted to explain. She didn't know either. Not until recently."
I didn't answer.
"Would you… Like to hear it?"
My fingers hurt. Gripping the box.
"Does it change anything?" I asked.
…
"It might help." He answered after a long heavy silence.
I sucked down a breath I'm ashamed to admit is far too shaky for my liking.
"She's done this before," I confessed. "The 'I'm sorry' play. It was never real then. Why's this any different? Just her playing for different stakes?"
Maybe I was being irrational. Maybe I was being petty. Or paranoid. Zoe hadn't been involved. And I'd like to think at least someone in that family remembered me as something you didn't just scrape off your shoe.
Dad's hand squeezed my shoulder.
(X)(X)(X)
I spent the weekend at home.
Given my on-site presence four days a week, sixteen hours a day, it was easy to arrange my schedule so the other Wards could cover the weekend days when I wasn't around since I was taking so many shifts Monday through Thursday.
That didn't mean I was wholly cut out of the loop for three days, or blind to what was happening.
The Wards, Vicky, and some small short conversations I had with Miss Militia painted an accurate enough picture, as did the local news.
People accuse the PRT and Brockton Bay Protectorate of playing a game.
They said that there was a revolving door on Parahuman captures. That they were simply incompetent and couldn't hold criminals in prison even if their lives depended on it.
Once upon a time, I may have been one of those people.
Being on the other side of things… really opens your eyes to reality.
Criminals needed to be processed. Parahuman criminals were no exception.
Between their arrest, booking, sentencing, appeals and other legal remedies all needing to be carried out largely 'in absentia' given that they could not be removed from their secure containment on the Rig, the process of getting a Parahuman convicted took weeks and that was when they were being fast in the process.
Now, one might ask, how does this contribute to the PRT being incapable of holding them long term? Of Transporting them to a High-security prison?
The criminals are in jail; they can't get out. The heroes are fine. So how does this matter?
It matters because while the criminals are in jail, the PRT still has work to do.
And the other criminals knew it.
The whole Protectorate + PRT couldn't just… call in sick. Give a doctor's note or something saying, "Sorry, need to rest up for the big prison transport day will help later."
No, they had a job to do, and they had to do it constantly.
Someone reported Hookwolf down by lords street. PRT had to answer it.
Someone reported a Gang Fight between ABB and E88; even without Parahuman sightings, PRT had to answer it. Because Parahumans COULD show up.
Someone reported Cricket killing someone in an alley PRT had to respond, even if it turned out not to be Cricket at all.
The PRT had to respond to everything, and the gangs knew enough to make them respond.
In the weeks leading up to the transport of Alabaster and Stormtiger, I watched and listened and ground my teeth in helpless frustration as I watched the PRT and protectorate being run completely ragged.
Twenty-seven different calls requesting Parahuman assistance across the city in an hour. Thirty seven other calls deemed to be completely false flags meant to do nothing more than waste time.
There were twelve cape 'fights' in just one week with the E-88. Fights that the Protectorate needed to respond to be called out of their homes or their daily lives for, only for the cape in question to beat a swift retreat once things started getting even remotely hairy.
And even if there were no 'Cape captures,' that didn't mean there were no captures at all.
Low-level hitters, pushers, gang members. These could be caught. And they needed to be processed too.
Process meant staying on scene until proper transport arrived. It meant filing incident reports. It meant filling out paperwork. Dates, Times, records, taking witness statements, corroborating filed evidence with new evidence for discrepancies; bringing the director up to speed, giving answers to potential depositions when they lawyered up.
It meant wasting time. It meant less rest. It meant more time where the E-88 ground the heroes down without ever lifting a finger before the first punch had even been thrown.
And all the while, the Wards, on paper, weren't allowed to help.
It was infuriating.
The E-88 could choose their fights. They could choose when, where, how, and how far they took those fights. And they could cycle through their roster of capes to keep the pressure up without risking the same level of exhaustion ever becoming a concern for them.
After all, I doubted Hookwolf went back home and filed a fucking report on how many people he killed or injured when he was done.
And before the day was out, any injuries the villain group had were cleared right up by Othala.
The PRT had NONE of those options. They were forced into engagements, and they were forced to employ the same capes over and over again. And not just for the E-88, because the ABB and Merchants weren't quiet with the increased activity either.
So no. I realize now it's not fair to say the PRT ENE is 'incompetent'
They're just so unbelievably outnumbered it's a miracle the city hasn't completely crumbled into the sea by now.
The ONLY thing that was even remotely leveling the playing field- Was me.
Because now the PRT had a healer of their own.
Panacea, of course, could do this. But she had other responsibilities. And was a cape that was not affiliated with the PRT. Calling her meant calling New Wave. It meant owing an independent Hero group favors in more ways than one.
I didn't have that baggage.
Granted, it wasn't as convenient as Othala's, or as absolute as Amy's.
I couldn't heal with a touch, nor could I really do it without… hurting myself, but I could heal groups of people with just one statue. And as long as I stayed close to it it didn't deactivate. At least none I'd made so far had.
I hadn't mastered it. I still couldn't summon them on demand.
But a cut across the hand that bit down to the bones was simple enough..
Armsmaster had looked grim but offered me his thanks, as the warm light eased the aches and pains of the troopers that passed by and possibly some of the Protectorate capes that came as well.
I know it's not the best way for this to work, but until I figured out how to bring them about when I wanted them, not just when I needed them I would just have to deal with the… uncomfortable connotations.
I sure as hell wasn't telling Dad how it worked, that's for sure.
The downside was it didn't work for mental exhaustion, and while I was keeping the team 'fit' even my amateur eye could see they were getting close to the breaking point, healing or no healing.
Soon enough, the Wards needed to fill in more and more 'Protectorate' level duties.
Patrols in worse parts of town, responding to low priority calls with unconfirmed cape sightings, supporting PRT troopers when they intervened with someone with a four or lower on the threat scale.
It was adding up. More than that, it was ramping up as the day loomed closer and closer.
(X)(X)(X)
When the day to transport Stormtiger and Alabaster came, it came quick.
The Judge's gavel had barely banged on the bench before Armsmaster called everyone 'fit for duty to show up.
Protectorate, PRT troopers, and the Wards.
Of course everyone being 'Fit for duty' was a qualifying statement.
Triumph, Assault, Battery, and Miss Militia were the only Protectorate capes present. Velocity and Dauntless had been taking three days worth of overtime to try and give the other five enough respite to be here and in relatively top form.
The Wards were equally short-staffed. I was here; of course, so was Aegis, Vista, Clock and if rumors were to be believed, Stalker was also on her way.
All targets that, technically speaking, could either utterly avoid risk to themselves or shrug off potentially fatal attacks.
The plan was still, in broad strokes, the same as it had been for Armsmaster's preliminary plan.
The Protectorate engages the 'big targets.
The PRT troopers are a wall of warm bodies with containment foam and bullets to stop anyone that slipped past the Heroes.
And the Wards, in theory, should have anyone that got past those two main groups outnumbered at the absolute least.
If that didn't happen. If the Wards were engaged by more than two Parahumans or 'A number of unpowered criminals that would endanger the wellbeing of the Wards, ' we were supposed to retreat immediately.
The main 'change' in the plan was that Miss Militia would be staying with the Wards to act as the commander, rather than leaving it up to Aegis given the dynamic situation and the fact that no one could really be sure How many capes were going to be here for this breakout.
If the Wards needed to retreat, she would make the call.
The main roads were closed off to the public and cleared by the cops. If something were to happen, there'd be less risk of collateral damage.
Even with this state of emergency and 'all hands on deck, I noted that Armsmaster was keeping Shadow Stalker firmly away from me and the other Wards, riding in a wholly separate truck.
Even so, I put that situation out of my mind soon enough. Riding in one of the transports with Vista, Clock, and Aegis. Four other PRT troopers were with us as I felt my stomach open into a flutter of nervousness.
It was only because of the constant check-ins that I knew where the hell we even were by the time things started happening.
We were just at the city's outskirts. Where the wall of buildings 'ended' and more 'open' highway began.
The sniper round ripped through the tire of the first truck, all but destroying the front right of the vehicle, making the whole column stop.
I heard panicked shouts and Armsmaster calmly barking orders into the comlinks as everyone started moving.
Console; now being manned by an experienced PRT comms officer rather than one of the Ward sor Heroes- started relaying confirmed sightings and locations of approaching threats. As Armsmaster succinctly and quickly dispatched his 'resources' to answer.
The weapon that damaged the lead Vehicle it's on the Chem-banks building to the North east. Take cover. Break Line of sight from it if possible Approximately on the twelfth story. Be advised, shot likely taken by Victor. Probability of Othala's enhancements high.
Assault, Battery, we have a confirmed sighting of Kaiser, Fenja, and Menja approaching from the main highway ahead of us. Intercept
Triumph approaching from the South; Krieg, and Crusader run interference if possible.
Hookwolf confirmed sighting- I'm going to intercept with Ward Shadow Stalker.
And just like that, a minor war seemed to erupt all around us.
Miss Militia took command from there, giving out orders to the surrounding troopers and the Wards as a whole. I heard the squeal of tires, dozens of cars and trucks, and everything just bursting with E-88 unpowered gang members. They all opened fire and turned this stretch of highway into the third world war.
PRT troopers made barricades out of containment foam. Shot out tires and let loose with tear gas and flashbang grenades in retaliation
More than once I saw Aegis stopping himself from rushing to join the fray even as Vista stretched and shrank space around the troopers to give them an edge.
And still more kept on coming.
They always say that the E-88 is the largest gang in the city.
You don't really appreciate it until you see a quarter of the PRT's entire troop division getting swarmed, and then there are ten more cars to spare rushing in to bring more gang members right up to you.
I allowed my ash to move. The cloak around my shoulders vanished to form a wall of unbreakable gray.
The lead car smashed into it, the others rushing to get around it.
Vista stretched the space of the car's hood, the fuel, engine, and oil suddenly needing to be pumped through a mile of cords and tubes rather than just a few feet.
The car sputtered and died; another had the engine block suddenly shrunk, the whole hood exploding in flames, much to the panic of the occupants.
Clock planted himself in front of one, touching the vehicle before it could swerve out of the way. All the men inside were suddenly trapped, the car slamming to a top as the men inside were thrown about like straw dolls.
There was a spray of gunfire trailing up to Clock, and I saw him turn himself inviolable as the bullets kept rising to take potshots at him.
Aegis rushed in Miss Militia, cursing as the green of her weapon whorled in the air, settling on a monstrous handgun.
The PRT troops were moving to reposition, space distorting to shorten the distance, the unpowered men and women rushing to try and actually shield us.
Damnit! Triumph here. Crusader's gotten past me. Krieg is keeping me busy. I can't intercept!.
Be advised, Victor confirmed on site on his way to the engagement with Rune, riding telekinetically held platforms, approaching from the Chem building.
I spared a glance in that direction, seeing that, yes, there were at least five platforms moving towards us, and two of them had 'riders.'
Armsmaster here, be advised Hookwolf is retreating, but Night and Fog have joined this engagement. I am unable to disengage to provide assistance. Ward Shadow Stalker has been ordered to quit the field immediately. Fog is targeting her!
"Miss Militia here-" I heard the Kurdish woman call. "All Wards pull-"
The rest of Miss Militia's sentence was cut off because, leaping from yet another vehicle filled with E-88 members, Cricket literally leapt from the back seat. Knives and sickles in hand.
My ash moved, circling through the air to try and catch the woman with the mass of gray before something made my whole stomach lurch, nausea violently cramping my guts and nearly making me throw up inside my mask/helmet.
Distantly I recognized troopers stumbling, falling or indeed, throwing up themselves as the Nazi woman darted forward, making a beeline straight for Miss Militia.
I heard the cracking of bones, the ashen idol appearing in front of me, cutting off my line of sight before I stumbled to get around it.
Miss Militia's gun barked once, and Cricket twisted in mid-air, avoiding the shot entirely before Militia's weapon transformed into a single trench knife, Cricket's sickle screeching as it met the weapon. The villain's free hand drew a knife, darting out to try and slice open Militia's stomach with it.
The Kurdish woman moved then, her knee coming up to crack against Cricket's wrist, hard enough to dislodge the knife.
Aegis here, attempting to intercept villain Crusader!
I moved to rush forward on shaking, stumbling legs trying to help before a slab of stone careened down, slamming into me with the force of a train.
It knocked me down, punching the wind out of me as I coughed and sputtered, Victor leaping from his perch as he shouted an order at Rune, rushing to join the fray against Miss Militia.
Cricket was fast, unnaturally graceful, and Victor was skilled, but somehow the woman seemed to keep up with both of them.
Her weapon shifted, transforming mid-swing from a knife to a war hammer. The swing's sheer speed barely has time to change with the sudden weight difference. The hammer clanged hard against the cage covering Cricket's skull.
The head of the weapon was nearly tangled in the now sundered openings before the energy dispersed and reformed again, turning into a gun as she fired on Victor, who had to duck out of the way. Another swing and she was nearly taking Crickets' leg with a long saber, the blade turning into a tower shield as Victor returned fire before it whorled into a sub-machine gun that spat half a magazine at the man before it rounded on Cricket, forcing both villains to back up.
"Wards Retreat! Now!" The woman barked.
My heart stuttered in my chest, concern lancing through me.
I heard Vista hissing through the comm line. "We're not just leaving you here!"
Miss Militia didn't have time to answer, lunging behind one of the armored trucks to avoid a hail of gunfire from the unpowered humans who'd broken through the PRT line.
"Fuckin sand nigger bitch!"
My blood boiled, and the ash swirling around me rushed forward, and suddenly three men were too busy having their skin sanded down by a whirling storm of ash to think about shooting!
Wards this is Console. You are not authorized to engage a threat level this high. Your presence was always to be a deterrent force not a combat force. As the acting commander on scene Miss Militia has given the order, Disengage immediately!
"Vista." Aegis called. "Get the team out. South Western side is clear. Let's move."
"We can get Miss Militia!" I insisted on watching as Cricket re-engaged the Protectorate Heroine. Victor was now rushing with Rune towards the Armored prisoner transport holding Stormtiger and Alabaster.
She'd be outnumbered six to one once Crusader gets here! "If we leave without her the Empire's going to kill her!"
Wards I repeat. You are not authorized to engage at this threat level. Your commanding officer on site has given you an order-
I heard Miss Militia scream.
And I didn't listen to much else.
I sprinted across the stretch of highway between my car and the other, ignoring Aegis, Galant or the others shouting behind me, leaping onto and over the roof of the car.
I saw Miss Militia immediately.
One of her eyes was shut in pain, Cricket's sickle carving into and through her forearm, its curved hook-like point emerging out the other end.
I could see the Nazi grinning, pulling on the blade in a way that sliced the tear wider, scraped against bone, disabling one arm with as much pain as possible.
Miss Militia's other hand was holding onto Cricket's free wrist, keeping a knife at bay.
I saw the green energy shift, a gun forming in the hand that was gored on Cricket's sickle.
Cricket's eyes widened in surprise.
The gun went off.
Cricket howled, blood exploding out of the side of her head as her ear was shorn off by the grazing shot, the metal cage around her head squealing as metal tore and rent itself.
The sickle was yanked across Militia's forearm in a shower of gore and viscera, the pain making Militia's other arm slip as Cricket slashed across the Heroine's stomach.
My own scream sounded distant in my ears.
Cricket's gaze snaps over to me as Miss Militia falls down. The heroine is hissing as she presses herself against the side of the truck.
The Nazi woman is stumbling, her preternatural grace seemingly absent, one hand rising to what would have been a ringing ear, blood staining her pasty white skin.
My ash surges.
She tries to move, to dodge.
I don't let her.
The ash around me is a weapon, but so is my armor.
I'll recognize it as a stupid move later, but I don't care.
This Nazi bitch tried to kill Miss Militia!
Most of my armor sloughs off me, and as Cricket rushes to dodge left or right, ashen walls box her in. She's scrambling, rushing to leap off the surfaces only for them to suddenly become soft, letting her foot and leg sink into the mass of ash, trapping her.
Then I start grinding.
Cricket screams silently. A wheeze of air through a ruined voice box, trying to force herself free as I make my ash chew through her trapped legs.
Her eyes snap to me, hands drawing a knife, ready to throw.
I don't let her.
The ash rushes forward, grabbing her wrists and arms.
She hurt what was yours.
I squeeze.
The sound of broken bones and Cricket convulsing like a worm on a hook snaps me out of my rage. I let her go, suddenly horrified, the ash rushing back to me.
A shot rings out, the hit cracking against my, once again armored shoulder and I pitch to the side, off the roof of the car to land heavily on my back.
Victor runs in, Alabaster and Stormtiger right behind him as he leaps off the side of the overpass, and all five Nazis are suddenly rushing away on Rune's platforms.
There's still fighting happening. Unpowered thugs have to run the old-fashioned way, but as I hear Armsmaster and the others calling in that the Empire capes are retreating I start scrambling to move, rushing towards Miss Militia.
The woman's arm is a ruin. A jagged, shorn hole is carved into her limb. Blood is pouring from the wound, but I can almost see straight through to the other side.
Her stomach looks just as bad.
"It looks worse than it is." She assures me.
I look at her.
She smiles, though more likely it's a pained grimace under the mask.. "I'll be fine, hun."
I shake my head.
I look down, finding the backup knife in the woman's boot.
I don't hesitate.
Reaching for the knife, I can see her confusion, and then sudden alarm as I peel the ash off my hand and stab myself straight through my palm.
"Ta-Ashburn!" She screams, then coughs.
It doesn't matter.
The bones crack. The fires burn. The whispers come.
The healing energies wash over her, and I see them taking effect, feeling relief even as I remind myself to pull the knife out of my hand.
When her hands grab my shoulders, her grip feels like iron, even through the ashen armor.
Her eyes are wide, not angry. It's close to anger, But not exactly.
"Don't ever do that!"
I cringe. "You were hurt!"
"I told you it looked worse than it was!" She shouted back.
"Well, it looked bad alright!?
"Armsmaster is already on his way. His equipment could have stopped the bleeding long enough for me to reach Panacea. Or Clock could have frozen me entirely if it was really desperate!"
"Well, I didn't know that!" Now I was shouting. "You were hurt and I could help!"
She glares at me, and I can't see the lines of her face under the bandana as she shakes her head.
"You are more important than your power." She repeats. "Your heart is in the right place Taylor. I know that. But I want you to promise me… you won't do this as the FIRST OPTION!" She's screaming by the end.
I've never heard her scream.
"But I-"
"This isn't up for debate!" She hissed, cutting me off and the look in her eyes reminded me, oddly, of Dad. "You do not hurt yourself out of… expedience! Never again! You promise me. Right now. Or my next act as soon as I get back to base is to recommend you off the Wards program!"
My eyes widened a spike of something that wasn't quite shock and wasn't quite fear cutting through me.
Whatever look she saw in me, it made her features soften.
"Promise me." She implored.
I didn't trust my voice, and I refused to let the stinging behind my eyes turn into tears as I nodded.
I could still hear the whispers of my idol. Still feel the heat of the flames and the feeling of its soothing healing pulses.
But all I could hear was Miss Militia's heart and the warmth of her skin as she hugged me tightly.
…
"Miss Militia here." I hear her whisper. "Be advised. Ashburn healing idols present near center of transport column."
(X)(X)(X)
"Are you joking!"
In the face of my incredulous anger, Piggot seems remarkably unphased.
"Have I given you the impression that I joke often Miss Hebert!"
"You're punishing me for saving Miss Militia!?" I'm not sure if this qualifies as shouting yet. "That's bullshit!" The profanity is unprofessional. I know it won't win me any points in this argument but it's out of my mouth before I even realized I was about to say it.
"I'm punishing you-" Piggot bites out. "Because your actions exceeded several forms of acceptable force!" Now she's definitely shouting and the heavy *stamp* of her fingers slamming down onto keyboard keys does a remarkable job of emphasizing her anger.
An image pops up on the nearby wall, a video, shaky cam, but as shaky as it was I could still see, very clearly an image of myself just a few hours ago, flaying the skin off of Cricket's legs and crushing her arms like twigs.
Despite myself, I wince; seeing her moving in twisting, desperate pain is… horrifying.
"That," Piggot snarls. "Has been making the rounds on PHO as of forty-seven minutes ago."
"Ma'am." Carlos says, stepping up beside me. "That was likely taken by one of the unpowered E-88 members."
"Do you think that matters?" Piggot hisses. "All the public sees is a Ward torturing a restrained prisoner in broad daylight."
Her baleful glare rounds on me. " "So Yes, Ms. Hebert. Remedial courses. All centered around acceptable force! If that seems like a punishment for you; perhaps I can arrange for you to head down to image department and start doing their jobs. Now that they're working overtime covering for you!"
I want to protest. Argue Cricket had been ready to kill Militia! Broken bones was the least I could have done. Did everyone forget I could make fires that immolated damn near anything in seconds?
But there was no point. Even I've known Piggot long enough to know that arguing will get nowhere with her.
My fists clench, and I have to force the words out. "When is this supposed to start?"
"Tomorrow." She answers. "And I want your incident reports on my desk by tonight. Now you're excused. I need to hear from Aegis why he chose to engage Crusader in one on one combat as opposed to assisting Miss Militia himself given that he can somewhat contest both Victor and Cricket. Or better yet retreat as he was ordered to"
I stood up, tossing Aegis a look that he stoically ignored in favor of keeping his eyes dead ahead as I marched out.
(X)(X)(X)
Spoiler: Changelog:
Ok Before anyone gets on my case regarding two things:
1) Taylor's relative "passivity" during the fight. Because just by knowledge of what Taylor can do a single ash wall is a pretty... minimalist impact on the fight when this girl could have been pulling off an ashen version of the gates of babylon with fire to boot.
Taylor at this juncture is so green she pisses grass. And being dumped in the closest equivalent to "battlefield conditions" she could experience here, relatively cold is bound to make anyone hesitate, which is why she was more paying attention to the other Wards for cues than actively "demolishing" the oposition.
She'll get better but you kinda have to learn to walk before you can run.
Unless you replace the running with sheer rage.
2) Piggot:
Before anyone says that Piggot is being unreasonable or she should be prioritizing Hannah's survival vs Public image; shit *really* isn't that simple.
Taylor is a teenager not an adult. If this was say... Dauntless or Armsy who just *threw his spear/halberd* through someone's chest to save Miss Militia then Piggot would likely do little more than ask him, politely "Was that necessary" He answers "yes" or that he saw no other way to save Militia's life and she'd believe him. Because they're experienced, they're adults and they are very much aware this is not *acceptable* as a pattern to get into.
Teenagers are prone to taking a mile if you give them an inch. And that's true of ALL teenagers regardless of their status as protagonists.
She is very much appreciative of the fact that Miss Militia is much more important than a Nazi. But Taylor quite literally just *destroyed* Cricket in half a second and from an outsider's perspective it was like ripping the wings off a fly. If Othala wasn't a factor Cricket would be permanently crippled.
She's very much concerned that Taylor found it so easy if she DOESN'T nip this in the bud as harshly as possible she'd be nurturing a budding propensity for a Ward inflicting as much damage as possible when engaged in combat and allowing the 'slippery slope' of "I felt it was necessary" to set the tone for things going forward.