Chapter 3

—

It's alright Emily, no pressure. It's all going to be fine, it's just Lung after all. Just a parahuman who once fought an Endbringer one-on-one. Nothing to worry about. You've gone against worse. Nilbog is a horror show and you've punched him in the face, it's all good. Sure, I broke my hand and one of my kidneys exploded, but it wasn't too bad.

Lung's also been heavily sedated. Yes, it's very likely someone on the rig is an ABB mole, but that's par for the course. Murdering me would also be counterproductive. Tick off the PRT while doing nothing to reduce its manpower. Sure, Strider can still shank me unexpectedly and pin the blame on someone else, starting a gang war that'll probably benefit Calvert in some way, but that was just the anxiety getting to me. I should really ask my doctor about that.

Later. After the current crises.

I walked into the cell house, housing all the jail cells designed to hold parahumans currently in captivity. As it was, only one of them was currently occupied. It was a gray hallway, with several guards patrolling the edges and occasionally checking up on the sole prisoner.

The elevator down into the rig's brig was unbearably slow, almost wiggling in its descent. My bulletproof pantsuit was starting to get warm, and I began to wonder what happens to kevlar when it caught on fire. This was a terrible idea, and an insane one, but I had to do my job, and if it meant sowing discord amongst power hungry parahumans, so be it. Fire isn't forever.

Fire isn't forever.

The elevator made a dinging sound as it opened up on the second lowest level, where the especially dangerous parahumans were kept. Which was all of them, since we never had more than two or three at a time. Did the Butcher count as two parahumans or only one? Because that might raise the record up.

I left the elevator and walked to the cell. There was an inch thick wall of bulletproof, heat proof glass between us, but that didn't make me feel any better. I checked to see if Miss Militia was watching, and sure enough she was, through a camera. In front of the cell itself was a table and folding chair set up for me, and I gladly sat down, eyeing the sleeping giant.

Well, he was neither sleeping nor a giant. His eyes were bloodshot and open, glaring me down, and as I stared upon the so-called Dragon of Kyushu, I couldn't help but think he looked utterly human.

"I thought you'd be taller." Shit wait, that was supposed to be narration.

His face twisted into what would have been a snarl if he was transformed. Instead, he just looked like an average angry man, "You must be the most pitiful and weak creature I have ever set my eyes upon," he spoke in a deep baritone, "Why are you here?"

I swallowed. In for a penny, "Emily Piggot, Director of the Parahuman Response Team, East Northeast. I'm here because I have business with you."

"Well, this is a surprise. I assumed you would have sent me off already to that inescapable prison of yours," he bared his teeth, which looked more ridiculous than anything, since he looked like a human, not a dragon. In fact, he didn't even look like he even reached six feet in height right now. As a human, he looked dreadfully average.

"We're not stupid, Lung. We all know you're going to be broken out of here eventually. I'm just here to relay a warning."

He snorted, which also looked ridiculous. Seriously, why wasn't he ramping up?

"Your new minion, Bakuda. She's clearly betrayed you and taken over your gang. We think she's going to break you out, kill you in the crossfire, and blame it on us.

Another snort, but this one came with a bit of flame, "I see through your ploy, but I admit it is amusing to hear such a blatant attempt nonetheless."

I sighed. This was normal, "You were informed you almost died, correct? I can't imagine you being taken down by some meddling teenagers."

He snarled, a puff of smoke radiating from his face. I smirked at that, "Oh? Did I touch a nerve? So the rumors are true then, some kids beat you, the mighty Dragon of Kyushu."

"Better than the so-called, false Empire and what your band of misfit heroes could do," he said. It came out faster than he probably would have wanted. That was also when he grew an entire inch taller. Ah, I see. He didn't see me as a threat before.

I shrugged, "Luck of the draw, I suppose. Besides Armsmaster and Dauntless, none of the Protectorate can do much against a fire breathing dragon. They simply had the better pieces. But that's not what this is about. After all, even if those kids had the right combination of powers and skill to defeat you, there's still something wrong."

Lung seemed to have calmed down, ever so slightly. And shrank down an inch. Was that really his actual, non enhanced height? Wow. Rude, thinking I'm not a threat. Whatever. "Oh? Was it the attempted assassination by your own minion?"

I raised an eyebrow, "That's the rub, isn't it? The thing is, your regeneration and heart didn't start failing until after you'd reached the hospital. Not only that, but Armsmaster's tranquilizers were determined to be too weak to properly sedate you, never mind overdosing. We have no wish to hospitalize you, only for Panacea to heal you. We now owe New Wave a favor, something that could be problematic in the future."

"A small favor in exchange for a great boon. In chess, that would be like sacrificing a pawn for a queen," Lung twitched.

"I wouldn't know, I don't play chess."

"Hmph, neither do I."

After a brief silence, I spoke again, "I'm just here to give you a warning, that's all. My goal is to protect the city and its inhabitants, and at the very least, I want you two to contain your infighting, not have it spill out all over the city."

"Our business is our business. The PRT has no power to say otherwise. It's good to see you learning your place, instead of sticking your noses where they don't belong."

I scowled. Lung barked out in laughter, "Ah, I see I've touched a nerve. Begone, little lady."

I checked my watch, "I still have a few minutes before my next meeting. I think I'll sit for a while," I said as I pulled out one of the ABB pamphlets I was perusing.

He growled continuously, which was silly since he was definitely 100% human for the entire duration.

—

So once we were back on the mainland, I returned to my office while she went off on patrol. The PRT was, technically, a law enforcement agency, and thus did investigative work. We don't officially refer to our employees as 'troopers' or 'soldiers', they're agents and officers. Despite the fact that we're wearing body armor and have strike squads with military training. Or the fact that we have a missile defense system 'just in case'. Because of this technicality, we must have a designated loose cannon cop on our payroll. Luckily, it turned out to be Miss Militia, who minimized collateral damage and lawsuits. Freedom and justice and all that.

She can be the loose cannon cop, do her regular duties, and supervise the Wards thanks to her supernatural and cheating ability to never sleep. An extra six hours every day means I can offload more work on her dependable ass. She may be a weirdo, but she does her job well.

However, I had to be careful. We are the antagonists, the faceless bureaucratic machine that grinds up hope and turns it into action figures. The exact specifics don't matter at this point. What matters is that, as the antagonists, my implicitly allowing Miss Militia to skirt the rules and regulations would therefore be clear evidence of corruption.

It leaves me, the police chief/commissioner in a tough bind. Allow Militia to break some laws and be complicit in the eyes of the PRT-hating protagonists, or punish her when she inevitably does something morally shady. Or even legally gray. She's going to. Miss Militia is the embodiment of American ideals, which includes the CIA and the NSA after all.

When I do break convention and punish her for doing something reprehensible, I fear karma itself will smite me where I stand, probably within a few days or less. After all, no good deed goes unpunished. That was in the future however, a hypothetical inevitable weeks or even years off. Back to something less lofty.

After the Undersiders did their thing at the bank and the whole Lung fiasco, Watchdog analysts, parahumans and mundanes alike, were scrambling for info regarding the newest teen villain group. The results were less than ideal.

Tattletale was still unknown, although we did confirm that she was a natural blonde teenager between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. At least she wasn't another shapeshifter. Hellhound was confirmed to be working willingly, to my own dismay, and still Rachel Lindt, which was obvious. Grue was a mystery, although one Thinker confirmed the existence of a younger sibling.

Regent was concerning. We had him pegged as a low level human Master, and we were right, mostly. However, said low rating came with a caveat: he was definitely previously known as Hijack, one of Heartbreaker's kids turned gang lieutenants. I stared at the homicide reports of the murders he definitely committed for almost an hour.

Same hair, height, age and build matches, abilities were similar enough to be different applications of the same power, it all fit. Oh, and Regent was a boy. I really hope no one points out my mistake in my reports.

So that made two murderers on the same team. Now, Hellhound's situation was almost assuredly extenuating circumstances, but could the same be said for Regent? What was he doing here in Brockton Bay, away from his father? Maybe it's related to Cherish disappearing from Montreal?

My gut says runaway, and really, who wouldn't want to run away from home if your dad was fucking Heartbreaker. No, I mean, his dad is Heartbreaker, not that he was in a relationship with—okay, I'm moving forward.

Assuming Regent is a runaway, running away from Nikos Vasil, the worst villain in Canada outside the Birdcage, what does that mean? Well, the psychological profile made up for Vasil is that he's highly possessive and moderately impulsive, meaning that… he'll probably come to Brockton Bay when he finds out where Regent is.

We'll have to get everyone up to speed on protocols when dealing with Vasil and his kids, mostly emotion and loyalty manipulation, some physical body hijacking, just your general horror show of a Quebecois cape carnival.

So, who among our group is going to end up mind controlled? Armsmaster is always a solid choice, as the leader and all, but he's currently being subverted by Bakuda. Most of Heartbreaker's kids are on the younger side, so it will likely skew towards the Wards. Fun.

Realistically, they all were potential victims, except Gallant, who probably has a resistance. This will have to be dealt with eventually, but not now. Right now, all of our squads were spread out, covertly sweeping for bombs and lowering numbers in crowded places.

The most likely place to look for bombs would be: enemy gang hideouts, places with loads of people, government buildings, bus and transportation facilities, and the places where the most evil can be committed. As such, all schools and daycares have been closed down, all hospitals were checked frequently, and government buildings have a shrunken capacity. Armsmaster was checking all of those places frequently, having actually found a few bombs.

I was tempted to use my singular contact to Tattletale, the Thinker who reasonably could help, but that was risky. Who knew what was going on, and what her role in this was. For all I knew, this was a ploy.

Thinkers were annoying on the best of days, but they were useful. It's a shame we don't have— wait a minute.

—

"Thank you for coming. It's very brave of you, Dinah," I smiled at the Alcotts sitting in front of me. Beside them was a voice recorder, picking up every detail to be sent to our local analysts for clues.

"I wanna help," Dinah said, with one of the most serious looks I'd ever seen on a child so young. The things this world does to kids.

"How many questions can you do today, Dinah?" Mrs. Alcott asked as she squeezed her daughter.

"Four. No, five," Dinah said softly.

"Don't push yourself too hard," her mother whispered.

"I wanna, mom."

Mrs. Alcott looked at her husband, then at me before nodding.

I pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed the top document to the Alcotts, "Before we go ahead, we should pick out a name for you, Dinah."

"Name?" she asked.

"A hero name of course, like Armsmaster or Legend," I explained, "The available choices shrink with every day, so we should have done this earlier."

That, and I really should stop referring to Dinah by name. Never know when an enemy telepath is listening to my thoughts. And yes, I'm one of those people who believes telepaths exist, because of course they do. The skeptics who say they're impossible are high off their own asses. Precognition and unaided humanoid flight are also impossible, but guess what?

"Ooh! Can I be Oracle!" Dinah chippered right up.

"Taken. Rogue in Toronto and a villain in Las Vegas."

"Delphi?" Mrs. Alcott proposed.

"Ward in Ontario." Ah yes, here's the fun part.

"Seer?" Dinah's father asked.

"Two different villains in Britain, and a rogue in the midwest somewhere."

"Number Girl."

"There's already a Number Man, a supervillain who does black market banking all across the world."

"Calculator."

"Former Slaughterhouse Nine member."

"Augur."

"Geese-sell-schaft member."

"I think it's pronounced Gesellschaft," Dinah's father said.

"Do I look like I care about the correct pronunciation of a European terrorist cell?" I raised an eyebrow and he shut up.

"One. Like the number."

"CUI member."

"Zero?"

"All whole numbers are taken by them."

"Infinity?"

"The most insufferable Master/Striker in Washington state."

"Prophet."

"Pretentious, and taken by a member of the Fallen."

"Solomon."

"Every cape who has taken the name was mastered by the Simurgh within two years. Currently taken by a French villain."

"Nostradamus."

"Watchdog member."

"Psy. Like the first part of psychic."

"Member of the FBI that we really should recruit into Watchdog."

"Psych?"

"Psych Man is a rogue cape somewhere in California."

"But not Psych?"

"I believe it's also a musical."

"Psyker?"

"Trademarked by a game company."

"Sybil."

"Too soon."

"Wait what?"

"The previous one died at Canberra."

"Oh, uh, sorry."

"It's not a problem. Thinking about it, we should be consulting Image about this."

"What's Image? Soothsayer."

"The PRT's Public Relations unit, making sure the public sees parahumans as part of society and all that jazz. I think that's a cape in Toronto… yes, she is."

"Cassandra?"

"Do you want no one to listen to you?"

"... no."

"Then don't choose a name like that."

"Vision."

"Sight related powers are so common, every version of vision has been taken. There is a cape out there named 'Night Vision Goggles'."

"Probability."

"Not taken, but it's a bit of a mouthful."

"Probs?"

"That just sounds inappropriate, Mrs. Alcott."

"Yeah, I hear it too."

"Percentile."

"Also not taken, perhaps."

"The Mathemagician."

"..."

"..."

"... Mr. Alcott, please be serious."

"Sorry."

"I don't hate it, daddy."

"It'll be our last resort."

"Is Last Resort taken?"

"Not currently. Although it sounds like the name for an S Class cape whose power has a world spanning effect and can only be used under very specific circumstances."

"So…"

"While I know you love your daughter, let's not aspire for unfathomably instrumental roles in the grand scheme of things only to be disappointed in one's mediocrity."

"That's… harsh."

"I know. Let's go with Percentile for now. How about it, Dinah?"

She smiled at me, "Yeah that's good. I'm gonna be called Last Resort when I get big and famous!" she puffed her chest out and put her hands on her hips, grinning ear to ear.

"Well then, Percentile. Let me thank you for helping the PRT by lending us your expertise. Shall we begin?" I steepled my fingers and stared directly at her.

She nodded and adjusted her mask.

"Good. Now, we haven't been able to get you power tested extensively, but we do understand some of our limits and potential. We have five questions today, and time is not on our side. I've asked Watchdog and our own Brockton Bay analysts for the questions to yield the most useful information."

—

The number of ABB members had swollen in the last few days, coming in around the same time our informants in the gang went dark, meaning all we knew from the inside was that there were now hundreds of potential bomb carriers throughout the city, and most of them were unwilling.

With our limited questions, we weren't able to determine where or when the bombs would stop going off, or where Bakuda was. There was not much we could do except wait and grit our teeth. The anticipation was killing me. I mean, faster than usual, that is. The first bombs will go off when we aren't looking. When it's the most inconvenient, when we are least prepar—

"Director, reports of explosions in the warehouse district. Seismographs confirmed it. What are your orders?"

Oh. Well, that's lame.

—

Miss Militia was the first one on the scene, but not before all of the parties involved had already left. Besides burn marks and several extremely suspicious puddles of melted human flesh, there wasn't much to go on. If we were in a less resource intensive time, I would have ordered a thorough search of all the storage units in the area, but since we had more pressing concerns, Armsmaster just did a quick sweep for bombs, tinker tech, and hidden people.

By the time we can actually look through everything, criminals would have already emptied out all of their incriminating wares. Well no matter. People moving in and out of there would mean that there would be less chance of it being a target for a future bomb, which meant we had, in theory, no further reason to patrol in the area, meaning less places to cover with our limited resources.

That was the good news. The bad news was that there were now bombs going off all over the city every few hours.

Yeah.

Requests for a Watchdog unit were still pending, because of course it was. Apparently some Elite stragglers out in Las Vegas were attempting to use Brockton Bay's current situation to pull the wool over Watchdog. Unsurprising, given their desperation.

We were still getting information, and with Percentile's own information supplementing, we were able to lower the number of bombs actually exploding by two-thirds. For every two bombs we defused, another one went off. You'd think having a precocious prepubescent precog would have solved everything, but you'd be wrong.

That was how things went for three days, until the inevitable happened.

While we were busy, Lung was broken out, as expected. He and the ABB have now turned their attention away from civilian targets and focused on the other gangs. We were still defusing bombs, but focused on the ones closer to civilian buildings and homes.

Luckily, we had moved Armsmaster's workshop off the oil rig and into PRT HQ beforehand, so Bakuda didn't swipe anything on her way out as she was breaking a dragon she tried to poison out of prison. I had also made the decision to not have any heroes stationed there, saving their strength for when Lung makes his move back on the mainland. He's the type of parahuman you fought at full force or not at all.

Despite everything, things fell into a routine again. At least until we picked up news of a villain meeting in neutral space. Fucking finally.

—

This whole operation was strictly under-the-table, the most clandestine of operations. If the PRT was going to be morally gray, we can be Orwellian to the villains, right?

Miss Militia and I huddled around Armsmaster's tinker tech radio and tuned into the Somer's Rock feed, which I've dubbed the 'Punk Rock Station'. You may clap or groan at your leisure. Armsmaster himself was listening in on his own radio built into his helmet, as he was out in the city patrolling. I tweaked the dials, switching frequencies from one of the several bugs hidden throughout the bar.

"I got something," I murmured. We picked up a few voices: gruff, masculine, and hard to distinguish. The hidden tinker tech bugs were impressive, but the sacrifice in audio quality was readily apparent.

"It sounds like someone ordering around the Valkyrie twins," Armsmaster noted, patching in while riding his motorcycle.

I nodded, "That's on 17B, 18A seems to be listening in on… Faultline?"

It was hard to make out, but Militia agreed, "It sounds like her. She seems to be feuding with someone."

Faultline and her crew were third in the running for being protagonists. They made sense: young people, technically villains due to legislation and PRT regulations but acted more like rogues, a diverse cast with an interesting base of operations, complete with a big sister mentor figure in Faultline. Not to mention Labyrinth as a fucking Shaker 12 who also had a connection to a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

The only thing really holding them back was their mission to uncover the hidden shadow conspiracy behind the Case 53s. It's completely absurd, and it's a coin flip on whether the secret "Omega group" exists or not. Because it's binary. Their crazy conspiracy theories were either exactly correct, or completely wrong. Or wrong but leads to the right answers. In essence, they were either protagonists or plot devices, with little in between.

We made out more conversation, and it became apparent that they were the up and coming Undersiders, "Tattletale, no doubt," I said.

"Ooh what's this?" the microphone made scratching sounds.

I groaned, "Of course she would notice the bug. It's like her power is just pulling information out of her ass."

"I think I'll hold onto you."

"What's that, Tats?"

"Oh, nothing important. Let's just get this over with."

I frowned and changed the dials, "I'm switching to 18B, now 19A—"

"Travelers, I presume."

Great, good old Max Anders was there. The fucker.

He was Kaiser, but I needed some actual evidence beyond "He has a fucking smug look only a supervillain has, is a billionaire CEO but isn't a hero, and Allfather dissappeared around the same time Anders senior croaked." Also he divorced his wife around the same time Purity left the Empire.

I loathe the fact that listening to high society gossip was a legitimate and fruitful intelligence tactic. I also loathe the fact that I knew with near certainty that this nazi fucker was one of our local billionaire CEOs and I couldn't do anything about it. He was just out of reach, his tracks covered just enough that we've never had probable cause and captured gangsters would either stay silent or be mysteriously vanished before getting a chance to speak.

If there was one thing Calvert and I agreed on, it's that the Empire had to go. I always did leave out my own suspicions and research on the Empire out in the open, in an unlabeled manila folder on my desk, just close enough for good old Coil to do his fancy Thinker tricks. In exchange, he occasionally voiced his concerns about one of our lowly staffers to me, who of course always turned out to be a mole that suddenly disappeared soon after.

Like the bombs going off, we did our best, but it wasn't enough. The only reason I haven't made any large operations against the E88 in recent years was confidence that Calvert was planning something of his own. Something grandiose that would topple them in one fell swoop. I had my own contingencies for that day, and handing him Purity on a silver platter should give him the shove he needs. Because it has been years and the city was dying.

Whatever happens with Purity could be the final nail in the coffin to this decade long charade of nazi whack-a-mole. Maybe I can finally read the paper and see "Actual Nazi Terrorist Billionaire in Prison". Wouldn't that be nice. I mean, I am hypothetically using another terrorist to get these racist terrorists into prison, but that's just playing your enemies against each other. I'll deal with Calvert later.

Wait, the Travelers were in town? Weren't they that roaming group of teen villains that appeared just after Madison? God damn it, there were now more teen capes per capita in Brockton Bay than the rest of the entire world. I'll have to do research on them too.

The next few minutes was just light banter and cape dick measuring contests and posturing. I zoned out for most of it, knowing I would have to relisten to the recordings later on. Yes yes we get it, you're strong so you have the right to be offended when someone steps on your toes. Tattletale pointing out that villains are planning to double cross each other as if that was a big revelation. The only thing of note was that Coil himself was not present, and instead had sent in some merc cape named Biter. I wonder if he's busy with Purity.

"Hey, who's the sweaty Asian guy?" Menja or Fenja asked. I also know their identities, since the number of blonde identical twin women in their age range was surprisingly small. I can't arrest them because I'm still not sure which was which, and that was sort of important in obtaining an arrest warrant. Damn identical twins. I never liked them, especially in mysteries.

"Yeah, hey asshat, this is a private meeting. You got balls to be here. What, did Bakuda send you to grovel?"

"N-no I-I," a man's voice choked out, as if holding back a sob, "I-I'm here to say t-that I-I'm a no g-good snitch here to p-pay back a debt and s-send a message—"

"Shit!" Tattletale yelled out, "Everyone duck! It's a bomb!"

The feed cut out with a screech. One of the PRT transponders flickered to life, "We have confirmed an explosion at 270 Mackenzie Street. Repeat, we have confirmed an explosion."

I radioed in, "All units on alert, set up a perimeter and evacuate civilians. Caution is recommended, assume multiple hostile parahumans present. Assume all of Echo 88, Faultine's Crew, The Undersiders, The Merchants, and The Travelers to have survived."

"Acknowledged, Director. All units alerted. Beginning evacuation."

"Copy that," I said hoarsely. Fuck. I knew that voice, "That was Chen. He was one of our informants in the ABB, the one who tipped us off the night Lung got captured. He was a good man."

Motherfucking supervillain fucker.

"Report! Shots fired, repeat, shots fired! Othala is down, repeat, Othala is down."

What? "Reply, is Othala down correct?"

"Yes, repeat, Othala is down. Unknown sniper shot her through the chest and she collapsed. Non incapacitated villains have dispersed. Battery and Assault have arrived on the scene at rally point A."

I looked at Miss Militia, who was biting her lip. I took a breath, "Militia, get out there and take over for Armsmaster. Armsmaster, report to the scene of the explosion and scan for tinker tech armaments."

"Acknowledged," he said over the comm. Miss Militia saluted me and left.

"Emergency workers, stay spread out and do not approach the scene until after Armsmaster has cleared the area of bombs. Repeat, do not approach until Armsmaster has given the all clear. Charlie squad, find that sniper."

"Roger," the officer at the scene replied.

—

After a few hours, we dug up a few bodies. Along with the employees of Somer's Rock, there were the remains of Squealer, Menja, Othala, Mush, and Biter. Considering the amount of capes in the building, the casualties were low.

We couldn't recover Chen's body, and since he was at the very epicenter of the blast, there probably wasn't even a body to recover at all. This one explosion nearly doubled the total number of murders on Bakuda's growing rap sheet. I had already pushed for a kill order, but it would take time. After all, Chen wasn't a superhero.

I put off organizing his memorial service for after the current situation.

Now, I had to deal with the fact that the ABB just declared war on the entire city, villains and the PRT alike. The problem was that all of the villains had scattered, and retaliation from them was going to be swift and violent. Civilian deaths from just being in the wrong place at the wrong time was going to skyrocket as this civil war became a citywide gang war.

I dialed Calvert's number.

"Hello Emily, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cut the crap. What is your status?"

"Very well, my dear. I was able to convince Purity that rejoining the Empire was ill advised. As far as I can tell, she hasn't heard any news about Somer's Rock yet. Given the gravity of the situation, she'll learn within the hour."

I grimaced.

"Director? I would like to inform you that the Empire's leadership was temporarily incapacitated by the bomb, but their anger has infused them with fervor. Despite their losses, they plan to go on the offensive. They will reach out to her."

"Not if we reach out first," I said, "Call Purity. Tell her we're willing to play ball for the current crisis, but if she wants to be a hero, she should agree to…" Think of something, anything she'll agree to that won't grant the nazi supervillain any amnesty, "A private interview with me."

Calvert paused for a couple minutes before replying, "She agrees. She'll be available to contact through me for the current moment."

If it works, it works.

"Tell her I've got a list of probable ABB hideouts and tinker tech workshops for her to help raid," wow, having a tween precog on call was doing wonders for our productivity.

"Also, you should know, I've heard news that all of the villains at Somer's Rock have joined forces. They're going out in mixed groups to combat the ABB, although that's all I've heard."

Hmm. Considering they have their own bullshit Thinker on their side, they could end up encountering our own troops at targeted locations.

"Oh, and that Uber and Leet have, unfortunately, have become minions for Bakuda, even building her some armor and technology, even participated in that first bombing of hers."

I frowned at that. Looks like I lost my bet on who would be the secret badass of this city, "Well, it seems the two of them have lost any leeway they had."

Well, leeway was a stretch. They were just too low a priority before. Now we'll just have to arrest them along with the ABB.

"Good job Calvert, you just might get that promotion yet," If you mention promotions, and the promoter dies, it'll look suspicious for whomever gets promoted. You've got to make your own murder mystery clues when talking to a vulture like Calvert.

"Well thank you for the compliment, Emily. Calvert out."

I took a deep breath before I began calling up the Protectorate, New Wave, and any other affiliated independent capes in the city. We even had a couple heroes from the Boston branch fly in to help. PRT squads were also being formed left and right, ready for mobilization with bomb units and coordination with superheroes. It's time to make our own mixed hero teams, because parallels were important.

—

This would normally be the time for me to hold a big meeting with all of the associated heroes and personnel, probably in a conference room with a neat slideshow an analyst had prepared. That won't be happening because that's just Somer's Rock but with worse refreshments. Instead, we had Velocity and Battery acting as couriers with letters containing instructions and meeting times for our covert mission. Meeting times, who to expect, with each group having one person who knew the location and specifics of the raid.

As the Director directing everything, I knew all of the information, and let me tell you, it has been a long while since we've organized something on this scale. We had to go all in, and I had to bank on Bakuda being too busy to bother attacking PRT HQ. That was why Miss Militia was out on the front lines, and not just because I could sense her trigger finger getting itchy.

In just a few moments, the raids would begin simultaneously, aiming specifically for the tinker tech workshops.

—

I left the actual coordination to the on scene commanders, although I did keep a close eye on the team with Purity. I had to be careful when composing that one, making sure to maximize safety for our members, while also ensuring Purity got the message.

Calvert was in charge of that particular team as they raided a conventional weapons depot. I wasn't letting him or Purity near a tinker tech trove, obviously. It was so nice to consolidate your suspicious subordinates into one squad, it just eased the tension with the remaining groups. Which was also why Battery was there too.

We hit tinker tech workshops, weapons depots, drug and money caches, and to our disgust, a human trafficking center. I won't go into details because I'd rather not sicken my mind further if I can help it.

More explosions rang out across the city, until they all suddenly stopped. We didn't encounter Lung, Bakuda, or Oni Lee that evening, and it was apparent why. We received an anonymous phone call, leading us to a warehouse with an unconscious Lung with his eyes carved out, an unconscious Bakuda with her toes lost, and a blindfolded Oni Lee tied up like a turkey.

We carted them out, and with some help from the police, we were able to break down the Azn Bad Boys all at once, from their income to their leaders. The rank and file would scatter to the winds, surfacing again only in small isolated pockets. It would take quite some effort and manpower to bring the ABB back.

For the first time in a decade, an entire gang was dissolved.

The day after they were arrested, the approval for Bakuda's kill order came through. That sounds about right. I should have written it up beforehand, in hindsight.

Still, what did that mean? We were now living in a Lung-less Brockton Bay, a city teeming full of bottom feeder nazis with no fire breathing dragon to keep them in check, and I had just recruited a nazi supervillain. This was not going to end well.

At least Calvert would go down with me, right?

—

A/N: Hi, I'm not dead! This chapter did not want to be written, it was just a collection of disjointed scenes that took a while to connect. If you're wondering about Miss Militia, the earlier drafts of this chapter had her play a bigger role, but I couldn't work past writer's block for them. In fact, she was the original POV of this chapter, before I remembered that Piggot's narration was the entire selling point of this story. Hopefully the next chapter, which is a short interlude not from Piggot's POV, will lend some much needed context. It's also pretty much finished, so it should come out just shortly after.