Interlude 18

"This is an outrage!" Director Harris slammed a hand on the desk, his holographic form flickering slightly as the system struggled to keep up with the movement. "This is an act of war! We should be readying a full scale assault!"

"With what forces?!" Director Derma shot back, his grey flyaway hair and steely eyes contrasting his dark suit. "In case you haven't noticed, we have potential riots building across the country, half of the Protectorate has quit and an Endbringer attack is due any minute! We have nothing to spare! Or are you suggesting we launch a missile strike on an unknown target, at an unknown location in a populated city!"

Director Bargus leaned forward, his glasses shining in the holographic image. "Is this even something we need to deal with? Fights between independents and villains are commonplace. Is this any different?"

Harris glared at him. "It most certainly is! This wasn't some street-side brawl, they had tanks for god sake!"

"So did the Autobots," Bargus shot back, "and as I understand it, the villains came off worse from the whole affair."

Director Costa-Brown sighed to herself. She had been watching them fight for nearly twenty minutes at this point, her own hologram hidden from view. The various directors were split on the best cause of action, neither side willing to back down and all of them aware that a decision had to be made.

Hitting a button on her desk, she unmuted herself, allowing the others to see her.

"Gentlemen," she said, her voice heavy. "Sorry I'm late, but I have just received an update from Washington."

"Good." Harris returned to his seat with a huff. "When are we moving in?"

"We're not. It has been decided that Brockton Bay is to be condemned and the entire city evacuated. Between the damage from Leviathan, the attack from Valefor and the security breaches, it's been decided that Brockton Bay is simply not worth the cost of rebuilding. Federal funds are to be redirected to other cities, the police and PRT forces are to scale back all operations and begin transferring personnel to other locations."

It felt like a surrender — it was a surrender and she hated it. The thought sat in her stomach like a lead weight, a faint echo of guilt that she had long learned to ignore.

This had always been the plan, the experiment that only a select few people knew about. A controlled slide into feudalism, a small scale experiment to see what could be salvaged if the worst should happen.

The situation in Brockton Bay had been allowed to worsen. Given the state of the country as a whole, it had been easy to quietly divert resources from the city, letting more and more power fall to the various parahuman groups until the local government was effectively useless.

This, however, was not a controlled slide. It was a disaster. The situation had gotten so far out of hand and so quickly that it had shocked even her, and she had no clue how they could rein it in without abandoning the experiment all together.

\\If you give up now, then everything you have done has been for nothing.\\

She pushed her doubts away; there would be time for petty recriminations later. For now, she had to focus on the meeting. They would fix this somehow. Contessa had to have a plan.

"We can't just give up a city," Lassard said firmly, his normally gentle features fixed in a stern glare. "That's nearly two hundred-thousand people."

"And what else do you suggest," she snapped, not even bothering to hide her frustration. "The Protectorate east-north-east team has been crippled. Armsmaster is still in surgery; the doctors are not sure he'll survive the night. Miss Militia, Velocity, Mouse Protector, Duette, Battery and Assault were all inside an armoured transport when Purity's attack hit. All of them are stable, but suffering from burns to broken bones. It will be months before any of them are able to return to duty."

"An entire team," Director Lassard muttered, pushing his white hair back. "Taken out by a single attack?"

"Purity is rated as Blaster Eight," she said, her tone dry. "Her destructive power is well known, but this is the first time we've seen her hit a target so accurately at this range. For now, we will be upping her threat rating while we investigate if she was always capable of this, or if she had outside assistance."

Director Breckin leaned forward; there were bags under her eyes. She'd likely been asleep when the meeting had been called. "We should call for volunteers. Any Protectorate members, allied parahumans or PRT units that can be spared. I refuse to accept we are just going to hand a city over."

Closing her eyes, Costa-Brown made a show of thinking the suggestion over. "I agree, I'll make the announcement within the hour, but I'm not sure how many will accept."

They couldn't force people to relocate. Short term missions were okay, but a full transfer took time and resources. It was a bureaucratic mess for the PRT and an absolute nightmare for capes. Cover stories, body doubles, sometimes even rebranding.

The officers union, the one Legend had pushed for, had already been trying to block the transfer of units to Brockton Bay following Leviathan's attack, and they had only grown more insistent following Valefor's transformation. Meanwhile, the forces already there were requesting transfers out of the city.

On top of that, she had already been informed that the national guard—who were already in Brockton Bay—would be assisting the police force with the evacuation and would be unable to assist the PRT at this time. Clearly, someone in the military was keen to avoid getting any of 'her' mess on them.

"Why wouldn't they volunteer?" Director Breckin said, rubbing her eyes.

"The identity leak," Lassard said with a quiet sigh, exhaustion and age radiating off him now that his anger had burned away. "I've already had three of my Protectorate members resign over it. They told me that they didn't feel like they could trust the PRT with their safety anymore."

There was silence around the table. Of all of them, Costa-Brown was the most aware of the situation. While only Brockton Bay had been compromised, the entire organization was feeling the effects.

Protectorate members all over the country had quit, either in anger, fear or disgust. Others had raised complaints privately, while a few had spoken out publicly to the media. Meanwhile, many potential recruits had been scared off and the Youth Guard, buoyed by immense public support, was trying to put a complete freeze on the Wards program until better protections could be established.

It was almost funny. The PRT was drowning in its own red-tape, which had always been the plan. Reducing the effectiveness of the organization over time, but it was happening too soon.

"What about the Triumvirate?" Lassard said, leaning heavily on the table. "Could one, or even all of them, be relocated to Brockton Bay for the time being?"

Costa-Brown shook her head. "Legend can't leave New York for long, the local criminals have been equipping themselves for a fight and he needs to be on hand to contain the fallout should someone do something foolish. Alexandria and Eidolon are both involved with time-sensitive cases. She's trying to locate whoever has been kidnapping healers while Eidolon is…" She made a show of hesitating before sighing. "He's investigating nearly twenty pounds of endbringer flesh that has apparently been stolen from biohazard containment. There's signs someone might be looking to recreate Valefor's transformation."

Not only was it a convenient excuse, it was even true. The PRT had always made a habit of collecting any and all Endbringer remains they could after an attack and it'd all been shipped to a containment site up north.

At first, they had tried to study it, to learn more about them and maybe even find a weakness, but after years with little to no results, interest had faded, and now testing was sporadic at best. Security had gotten lax and large amounts of hazardous material had apparently 'vanished' without anyone noticing. Not until Valefor had stabbed himself with a feather and turned himself into what could only be described as a 'proto-endbringer'.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Costa-Brown sat up straighter in her chair. She had to play her part.

"We can discuss the details later, but for now, Brockton Bay is to be evacuated — that's out of our hands. But until then, I want all of you to look for volunteers to send to Brockton Bay, even if you have to ask affiliated groups for help. I'll make sure they are compensated. Their main priority will be stability. I want them on patrol twenty-four seven until the ENE team is ready to return to duty or the city is officially closed. Until then, I don't want this 'Empire Eighty-Eight' or the Teeth to so much as twitch without us knowing about it. Understood?"

Around the room, the various directors nodded. Names were suggested, groups that could be reliably trusted to help without making an unstable situation worse, along with ways to word things to the public that would ease their fears while the PRT dealt with the issue.

Overall, the meeting would last another hour. Costa-Brown watched as each director disconnected from the call, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

For now, the PRT had to at least look like it was responding, if only to keep what little public trust they had left. At least until Contessa could stage something suitably dramatic, something to draw attention away from Brockton Bay just long enough that it faded from the public consciousness.

Legend wouldn't be happy, of course. But Eidolon would understand and with his help, she would talk Legend around.

The PRT was never meant to be more than a stop-gap, a bandaid to slow the bleeding. The data was clear, the number of parahumans would continue to rise, shifting the balance of society until parahumans took control, reducing the world to smaller nation-states, tribes in the service of parahuman warlords.

They were just playing for time, delaying that until a way could be found to ease the transition, maybe even cultivate a generation of benevolent tyraints before dismantling the PRT.

For the good of all the worlds, the Brockton Bay experiment had to continue. She wasn't sure how she would live with herself if it didn't.

##

Frowning to himself, Knockout carefully injected his patient with another shot of regen while Trainwreck glared down at her.

"Really now," Knockout drawled, "if you want to be my assistant, you need to get over this. We are supposed to be professionals after all. Now get me the blue mixture would you? And the razor."

It was a shame, but the girl's gorgeous blonde hair was already falling out in clumps. It would be easier all round if they just shaved it off and let her start fresh. Assuming she lives.

"Fine," Trainwreck snapped, spinning on his heel and storming across the room, rattling the wall slightly with his heavy footfalls. "You didn't hear the shit she said."

"I'm sure it was terrible, but she's not going to be saying anything for a while. And don't flounce," Knockout called with a chuckle. "It doesn't suit you."

Putting his assistant's reticence aside for a moment, Knockout instead let his thoughts wander, various chemical compounds running though his mind. The human body was either a marvel of evolution, or a testament to dumb luck. Possibly both. Either way, some things couldn't be fixed with a simple injection. She was going to need blood transfusions, antibiotics, colony-stimulating factors — the works.

Poor girl was likely going to end up addicted to a dozen different things before Knockout was even halfway done. Of course, that he could help with. Though he needed a restock on inhibitors; he'd have to make a request list for Coil.

As if merely thinking the name had been enough to summon him, Coil swept into the room, his thin shoulders tense and hands reflexively twitching. With his whole body covered, it was hard to tell his expressions, but he seemed to be staring fixedly at the girl.

"How is she? When will she be able to talk?"

"I'm… sorry, sir." Knockout stepped back; there was an intensity he'd never heard in Coil's voice before. "But I just don't know. Whatever teleporter the Dragonslayers are using is dirty."

Coil's head turned sharply, the movement almost snake-like. "Explain."

"Clean, reliable, or cheap," Knockout said with a shrug as Trainwreck stepped forward and started cutting away the girl's hair. "Tinkers can generally only pick two. This one wasn't clean. The room she appeared in was flooded with so much radiation that I've had to order it sealed while everything around it is deep cleaned. Goodness knows how the Dragonslayers have survived using it for so long."

Coil hissed in irritation, but turned his attention back to the girl. "Can you wake her up?"

"Even if I could, it wouldn't be worth it. Between the radiation sickness and all the crap I've had to pump her with just to keep her alive, she'd be little more than a vegetable."

There was a soft sound that Knockout realised was Coil slowly and carefully breathing in and out.

He shared a worried look with Trainwreck. "You… okay boss?"

Coil didn't answer at first, choosing to stare at Knockout for a long time. Eventually, he nodded. "Do what you can for Tattletale, but until she wakes up, I have another project for you."

##

I woke with a start. I could hear voices in the distance, the sound blending with the last vestiges of my dream.

"Taylor?" Amy murmured and I wrapped my arms around her. We were lying on my 'new' bed in one of Dragon's bases in Canada, not far from the remains of Newfoundland.

"It's nothing," I said quietly, letting myself relax against her. "Just… bad dreams."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

Two days, It had been two days since I'd abandoned Brockton Bay and it still didn't feel real. The cold ache from Leviathan had returned, and I could feel it pulling me down, threatening to drown me all over again. Pulling Amy closer, I tried to focus on her warmth.

My base, my tools, most of my belongings, all the good I'd tried to do. All gone, lost in the explosion.

And for what? To get at me, to kill me?

A hand touched my face and I opened my eyes as Amy pulled herself up, softly kissing me.

"Hey," she said quietly, "you know you're not to blame, right?"

"Then who is?" I snapped, regretting it immediately and looking away in shame. I didn't want to take my problems out on her, she didn't deserve that. "It was my base, my Autobots. The gangs were attacking me. I'm the one who went after the gangs, I'm the reason they attacked your home. That makes me responsible for everyone who-"

Rolling her eyes, Amy poked me in the ribs and made me gasp. "None of that was your fault. No, shut up and let me finish!" She glared at me, waiting until I quietly nodded before continuing. "You didn't send the Empire to our house, you didn't fill the fucking walls with explosives. They wanted us gone long before you arrived." Stretching forward, she kissed my neck. "If it wasn't for you, I'd have likely died when Bakuda blew up the hospital. Fuck, do I have to remind you, she was building a nuke? Vista would have bled to death before anyone could find her, the Undersiders would have likely been killed by Lung, no one would have stopped Uber and Leets attack on the mall, not to mention all the medical tech you've helped develop that will save more lives than taking out a single villain ever would. Do I have to go on?"

She slid a hand around the back of my neck and guided my head towards hers as she rolled us over, letting her rest on top of me. Her free hand trailed fire across the skin of my torso.

"You've done so much good for so many people and trust me"—she gave me a self-deprecating grin—"as lovely as it is, you can't carry the whole world on your back."

Before I could say anything, the voices in the room above us grew louder and something thumped on the floor, sparks glowing in anger and frustration.

Groaning, Amy slumped forward, burying her face in my neck, her shoulders shaking as she fought back the giggles.

I let my head sink into the pillow. "I need to deal with that, don't I?"

"Mphf," Amy said, nodding her head.

"You have to let me go first… I mean, I can carry you." Even with the muscle she'd gained from her physiotherapy, Amy was still pretty light.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, rolling off me.

Climbing out of bed, I pulled a shirt off the floor and slipped it over my head. I needed to put a stop to that argument before it got out of hand.

"I'll come with you," Amy said with a sigh, using her arms to lift herself up. "Can you pass me my legs?"

I gave her a tired smile as I slipped into my jeans. "No, stay, at least one of us should get some rest."

Putting her prosthetics on the bed where she could reach them, I left Amy in the bedroom and made my way up stairs. I didn't really know what I would say when I reached the others, I hadn't really spoken to anyone since we arrived beyond making sure Dad was okay. I'd just hidden away in 'my' room until Amy had arrived.

Walking up the stairs, I ran my hand across the wall. The base didn't have a name, just a serial number. It had been little more than a storage facility that Dragon had refitted into a safehouse for Guild members, which had ended up never being used.

Now me, my Autobots and whatever we had managed to carry through the groundbridge were crammed inside.

Five floors — six if you included the server farm — dug deep into the ground, a few bedrooms, some bathrooms and a kitchen. It wasn't much, but it would do for now. My room was on the third floor, with the communal areas like the kitchen on the second.

Heading towards the angry flutter of their sparks, I found my Autobots in what was, effectively, the 'rec' room. It was a large circular room with a wall mounted television and a kitchen on one side.

The door to the room was open slightly and I hesitated to go inside. I wasn't sure I was ready to face them. I'd fucked up, pushed things too hard and as a result, we had lost our home.

"-and I'm saying, what's the point!?" I heard Rattrap shout.

"We've got backups." That was wheeljack, his spark pulsing with optimism. "We can rebuild, upgrade things even and-"

"And what? We go back and fight? We 'make a stand?' for what?"

"Because that's who we are," Arcee shot back, and I could almost see her crossing her arms.

"We lost a fight," Cyclonus growled. "That doesn't mean we should stop being who we are."

"Easy to say when you're built like a tank! Some of us can't take that much punishment!" Blades shouted and I felt a stab of guilt. He was the most lightly armoured Protectobot, a necessity given his helicopter mode, and I knew it bothered him, but I'd never bothered to do anything about it.

"Hey now, cut that out," Hot Spot rumbled.

"You cut it out!"

There was a crash of metal, sounds of shouting as, I assumed, Blades and Hot Spot scuffled. My heart was in my mouth, but I hesitated, too scared to face what I'd see if I opened the door. I hated to hear them fighting like this, but it hurt more to know they were all so disheartened.

How had it all gone so wrong? Looking back, all I could see were the mistakes.

"Hey, hey!" Blaster shouted over the noise and the sounds of fighting died out. "Don't do this, it doesn't have to be this way. I want you to listen to me-"

"Blonde is gone!" Rattrap shouted, cutting Blaster off. "They took her right out of our laps!"

A hand landed on my shoulder and I turned my head to see Amy. I had been so focused on the Autobots that I hadn't noticed her approach.

"Rattrap," Arcee said softly. "We know how you feel, but-

"But what? What have any of us done since we came online? Run about the city, play hero? Where has that gotten us, what do we have to show for it? You beat up one criminal, three more take their place, and now what? Our home is gone, the PRT left us to die, Blonde is probably dead by now and. For. What?!"

I couldn't let this go on. I had to do something. Grabbing the door, I shoved it open and stepped inside, forcing aside my own fears and doubts. I had no plan, no weapons and no clue what I was doing anymore.

But we were broken, not dead, and I was done fucking around.

"That's a good question," I said walking forwards. All around, the Autobots turned to face me, guilt, fear and anger in their sparks — but there was still hope.

"Maybe we lost ourselves, maybe we spent too much time playing heroes, playing the same game as the villains." Walking into the middle of the room, I tried to get my thoughts in order.

"I have fought alongside you all, more times than I can count. And every time, I have never been more proud. Of you, of us, of what we were trying to achieve. I have never forced you to fight, I've always said you have a choice and I mean it. If you've had enough, if you want to leave, I won't stop you."

Kneeling down, I picked up Rattrap, holding the little bot close as he pressed himself against my chest.

"But if we give up now, where does that leave us? Where does that leave those who need our help? Where does it leave our home?

"I don't have all the answers, but I plan to stand, to fight. And I will be proud if even one of you chooses to stand with me, because this is a fight I intend to win."

AN: Chapter written under commission.
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