Gunmetal Crusade 5: War (4, arc end) (Patreon)

RATATATATATA-!

DAKKA.

Splat.

TATATATATATATATATATATATA-!

BUZZZBUZZZBUZZZ

PHOOSSSHHH-!

BUZZ BUZZZ BZZZZZZZZ

PHHOOOSSSHH-!

P-P-PI-PING PING PING!

DAKKA.

BUZZ BUZZ-

Splat.

DAKKA DAKKA (splat) DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA (splat) DAKKA DAKKA (splat) DAKKA (splat) DAKKA DAKKA (splat)!

…

…

...

Is it over?

Is the nightmare finally over?

-277-

Gunmetal Crusade
Chapter 5: War (4, Arc End)

-VB-

It came to an end abruptly as it had begun.

The Empire Eighty-Eight was gone. 

The Azn Bad Boyz was gone.

The Merchants… no one knew what happened to them, but they didn’t come out, so they were gone for now. 

It was to the PRT, Faultline, Coil, and New Wave’s surprise that the main villains responsible for their city’s mayhem called for a meeting at Somer’s Rock, the neutral meeting place and invited all of them. The PRT didn’t want to accept it initially, but the police and the fire department demanded that the parahuman-focused institution accept it to at the very least delay further outbreak of violence.

And the fact that the Protectorate failed to contain this villain after nine continuous hours of combat throughout the city even with the help of many independent heroes made this villain the new Lung, so to speak.

And one does not ignore the likes of Lung without future retaliation. 

It was fear not from within the PRT but outside of it that made the federal branch here in Brockton Bay accept the villain’s invitation.

It was to everyone’s surprise, however, that the villain in question opened up the meeting to anyone and everyone who wanted to come, though actually participation was given only to the more “important” groups within the city. 

It was how Deputy Director Renick found himself representing the PRT ENE with Armsmaster representing the Protectorate ENE.

The man looked around the table in this dingy bar. The table, as he had been told, remained reserved for those invited and - as per the rules of the jungle - allowed to be sat only by those declared strong by others. With him on the table was Coil, Parian, and Lady Photon of New Wave.

It was a delightfully short list of independent capes, villains, rogues, or heroes, after a very long period of near villain rule over the city. 

At the same time, it was a show of power by the new player.

“{Deputy director, we have a patchwork armored truck heading towards Somer’s Rock from the 7th Street,}” console reported. “{It is flying the flag of the Purification Arsenal.}”

He was coming. 

Over the last two days since the call for meeting by the very man now calling himself Purificato, the villain had debuted himself online on multiple forum and social media sites. He announced himself as the Marshall of the Purification Arsenal, and declared that he was in Brockton Bay to put an end to its villains and criminals. 

And he started off his villain career with a video.

It started with “the government has lost its hold over violence,” followed by “I am the Marshall of the Purification Arsenal, and I will not confine myself to one city,” and the summary execution of forty six gangsters from E88, Merchants, and ABB. 

It was a declaration of war, essentially. 

There were many condemnation as well as many support. A large portion of American public was tired of the villain-hero dynamic where the powerless civilians suffered in the middle. The rise of a radical extremist and his declaration of war on villains? 

It satisfied far too many.

The sound of screeching tires outside alerted all to Arsenal's arrival. 

“{Three Gunners emerging out of the vehicle.}” A pause. “{Another individual in tuxedo and cybernetic augmentation emerging out of the vehicle. Wait, what the fuck are those?}”

“Console?” he asked quietly into his headset.

“{They have three floating cybernetically augmented skulls flying around them.}”

‘Ah, they were one of those,’ Renick thought disgustedly. He turned to the others on the table. “He’s here.”

The few journalists who had the courage to show up here were starting their equipment while the mayor tried to compose himself. The independents who’d arrived kept quiet but the way they tapped the table or how their legs bounced uneasily spoke volumes of their own nervousness. 

Renick didn’t like the increased buzzing of agitation outside the bar, however. 

On the table, Parian shifted uneasily, Faultline and Coil remained impassive, and Lady Photon frowned. 

“{The tuxedo is walking in with the floating skulls.}”

The thick wooden door of the bar pushed open, and Renick saw a man augmented by cybernetics. What started to unnerve him was the three skulls, white as only bones could be, with their cybernetic augmentations floating behind and around the man.

Without introduction he walked in; he wore the same face as all of the other merciless killers of the Purification Arsenal. When he sat down, Coil spoke up.

“Very well, then let us begin-”

Only to be interrupted.

“Shut up, Thomas Calvert,” the man ordered coldly while staring at Coil.

Renick froze for a moment before he paled.

Thomas Calvert was a consultant for the PRT and had once been a member of its ranks. 

Calvert was Coil. 

They’d been infiltrated. No, one of their own had turned villain.

“I don’t know what you are-”

“I am the Marshall of the Purification Arsenal,” the man began, speaking over Coil’s denial. “I am here to give my demands to the rest of the powers within the city.”

“Are you sure you are in a position to make demands?” Lady Photon asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“I have a thousand power armored and armed soldiers unafraid of death. I am in position to make such demands.” Without waiting, he spoke again. “My demands are simple. A ceasefire will be signed by all members present. Inability to sign or unwillingness to sign will be taken as a sign of total war, and the Purification Arsenal will respond as such.” He turned to Renick. “And before you think about threatening us with the might of the PRT or the military, keep your threats realistic.”

“A ceasefire. You expect us to stand aside as you murder hundreds?”

“Thousands. I will murder thousands by the end of my crusade in this city. I will slaughter tens of thousands by the time I am done with Boston. I will slaughter hundreds of thousands before I move on from New England.”

The declaration shocked everyone present. 

“I care not for the lives of the heroes, corrupt, naive, or true, as long as they do not stand in my way.”

“What gives you the right to kill?!” someone shouted. It wasn’t from the table. 

The Marshall didn’t deign to look at the speaker. “Only the might of violence and my own rationale that since the government has failed to provide the common good of safety, it is up to the people like myself to maintain that safety.”

“That is not up to you,” Renick objected.

“The United States of America has set a precedent by achieving their independence through the armed might of not the majority of its people but a minority. It has lost its grip on the power of violence. It has no control over its own institutions.”

“That does not give you the right,” Lady Photon declared. 

The Marshal turned to look at the leader of the New Wave.

“And your costumes made it better? What changes has your action brought to this city?”

Renick winced at that stab. 

Then Renick saw the Marshal turn to him. “How many successful arrests has the PRT made that led to court trial and imprisonment of capes?”

None, Renick knew.

“Once order, safety, and peace has been restored to an area, I shall leave, but I shall return should the condition return to what it was before. A ceasefire here ensures that I need not shoot people who work to better the lives of others. If not, then I have no objections to attacking you in your homes, in your business, and your friends. I will spare none until you surrender.” He paused. “I do not play by the Unwritten Rules for it is an idea that should not exist just like Nazis should not.”

“This will make you no different from domestic terrorism, Marshal,” Lady Photon said with a glare. “You are threatening the lives of people not associated in this conflict. You walk the path that would see the entire city plunged into martial law and depriving everyone else their rights.”

“As it is, American society and ideals are failures,” Marshal objected callously. “A nation-state may be built upon ideals but without the power to maintain the common good never mind the ideals, it is a failed state. This is not discounting the fact that Alexandria is the Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown.”

Renick had no reason to believe the villain, but he said it so … casually. So factually. That it was a fact of the world just as the sky was blue and Brockton Bay was a shithole. 

And if Calvert was truly Coil or working for him…

“A fact that Eidolon and Legend has known for since the inception of the PRT and the Protectorate.”

He stood up. “I don’t care how you sign the ceasefire agreement as long as I get it within the next twenty-four hours. I hope to not see you on the battlefield the day after.”

And then he just walked out. 

Renick hadn’t known at the time, but one of the journalists had been livestreaming the meeting. By the end of the day, the city - and the nation - was thrown upside down.

-VB-

By April 17th, 2011, the city of Brockton Bay, its heroes, and its rogues agreed to a ceasefire with the Marshal and the Purification Arsenal. 

In the far future, sociologists and historians would mark this day as the start of the First Parahuman Feudal Age.