The Rise of Marquis 7: Cause for Conflict (Patreon)

The Rise of Marquis
Chapter 7: Cause for Conflict

-VB-

In an immaculate office, a single masked man sat behind his oval desk, typing away at a custom symmetrical keyboard.

The man was a gifted planner, though his gift came with its own consequences. Nevertheless, he tried his best to work around this issue. Such a planner he was that he even ordered a software suited for his task that he aptly named “Civilization Causality Calculator.” It had taken an absurd amount of acquisition to make this software a reality, but he’d done it because of its necessity to his plans.

Unfortunately, this calculator required a lot of information, and despite the fact that he had computer servers doing exactly just that, he still needed to adjust the data every now and then to ensure that the output remained accurate and not nonsensical.

This software was not only his greatest asset but also his best guarded secret.

How good would a planner be without accurate information to plan with?

That question had been why he chose to work for the federal government until the realization that the federal government had no desire to fix any long term problems.

Sure, there were individuals within the government who wanted to better the world, but the government as a whole? Most of them were just salarymen doing their job.

Accord had run into too many indifferent people in the federal government to trust them. It’s why he was a “villain” even though he was making a better impact in New England than the states and the federal governments combined; he did what was necessary to ensure prosperity for the greater audience.

He didn’t spend billions each year on public relations to keep the “good” image. He didn’t leave important branches of his office to incompetent idiots. He didn’t do stupid.

Everything was planned down to the last detail and not left to the whims of multitude of power hungry people. Policies, unfortunately, came from politics, and Accord admitted that he was a politician: a dictatorial criminal. He offered choices for people, gave them incentives to follow his rules, and supported those who fought his enemies abroad. His power bases were the parahuman capes under his employee, businesses that profited from his advice and ventures, and, ironically enough, the federal government that saw his organization as a stabilizing influence in New England.

Outside of Brockton Bay, of course.

That place was … chaos incarnate. The number of capes that were “born” there was ridiculous. Only New York City and Los Angeles had higher counts for annual new parahuman per hundred thousand residents.

He had no business in that city, and the closest thing to a peer he kept in check was Marquis.

Accord stopped typing for a moment as he considered Marquis once more. The diminutive man did that a lot, considering his “peers.”

A peer, as Accord saw it, were those who controlled a significant portion of their residence. While he loathed to admit, Blasto was a peer as was Marquis.

Marquis was unique in his approach. He was a criminal through and through, unlike Accord who straddled the legal and illegal business ecosystems. Marquis ruled with an iron fist; Accord ruled through diplomacy first, violence last (when his own issue wasn’t triggered). Marquis picked up stray capes like there was no tomorrow, only to throw them away when they lacked iron will; Accord kept only those he vetted and trusted, valuing teamwork and prowess over any kind of arbitrary standard.

By those means, Marquis should have failed, and yet, the man thrives in Brockton Bay.

Perhaps Brockton Bay was the kind of city that required Marquis’s style of command rather than the omnipresently structured and commanded economy of Accord’s.

Unfortunately, Brockton Bay would cause him to become a manslaughterer way too often. He wouldn’t step into that city, physically or financially-.

Ting.

His eyes focused back onto the computer.

Ah, the CCC was finished calculating the latest data input.

…

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“Just what kind of tinkertech did your pet make that has you moving, Marquis?” he wondered. “And that the PRT is loathed to give it up?”

Curious, curious.

He put in some hypothetical data - everything from causing minor economic collapse to supporting criminal organizations opposed to Marquis - and waited for the calculations.

Ting.

He leaned in with his back perfectly straight.

He folded his hands underneath his chin as he perused the results.

“I suppose that there is profit to be made in starting a campaign in Brockton Bay,” he muttered before he pressed the call button on the left side of the keyboard.

The computer’s speakers blinked to life.

“{Accord, sir,}” Citrine’s soothing voice came through with crystal clear clarity.

Yes, it was worth investing thirteen thousand dollars onto this computer.

“I require a trustworthy and martially able commander to head a campaign against Marquis in Brockton Bay.”

“{Yes, sir. I shall have a dossier ready within the next 24 hours.}”

The call ended with a soothing ting, and Accord, after giving himself a minute of rest, went back to typing data into the CCC.

Perhaps, one day, the CCC will be able to calculate with less data and cover more results.

-VB-

It’s been a week since he’s caught sight of this device and managed to confiscate it from one of the March’s Tinker workshops… and he could not help it.

Colin stared at the seized and now field-stripped tinkertech “cannon” with awe.

This piece of art was magnificent in ways he hadn’t known a machine could be. As a premier Protectorate Tinker, Colin had come across many incomplete and complete samples of Tinkertech. Some were crude and nonsensical like Squealer’s trucks while others were simple and easy to understand like Dulwark’s Shield Projector.

This cannon took the cake for the most elegant Tinkertech. Its internal mechanics connected seamlessly with one another with the least amount of inconsistencies that plagued Tinkertech. With the exception of exactly four components within this cannon, he wagered that it could be replicated by regular engineers, and they would be hard pressed to improve upon it because of how Efficient this device was.

And so, Colin was left stewing and gritting his teeth as he imagined just how the PRT and the Protectorate missed a Tinker capable of producing a device of this quality.

Was it his fault? Did he not patrol the ground enough? He knew that he already spent the most amount of time out of all of the Protectorate - barring Velocity for the man’s personal timeline - patrolling the city.

… No, that was false.

Colin admitted to himself mentally that while he did patrol the city extensively, he only patrolled the parts of the city controlled firmly by the PRT and the Protectorate: Downtown and the Downtown Coast. He and the other Protectorates left the expanse southern suburbs (northern suburbs to Boston’s residents) to the local independent heroes who kept the place safe, but what if this lack of reach was how he and the Protectorate missed this Tinker?

His fists curled up tightly in front of the device.

‘Marquis.’

The man was powerful. Too powerful. The Protectorate could not defeat him, only pay lip service to keeping the peace of the city. The man and his March controlled the Docks, the Trainyard, and the impoverished western suburbs, which was a “better” breeding ground for new triggers due to low levels of education and certain “aggressiveness” inherent to the area.

He needed to talk with the director on this.

The cannon, if he was right and he usually was about Tinkertech, could be considered a WMD. If Marquis was intentionally making such weapons, then the PRT and the Protectorate needed to respond in kind before the March went completely out of control.

“{Armsmaster, this is console.}”

… Deja vu.

“This is Armsmaster. What is it, console?”

“{We ha-}”

Sirens rang.

“{The March is out in force. They just began an assault on the PRT headquarter!}”

That’s where he was at right now.

His eyes drifted to the cannon.

They were here to take their WMD back.

“Console, alert all nearby PRT branches that the March may be in possession of WMDs. I repeat, the March may be in possession of WMD.”

Silence.

“{A-Are you sure?}” Triumph’s wavering voice asked.

“I am staring at one of their confiscated weapon of mass destruction.”

“{C-Copy that. I … I don’t know how to alert the local branches…}”

“Contact Lieutant Urmandorf. He’ll know how to do it.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

CKOONG

His PRT lab shook from whatever had just impact the armored reinforced walls of the PRT ENE Headquarters.

He took a deep breath in as he pulled his armor on, and brought his halberd - and two spares - out of the Halberd Holder cabinet.

It was time to go to war.

May he be the first to bring down the Marquis.