Interlude: PRT [50% Draft Preview] (Patreon)

Interlude: PRT (or Emily Piggot and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)

                                                                     – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The camera’s view shifted downwards to highlight the current focus of attention, the banner at the bottom of the screen shifting from the standard, patriotic Protectorate color scheme, flag and all, to a simple, blue strip with ‘Sir Prodigy (White Knight)’ writ large across it, and below, in smaller font, ‘Mystery Cape; Potential Ward? Independent Hero?’

The question from the now-offscreen hero hung in the air as the young, armored cape tilted his chin, the visible parts of his face beneath the helm and dirt scrunching up as if in thought. A pause, then his mouth opened to display a set of red-stained teeth grinning in a way that still managed to come off as playful, giving the teenager a younger air than his voice and physical frame would suggest.

“What can I say except...” He paused mid-sentence as he affixed his gaze directly on the camera closest to him, playful expression still unchanged. The blue eyes behind the helm seemed to run through a gamut of emotions, exhaustion primarily, before he finally concluded with, “...You’re welcome. G’night, Brockton Bay!”

Screaming the last three words like a rockstar after his encore, the young cape suddenly rocketed straight up into the air without warning, the immediate exit leaving a powerful burst of wind in his wake that seemed to stumble almost everyone in the vicinity bar Dauntless. The camera quickly shifted to the cape in question but the golden-armored hero looked just as lost as one would expect. After glancing up at the sky one more as if to trace the young cape’s arc through the air, Dauntless let out a somewhat shaky laugh and opened his mouth to—

                                                              – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair at the same moment that the footage projected on the wall froze; the halted image of Dauntless’ face fading slightly as powerful fluorescent lights switched themselves on. Eyes closed and hands folded over her stomach, the director took in a deep and entirely unsubtle breath. Everyone else sitting around the table held  their own as they watched her, waiting for the eventual eruption. 

It didn’t come.

Director Piggot took another breath before righting her ergonomic chair, her bob shifting slightly as she settled her bulk properly into her seat. Several of the capes in the room raised an eyebrow at the deceptively flat look she wore, barely displaying a hint of the storm resting underneath. Her expression seemed almost perfectly composed as she sat at the head of the glossy, marble conference table, turning her head slowly to stare at each of the gathered capes in turn. It didn’t take a discerning eye to note the signs of exhaustion and wear each hero bore, both in their features and in their costumes, but she took careful note of each one of them all the same. Of the lot, her gaze only paused to linger upon Dauntless.

The Protectorate’s ‘golden boy’ averted his eyes as she rested her gaze on him, shoulders drooping slightly as if to sink unseen into his seat, like a child who knew he was going to be punished; the standard reaction of any who expected a reprimand from her. Expected, yes, but not at all appreciated.

Not in the slightest.

Thin, chapped lips pursed slightly, as Dauntless continued to avoid her gaze. With only the slightest narrowing of her eyes as an additional sign of displeasure, she turned away from the blond sitting farthest away from her and surveyed the other occupants within the conference room once again. The tension seemed to rise with each silent moment until, finally, Emily Piggot lowered her head and raised her clasped hands onto the table and chose to set the tone the way only she could.

"Just to provide some context before this meeting proceeds – and it is a meeting, not a debriefing so I don’t want to hear what you put in your reports – ” Every cape in the room seemed to sit straighter when the director finally spoke, a Pavlovian response developed during her tenure, “I want each and every one of you to keep in mind that I am already well aware of who, have spent all day discussing what, fully understand as to where, am entirely cognizant as to when, and finally, have no interest whatsoever as to why." 

Red-rimmed eyes burning with unspoken threats of unpleasantness visible above her clenched hands, Director Piggot of PRT ENE snarled, "What I want to know is how?"

The words hung in the air for a few seconds and Piggot noted the not-insignificant confusion on the faces of those who had bothered to unmask for the private meeting she had called for – meaning everyone who wasn’t Armsmaster. Before anyone could voice a request for clarification, Piggot forestalled any such attempts with a wave of the hand and a humorless smile. “I have to admit that it could almost be funny on some level. A child… younger than all but two of our Wards, upstaging the entirety of the Protectorate more than once in a twelve-hour period…”

Leaving aside the fact that the PRT had also been left playing catch-up alongside the Protectorate, Director Piggot clenched her fingers around a pen she had in front of her, smile falling away as she tapped it on the impressive stack of papers and reports she had yet to even start. “Three times we had the chance to prove we are the heroes of the city, and three times we were left looking complete idiots. And on each occasion… there just happened to be footage!

“Even in the most unlikely of situations just hours ago… footage. Footage proving that the Protectorate of Brockton Bay and the PRT ENE can’t even keep up with a literal child in ramshackle armor. I can barely believe it myself as it is so...” Taking in another breath, she stared at the entirety of the Brockton Bay Protectorate and continued, voice slightly strained as she spoke. “Again, I have to ask how... How could you simply let this happen?” 

Silence.

“I wasn’t being rhetorical.”

Apart from the faint creaks of people shifting in their seats, the conference room remained silent. Several grown adults instead exchanged pointed looks, as if daring one another to be the first to speak and receive the Director’s attention.

Pitiful. Director Piggot let out another breath, a sour smile returning to her face as she struggled with the urge to vent her frustrations in a much more vocal manner. It wouldn’t help, of course, but it would likely ease the pounding migraine that had been building in her skull since Sunday. “It seems that I was wrong in assuming that one of you would like to say something to address what I can only assume is the worst and most visible failure of this Protectorate branch in the last ten years.”

Armsmaster shifted in place as he turned slightly to face the director. Even through the bulk of metal and other materials that made up his suit, his body language still managed to come off as remarkably tense. “Director, I suppose I might…”

“Armsmaster, just go ahead.” Since none of your subordinates seem to possess the balls to do so, remained unsaid, Piggot impatiently rapping the marble tabletop with her pen.

The power-armored hero eased back into his seat slightly, his reinforced chair barely making a noise despite the movement of his bulk. Keeping his attention focused on Director Piggot, Armsmaster didn’t even turn to glance at the holographic screen that curved over the arm he rested on the conference table. The fingers on his free hand went to work, tapping away in almost complete silence as the Tinker began to speak in his usual direct, almost-monotone, manner. “Referring to the confrontation with Lung, the cape in question, age notwithstanding, inserted himself into our operation to occupy Lung’s attention and prevent him from ramping up further by diverting his focus and not allowing him the opportunity to properly engage us.

Armsmaster paused for a moment, head tilting as if to scope out the room before turning back towards Piggot, a subtle new edge to his voice as he continued. “Upon analysis, our distraction play against Lung is likely to have been effective to the degree that previous projections implied. However, as the PRT had delegated explosive reconnaissance duties to certain members of the Protectorate, those of us set to go against Lung were reinforced by Glory Girl, Manpower, and Lady Photon but given their lack of familiarity with our anti-Lung protocols and the lack of practiced coordination between Protectorate and New Wave in maneuvering as a unit, any advantage we possessed against Lung was effectively neutralized. However, we were still able to contain Lung to Coventree Plaza and mitigate the villain’s rate of escalation for an unprecedented period of time, but that status could not have been sustained given projected exhaustion of all Heroes involved, devastation to the Plaza, and the fighting between PRT Troopers and the ABB gang-members accompanying Lung with their Tinker-tech weaponry. However... ”

Pausing both his words and typing for a moment, Armsmaster eased himself back in his reinforced seat and gestured towards the projected image of Dauntless on the screen, somehow giving off the impression of raising an eyebrow despite the majority of his face being concealed behind his helmet and visor. “If I may?”

“Again, Armsmaster,” Through some herculean feat of self-control, Piggot managed to withhold a sigh as she replied, “just continue.”

He nodded, tapping a few more non-physical keys as the projected footage shifted from the close shot of Dauntless’ face to a high-angle frozen image of a silver-scaled Lung, the villain’s four-parted maw breathing fire in the direction of an armored cape, a maelstrom of wind surrounding the other figure on the screen. “Upon the interruption of the new cape – assumed code-name: ‘Sir Prodigy’, demotic code-name: ‘White Knight’ – Lung’s growth began to escalate at a rate that surpassed all noted records or projections and outpacing our ability to engage him, at least not without severe injury or potential casualties. Judging from what little analysis of compiled footage, ‘Prodigy’, reportedly possesses several complementary ratings – tentative [Multi-Trigger] note added to file – that make him an effective counter to Lung, tentative mid-level Hurdle/Run/Takeoff Mover rating of 4 along with a mid-level, composite Brute rating built from twin categories; Field and R-”

“Armsmaster…” Piggot’s voice dipped into a growl she didn’t have the energy to maintain, her calm composure splintering as she fixed the Tinker with the closest thing to a glare she could manage. “It’s nearing 4 AM. None of us have time for this.”

“Understood,” Armsmaster voiced, the terse undertone to his words the only sign of his annoyance at being interrupted. “‘Prodigy’ is a capable Brute, Mover, Blaster, Shaker, Striker and – tentative – Thinker capable of avoiding, engaging and severely harming a highly-escalated Lung. None of us possess that level of versatility, at least to such a pronounced degree. In short, the Protectorate was outdone and outshone by a child.” His jaw clenched on the last syllable, the word almost forced out of his mouth as he held Piggot’s gaze. “Adequate?”

It was interesting just how something so simple could affect him, the large woman noting a hint of anger from the normally reticent Tinker. To anyone else, the slight tension in Armsmaster’s jaw would have been just that. To Piggot, the man might as well have been openly scowling and yet… he didn’t seem anywhere near as livid as she would have expected; his body language oddly relaxed with the exception of his tense facial muscles. For goodness’ sake, he was even leaning back in his seat, battle-ready power armor notwithstanding. Armsmaster was as much the ENE Protectorate as he was his own person; their failures were his and vice versa. Even the slightest observation would tell anyone that much.

So, why was it that the prideful cape seemed so much more irritable at her interruption than his embarrassment? At almost any other time other than 4 in the morning after several days with barely any sleep, she might have gone so far as to question whether Armsmaster was beginning to get used to being casually outshone by smiling blonds in period armor. 

Now, though, she’d let it go. Later. “Adequate.”

“Is the situation…” Piggot found herself matching the movements of everyone else in the room as all eyes turned to Miss Militia, three words managing to shift the focus onto her. The weapon-toting cape sat there, attention focused on the table in front of her with a look of distinct concentration on her face, “I mean… are things really as bad as we’re assuming?” She shook her head and glanced up, gaze not meeting the eyes of anyone in particular as she rubbed a patch of slightly-paler skin on her bare forearm. “I’m not understating the seriousness, of course, but there is a possibility that we’re…”

“Wrong?” Assault cut in, the cape tapping a light drumbeat on the dark marble as he flashed the flag-bearing woman a smirk that he often swore up and down was his trademark. Said expression only slightly marred by his general weariness, the former villain leaned forward and let out a low breath of air accompanied by a slight laugh. “Ooh, I wish. If that’s the case, me and the sweetheart,” said sweetheart strangled an instinctual groan before it could reach completion, shooting her partner a warning look that went ignored as Assault continued as if he didn’t notice, “aren’t gonna have to drop our plans for the next week just to sit through a bunch of boring meetings with Risk Assessment, Crisis Management, PR… ughh, Glenn is gonna lose his shit, isn’t he?”

Assault took a moment to breathe, shaking his head as a frown crossed his face. Wearing a similar expression, Miss Militia spoke up again, this time to voice a question. “What are the chances that this… Prodigy… can be convinced into joining the Wards?”

“Doubtful.”/ “Minimal.”

Piggot and Armsmaster answered in unison, neither turning to look at the other as everyone else glanced their way. Armsmaster continued, replying, “His profile indicates a distrust of governmental or pseudo-governmental agencies and a level of irreverence and casual disdain for propriety or tact along the line of Mouse Protector in her Ward days.”

Those last few words left Miss Militia quiet, one eye shut in a wince as she slowly leaned back in her seat with a sigh on her lips.

Assault let out a long breath to match hers, the sound just a slight shift of his lips away from becoming a whistle. “...Well, then, that’s a bust. Anyway, I hope you’re right about everything else, Miss M. I doubt it, but here’s hoping.”

Miss Militia didn’t respond. Verbally, at least.

A single raised eyebrow and the slight tilt of her head managed to convey at least a few sentences worth of replies in under a second.

“I get it. I get it. You’re a silver-lining person.” Assault tilted his head, matching Miss Militia’s body language as he sat up straighter. “But, uh… how do I put this? Take it from me when I say that the public tends not be forgiving when the Protectorate comes off looking… bad. It’s bad enough when a villain gives them the run-around more often than not or an Independent shows a couple of heroes up? But a kid? Half a dozen times in the same day? On camera too?”

Another small laugh spilled out as his smirk expanded into a grin, the amusement on Assault’s face remaining strong even among a room full of solemn stares. “Yeaaah… we’re gonna be feeling this one for a while.”

There was silence again, Miss Militia seeming to take the words to heart more than most as she returned to staring at the dark marble surface. Piggot couldn’t help but agree with Assault’s opinion, hers being much the same

“I still can’t believe it. Three times?” Battery’s voice made itself heard by breaking the silence before it could drag on to the point of awkwardness again. She turned her head, her ponytail bobbing slightly as she tilted her head upwards to look her smirking husband in the eye. “You said three times?” The slight rise in pitch that came with her echoed question did very little to ease the sharp, nigh-confrontational edge that was usual for the woman when speaking to Assault in-costume. “He took down Lung and brought in Bakuda but-”

She paused, gaze flicking towards the armored cape at the far end of the table. Dauntless didn’t even look up despite the eyes on him, a sense of embarrassment palpable from the way he fidgeted his hands on the table. 

Good. Piggot knew better than to blame him for the situation on everyone’s mind, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t fine with letting him stew in his own misguided sense of guilt. It was a rare cape, in her view, that had enough self-awareness to realize their missteps – imagined or not – and she’d be an idiot to weaken that by convincing them they did nothing wrong. 

“If we’re being honest, it’s definitely more than three,” Velocity said, voice clipped and direct in a way that even Armsmaster couldn’t quite manage, as expected when in Piggot’s presence. Years of service didn’t exactly fade from the psyche quite so easily, after all. 

“PHO, police reports, media blurbs; they all say the same thing. The kid’s been darting all over the Bay, pulling rescues and scaring off looters and ABB – no combat, though – just hours before the Bakuda incident. Local news has been running with that like you wouldn’t believe.” Tilting his head toward his fellow teammates in red, the former military man could only add, “He’s on point with this, at least with the fact that we’re not gonna get knocked around a bit.”

Piggot forced herself not to sigh, well aware that last bit of bad news could be laid at her feet. A level of media silence on the part of the Protectorate had been enforced these last few days, the idea to keep the team’s movements beneath the awareness of the ABB as individual squads hunted down the Tinker and her bombs alongside New Wave. Said silence had been made almost total as Lung only confirmed PRT Thinker projections of a ‘Super Bomb’. The media being what it was, though, they were far too eager to jump on whatever they could find and a new, Wards-age Independent actually being effective was too much of a find to convince any of them to keep silent, especially with very little coming from the usually visible heroes. 

“That’s to be expected, isn’t it?” Miss Militia spoke up again, shaking her head as she spoke. “He’s new, he’s young, he’s made an impression. If it was just that, this wouldn’t be cause for a serious meeting. There’s been dozens of those in the last decade. They never last. On the other hand, the Protectorate has history and weight to it. We’re a part of this city and there’s no storm that we can’t weather.” She paused, mouth open for a few short seconds as she seemed to go over her thoughts. “No matter how bad this seems, it will fade. It always does.”

Emily couldn’t help the slight narrowing of her eyes as Miss Militia said her piece, looking far more centered than before. It was true that the Protectorate had been around for decades, long enough that the people – young and old – considered it a fixture in their lives. Yet, none of that meant as much as Miss Militia seemed to think it did. Capes were around before the PRT or Protectorate were built and they’ll be around when they both crumble. It was eventual that they would, of course. Only idealists and idiots – one and the same, really – would ever assume otherwise. Capes would remain capes. The PRT were just a leash.

“There is… uh, I do have some good news on that front, at least,” Triumph chose now to make himself heard, voice uncharacteristically subdued for someone only outdone by Assault when it came to sheer exuberance. Given what he had been through just days ago, Piggot wasn’t much surprised. “Unc… I mean, Mayor Christner… He… uh, he plans on making a public statement… th-thanking the Protectorate for their part in keeping the city safe and… and fighting off further traffickings attempts and attempted political terrorism so… ugh…”

The former baseball player let out an audible sigh, wan complexion and slightly-sunken cheeks standing out as he tried to keep himself together. Despite herself, Piggot found herself sympathizing; the cape having gone through enough trauma in the last four days – of multiple types – to surpass the rest of his team combined. Panacea could only do so much after all, especially without a mountain of biomass at hand to fix damage so severe. An attempt to give him twenty-four hours to recuperate with family had only put him in the line of fire again, the lone cape against a small convoy of suspiciously well-armed ABB attempting a home invasion on the mayor’s property.

“So…” Triumph spoke once more, having collected himself. “We have a cushion there, I think. I mean… it’s not gonna be a major hit, at least.” The smile on his face, as tired as it seemed, spoke for his optimism and from the looks of things, several others seemed to agree.

Unfortunately, Piggot didn’t find herself sharing anything near the same attitude, the portly woman frowning behind her interlaced fingers as she continued staring at the capes in front of her. For all that it claimed not to be a government agency, the PRT was as hamstrung by politics as any other. If not politics in the form of direct governmental oversight, then politics in the form of public relations, as PR was nothing but. This new cape had outshone the PRT repeatedly at a time when the city was on the brink and their heroes were almost unseen by the public; by choice, of course, but still...

Regardless of how she personally felt about it, there was momentum in that image, and a hell of a lot of power in that momentum. PR, just like politics, were all about image. A solid win was something that could make or break public opinion.

Two? Even better.

Three times one after the other? Now, that was a pattern.

People liked patterns.

People trusted patterns.

Unfortunately for Piggot, neither the Protectorate or PRT under her purview had a pattern of winning in a long while, let alone a single strong win by itself. What they did have was a pattern of keeping things stable in the city… relatively, at least. This was Brockton Bay, after all. It wasn’t exactly what they wanted but for the most part, the heroes did their job, smiled for the camera and proved that they could at least, if not beat the villains, then beat them back.

This was a strength as much as it was a weakness, allowing the heroes to be seen fighting “the good fight” for the city and winning hearts and minds just by being visible. People of course complained that the same threats were still around and of course, they were right. Any idiot who pulled his head out of the sand could see that much.

Ten years like this. Ten years working the same stupid balancing act. It couldn’t go on forever, Piggot knew that much, and it was all she could do to keep it in one piece for as long as possible. It was far too often recently that Emily found herself wondering if she had made the right choice accepting a position as thankless and problematic as this one. Things fall apart, though, a firm scowl working itself onto her face at the thought, and who are they gonna blame when it eventually does?

And every single time she found herself struggling to reach an answer.

“-ector Piggot…”

The woman glanced up at the sound of her name, a voice she hadn’t quite expected to hear drawing her attention more than anything else. She affixed the speaker with a focused stare, the scowl still on her face intensifying for a multitude of reasons. “Dauntless.”

There was no heat or even much tension in her voice despite the expression on her face, something both Armsmaster and Miss Militia noticed, both of them silently conveying curiosity in their own manner.

“Director,” Dauntless continued, sitting up in his seat with both hands locked together and resting on the marble surface. “I’d like to formally apologize for my…”

Despite the laser-focused intensity on Piggot’s face as she kept her gaze on Dauntless, the woman almost immediately tuned out the apologetic cape as he continued to drone on with the sort of statement she had no interest in. After a few seconds of noting the ever-increasing upwards tilt of Armsmaster’s lips as Dauntless continued speaking, Piggot decided that things had already gone on long enough. 

Her raised palm was enough to silence the apologetic hero, Dauntless’ words faltering into quiet mumbles as the director looked him in the eye. “The sentiment is appreciated but your apologies aren’t necessary, Dauntless. There will be repercussions, of course, for your part in the situation but everyone of importance is well aware that your words weren’t your own. In fact, the handler assigned to you earlier this morning has already been reprimanded and re-assigned, with termination still on the table.”

As expected, Piggot’s statement managed to raise eyebrows.

One in particular.

“So quickly?” The frown on Miss Militia’s face spoke volumes on how she felt about the situation, not that Piggot didn’t understand where she was coming from. “A reassignment without even a review? That seems... rushed.”

“I don’t disagree, Miss Militia,” Piggot replied, nodding in her direction. “Under normal circumstances, that would be what protocol dictates. However, a point was made that we are currently in a crisis situation and allowing incompetence like that to remain in a position where it could damage public opinion even further would be a serious mistake.” Her expression seemed to shift as she paused for breath, hints of annoyance and exasperation clouding the director’s face. “If you honestly believe so strongly about the issue, I’d recommend you take it up with our new Vice Director. I’ve delegated personal supervision of various media and public-related departments to his oversight.”

“Oh yeah, the new guy,” Assault chimed in. “Haven't seen him around yet." 

Piggot’s frown intensified further, the woman losing more and more of her semblance of calm the longer she kept speaking. “And I wouldn't expect to. At least, not for the next few days or so.” With that said, Emily Piggot leaned back in her seat again, surveying the room once more with a scowl that could frighten grown men. “On a related note, some of you may have heard of a certain… problem that was uncovered within our Wards...