32

Chapter Text

When Tagg rolled into town, there was no fanfare. A single, top of the hour, bottom of the page announcement was made via the local media and rattled off with disinterest by various talking heads. Outside of those few corners obsessed with the inner workings of the PRT such as ParaHumansOnline, a few conspiracy sites and a handful of political pundits and malcontents, noone took much note. The redoubtable man and his entourage simply rolled into town, marched into the PRT ENE building and set up shop as if they had always been there. The man himself barely bothered to clean out Piggot's desk before he sat down behind it and got to work.

It was a good move on his part, strategy wise.... that subtlety gave him almost an an entire day before the Alliance realized that things had hit the fan.

***

It was a beautiful day in Brockton Bay. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and a walrus was on the Docks.

The repair crews had moved swiftly after the Teeth and the Nine had fallen. Once Parian had gotten her own shoppe repaired, she and several of the other store owners had decided to throw a Grand Re-Opening party. They had set up a stage on the docks; Parian had just brought out her troop of animated plushies for their stage show when out of the gathering crowd two men came running. They were dressed alike in black bandannas, domino masks, and baggy pajamas, and were carrying duffel bags with the words "LOOT" spray painted on them, and cartoonishly large squirt guns made to look like giant revolvers. They jumped up on stage, waved their toy weapons around wildly, and began shoveling the coupons, candy bags and other "throws" the organizers had contributed into their boodle bags.

"Oh no! The notorious Villains, UBER AND LEET are here to plunder the Grand Re-opening!" Parian cried out into her microphone, throwing one long-gloved wrist to her forehead, playing the role of fainting damsel to the hilt. "Who shall SAVE us?"

With a roar and a bellow a gigantic figure shot up from the waters and landed on the docks (drenching more than a few gleeful children and their parents in the processs.) It was a gigantic walrus with a day-glow "W" painted on its chest, and a brilliant red cape (with gold spangles on the edge; it was a special day) tied around his massive neck. He struck a banana pose at the end of the dock, "Warrrgh" ing proudly.

A fanfare began playing over the sound system. "Won-der walrus, Wonder walrus!" A female chorus sang.

"All the world's waiting on youuu!" A male quartet replied.

"And the power you possess

You ain't got no tights

But you fight for what's right

And the old Red White and Blue!!!

Uber and Leet played their roles to the hilt. "Oh no, it's WONDER WALRUS!" one screamed. "Run for it!" They made a great show of running up and down the docks, "fleeing" the Mighty Marine Mammal of Myth as he belly-flopped after them, "Ork" ing angrily. After a prolonged (hilarious) squirt-gun battle with the heroic amphibious mammal--

"Our weapons are no use!"

"Curses, he's protected by his fantastic shield of Wonder Blubber!"

-- They finished up by dropping the bags, tossing the squirt gun revolvers to a couple of lucky kids, and diving off the docks... where their jet ski waited to whisk them to safety while Wonder Walrus perched proudly atop the captured bags of loot. The audience cheered; those that weren't doubled over with laughter anyways.

"Thank you, Wonder Walrus, once again you've saved the day!" Parian managed to get out through her own hysterical giggles. Wonder Walrus happily tummy-slapped a thank you and began distributing the throws, rooting around in the bags with his snout and flinging the contents far and wide over the crowd.

An hour hor so later the the wily Walrus slipped away from his teeming fans, and the seamstress and the wolfman took a break together in her renovated shop. They were chuckling together over raspberry teas and watching the still-teeming streets outside. "It looks like the event is a success," Skinwalker said, nodding at the colorful crowd. 

"How on earth did you persuade Uber and Leet to do this?" Parian chuckled.

"Easy. I paid them." He shrugged. "Easy money, noone shooting at them, and they still got to be the center of attention, even if it wasn't video game themed." He lounged back in his chair, grinning. "Leet even did the theme song."

"That was him?"

"And a little bit of computer audio wizardry," Skinwalker said. "He does have a wonderful falsetto, though..." The two of them had retreated from the adoring audiences to the upper floor of her shoppe, and were sitting by the windows in lawnchairs watching the hustle and bustle of the boardwalk below. He suddenly stiffened; despite the fact that he was in human form Parian could almost imagine she saw his ears prick forward. "There's PRT vehicles pulling in at either end of the boardwalk," he said. "They're blocking off the entrances... Parian--"

"They told me nothing about stopping by," Parian objected. "I told them there would be a few capes doing the show along with myself, but--"

"No, it's okay, not your fault," Skinwalker muttered, getting to his feet. His eyes never left the window. It was visible that it wasn't just troopers getting out of the vehicles, but several figures in suits and spectacles that just about screamed 'high ranking agent.' "Something different is going down...I think someone in the PRT might be getting ready to cause some trouble." Wolf or no there was a faint rumble down in his chest. "I think I'd better make myself scarce--" His form bowed and his back arched, and he transformed from a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man to an enormous sabretoothed tiger crouched on the floor. As he brushed past her she couldn't help but let her hand trail down his back, fingers making runnels through his fur. So soft...

"But I'll still stay close. Just in case." In the next moment there was a faint humming noise, and the sleek and deadly predator faded into invisibility.

She got down the stairs just as the front door was brusquely shoved open, to judge by the discordant jangle of the abused doorchime. Several male voices barked at her assistants and her clientele', ordering them out into the street. Parian felt her temper flare; how dare anyone act so high-handed with her customers or staff, especially the PRT-!

The PRT flunkies were certainly caught on the back foot when she made her presence known. "And who might you all be, to order my staff around?" she proclaimed, projecting her voice so it all but rang off the walls. She descended the spiral staircase at the center of the store, placing each foot daintily yet firmly like an offended queen. She felt rather than saw Bayleaf leap down directly to the main floor from the top of the stairwell, landing silently next to the manikins.

The troopers milling about the newly renovated fashion shop were apparently led by a slick-haired man dressed in a too-neat, and poorly cut (Parian thought snidely) steel gray suit. He saw her and moved in her direction. "Sabah Abadi?" he said. "Also known as Parian?"

Everyone in the room stiffened as if ice had run down their spines. While Parian was only a rogue and one of the few "open" capes outside of New Wave, openly addressing a cape by their true name and their mask name in the same breath simply was not done. Even a merely anonymous identity, as opposed to a secret one, gave capes a much-needed grasp on sanity as much as sunglasses, baseball caps and nom de plumes gave much needed relief from the pressures of celebrity to movie stars of an earlier era. Disrespecting that little unwritten rule was crass. Not to mention, dangerous.

...And indicated someone who was wilfully careless with the peace of mind of others."Yes, as everyone here fortunately already knows," she said frostily. She gave a wave of her lace fan to her assistants-- a particular one, a secret hand sign that they should leave. Reluctantly the young ladies and one young man left by the front door, leaving her apparently alone with the over-armed PRT troopers and their over-dressed wrangler.

The suit reached into his attache case and pulled out a manila envelope. He held it out to her. "You have been served," he announced as she took it in her gloved hands. "This is a Cease and Desist order, requiring you to shut down all operations at this business forthwith, while you are investigated for violations of NEPEA-5."

"What??" Parian's voice rose to a disbelieving shout.

"According to federal law, no business may be run by or utilize parahumans in such a manner as to--"

"I know what that ridiculous law is!" Parian snapped. She knew it woefully well; not long after the advent of metahumans, the legislators in the US government demonstrated their typical venality, greed, corruption and stupidity by passing a bill that outlawed "unfair metahuman competition" against regular industry. In a few thousand pages of kerfluffle, obfuscation and double talk it almost impossible for someone with parahuman abilities to use them in any way to make a living, on the grounds that parahumans had "a natural unfair advantage" in the marketplace. A Brute couldn't work in construction or heavy industry because that would be "unfair" to those who didn't have super strength. A Mover couldn't start a delivery business, or even make a few dollars on the size working for UberEats, because teleportation or super speed qualified as "unfair." Tinkers, even those who could replicate their eccentric inventions, couldn't even sell so much as a tinker toaster....

It was pure bullshit and everybody knew it. A cape using their powers to make a living was no more a threat to the established corporations than a kid running a lemonade stand was a threat to Coca-Cola--- even the best cape didn't have the infrastructure, resources, or customer capacity of an ordinary mom and pop brick and mortar business, much less a corporation. They were a niche market at best.

But since when did common sense ever stop Congress?

The immediate effect of the law had been dramatic: overnight thousands of "rogue" capes suddenly discovered that their efforts to make an honest buck were now federal crimes. Those who could upped anchor and set sail for more welcoming shores, many of those who could not turned wholesale to villainy (or, as the once-corporate metahuman organization "the Elite" did, an ominous mixture of both.) 

A mere handful of the remainder, like Parian, had perservered, and managed to wend their way through the labyrinthine process of convincing an endless array of faceless, dullwitted and surly government pencil pushers that their little home business wasn't going to upend the world economy, and plucked a waiver out of the few narrow loopholes in the system.

Apparently though, someone was closing the loopholes. Parian's hands shook with rage as she flipped through the papers. "This is preposterous and you know it," she spat at the officious, slick-haired man. "They're trying to shut down a fashion designer on the grounds that--" she gave the papers a double take-- "Major disruption to the TEXTILE INDUSTRY?" 

"They're also throwing in an audit for possible tax evasion, illicit international transactions, money laundering...." the PRT man gave her a smirk that was so smarmy it could have been coated in bacon grease. 

"These claims are ridiculous," Parian said coldly. "They'll be dismissed in any court, and this--" she checked the names "Director Tagg knows it." 

"Not before some lengthy, in depth investigation," he said.

"Heel-dragging court case, you mean," Parian snarled. "Designed to keep me out of business for months, and to drain my bank accounts... I know this game, mister PRT man. Your master isn't the first one to try it."

"Just the first one to have the backing of the federal government, and the authority of the PRT," he retorted. He made a motion for the troopers. "Come on, hang up the 'closed' sign in the window and come along."

"Come along to where?" Parian's tone was still aloof and frosty but you could hear the alarm in it.

"You're going to need to come in with us for some questioning," the PRT suit said. "About your dealings with the capes in this district. From what I hear a great number of them less than legal capes, and under the table--"

"I will do no such thing!" she said. "You have no warrant for my arrest--" The dresses and drapes of cloth around the room began swaying dangerously. 

"She's using her powers--" the agent said, raising his voice. The troopers raised their foam-grenade launchers. The dresses stilled. "I thought so," he said smugly as Parian fumed. "You know darned well what will happen if you cause a fuss, so why don't you make it easier on yourself--" he reached for her arm.

"Perhaps you didn't hear," a voice rumbled. "The lady said NO." The PRT agent looked down and let out a sound like a wheezing bath toy. An absolutely ENORMOUS midnight blue feline with pale stripes and saber fangs as long as his palm was coiled halfway around the cape girl's legs. It was kitted out in some sort of harness and armor like a riding kit, embossed with symbols that the agent didn't recognize. It glared up at him with burning yellow eyes and slid around the girl so that it was between them both.

Every weapon in the room snapped immediately towards the tiger. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the sabretooth said to the nearest trooper. The man, jittery already with the sudden appearance of a TALKING GIANT CAT, jerked and pulled the trigger. There was a rather unsettling-sounding "ping" and the launcher in his hands suddenly began gushing foam all over him as the grenade in the pipe malfunctioned. In moments he was encased in a six foot high cocoon of blobby restraint foam.

A deep rumbling came from the cat. The PRT suit realized the cat was chuckling. It lifted up one dinner-plate sized paw; cradled (somehow) in the pads was an odd rectangular device that looked like a cross between a TV remote and a steampunk art sculpture. "Gnomish Universal Remote," the sabretooth said before slipping it away somewhere under its armor straps. "You will find you will have a hard time making any of your PRT equipment operate properly within a hundred feet of here. Including your phones and radios."

The cat looked up at Parian. "Miss Parian, it seems the environment is getting rather hostile here," he said. "Perhaps we should take our leave?" It held up its other paw. Cradled in this one was a smooth river stone with odd carvings all over it.

"But of course," Parian said, and rested her gloved hand on top of the stone. Green ribbons of light began swirling around the pair, and a warbling sound filled the room.

The PRT suit had pluck, one had to give him that. He immediately drew a glock from under his jacket and took aim. "FREEZE!" he shouted, leveling the gun at Parian's head. "STOP WHATEVER YOU ARE HYYYYEEEEeeeeee...." he trailed off with a sound like a strangled balloon; in the course of drawing his service weapon he had stepped just a hair too close. And it seemed the sabretoothed tiger had a deceptively long snapping range, because the moment he'd drawn the gun the cat's head had lunged forward, and now that cat's powerful, skull crushing jaws were clamped loosely on the fork in the agent's legs. 

The cat was growling again, and this time it was almost loud enough to drown out the rising swirling notes of the Hearthstone. "PHUT." he said. "AT." In a rumble deep enough to shake the windows. "GOWN." The gun fell from nerveless fingers.

The cat waited a moment more, then two.... then released the man, who took several shaky, hasty steps backward. The cat grimaced and made several hacking noises. "For the record, I did NOT enjoy that," it muttered. "Time to go." The green light flared, and when spots stopped dancing in front of everyone's eyes, the lady and the tiger were gone.

PRT agent Irwin Jones leaned against one of the manikins and shakily contemplated his situation. He only had two thoughts. Director Tagg was not going to be happy. And he seriously hoped dry cleaning would get tiger drool out of his pants.

A considerable distance away, Bayleaf and Parian reappeared in the Lost Workshop's main 'porting room. Bayleaf had already slipped back into his Worgen form and was halfway up the spiral stair to the main room before Parian had even steadied on her feet. There were a handful of their group sitting around; they looked up in surprise as he stalked in.

"It's started," Bayleaf said without preamble. "Just like she warned us. They already tried to nab Parian to use for leverage.... Call everyone in: Tagg is in town."