16

Chapter 16: Interlude 2a: Fractured Paragon Parallel

Interlude 2.a: Fractured Paragon Parallel

Colin Wallis had lost people before.

The Protectorate was not so perfect that there hadn't been mistakes in the field, mistakes in the handling of a situation, mistakes of many kinds, and there had certainly been times when a teammate or a colleague had either lost his life or left. Some had been dissatisfied and gone on to be independent heroes, and some had gone on to become villains. There was no avoiding that some people did not have the dedication or the moral fortitude to stick with it throughout the easy times and the hard ones, and Colin had long accepted that.

The hardest losses were always the deaths.

The Protectorate was not so perfect that every hero always prevailed. There were times when the heroes were defeated, times when they were injured, and times when they were killed. Against the Slaughterhouse Nine, against Endbringers, against villains who had no restraint or were unwilling to play by the rules — sometimes, no matter how well they prepared, there was a glitch in the system, a broken cog in the machine. Sometimes, as Colin had once heard a trooper say, you just rolled snake eyes.

Many heroes, good men and women, some of whom Colin had known personally and some only by reputation, had fallen to those sorts of threats. Endbringers had taken many of the greatest before their time, and the Slaughterhouse Nine had taken Colin's mentor and hero, Hero himself. If he were asked, Colin would say that too many had been taken, and too often in vain.

Rarely, however, had Colin lost a Ward.

Once or twice during an Endbringer attack, one or two Wards had been crushed or burned or drowned. Leviathan, the Simurgh, and Behemoth did not care for age or experience; they killed indiscriminately, without any distinction between hero and villain, old and young, cape or civilian.

It had never stopped being a tragedy, a waste of life and potential that had yet to flourish and grow, but it had come to be something he expected: Wards who joined Endbringer fights were ten times as likely to die as a veteran hero.

Never, however, had it happened in Brockton Bay, and never while under his command.

Injuries, yes. Some wounds of varying severity. It was Brockton Bay, home of Oni Lee, Hookwolf, and Lung, all with body counts of frankly staggering size, compared to the normal fare. Though the Wards program was designed to be a safe environment for young parahumans to learn to be proper heroes, in a city like this, that they would find themselves experiencing some degree of combat was unfortunately unavoidable.

And in the face of that, Colin would be proud to say, he had pioneered algorithms to determine the safest patrol routes and response paradigms that adjusted the number and nature of Protectorate and PRT forces based upon the threat faced. With his efforts, during his time leading the Protectorate ENE, no skirmish with the villains had ever resulted in a permanent or fatal injury, especially not among the Wards, though they were sometimes wounded.

But never a death.

Until now.

That was why Colin found himself in his secondary lab at the PRT HQ building late Tuesday morning, combing through the evidence in his real-fake job as a forensic scientist. Just a few short hours ago, he had been dragged out of bed on his morning off after a late night of tinkering in his main lab by a call from the PRT, telling him that Shadow Stalker had been found dead.

Colin frowned as he examined the photos from the scene, depicting first the position Shadow Stalker had been found in, and then the open gore of the single wound that had killed her. A more squeamish man would have recoiled at the image of naked entrails exposed to the air, but anyone who had been to more than one Endbringer fight would have seen much worse.

Shadow Stalker had been a troublemaker from the beginning. She was rude, she was abrasive, she did not respect authority except where she absolutely had to, and she bucked the rules and regulations whenever she could. She abandoned her partner and her assigned route with regularity to go off into the more dangerous parts of town, and for all that she achieved twice the results the other Wards did, she did so by ignoring her orders and going off by herself.

If he had been a more callous man, Colin might have said that Shadow Stalker's death was her own fault, for going out on what appeared to be a solo patrol without even the veneer of authorization.

Colin was not that callous, however, and even if Shadow Stalker wasn't much of a team player and did her best to tapdance all over the line, she was still a Ward. That, if for no other reason, was enough to treat this situation with the utmost importance.

"Definitely a blade," Colin noted down. "Single cut, single weapon. Sharp, long. Not Cricket, then, based upon the wound. Likely not Hookwolf, either, based upon the lack of other wounds."

He'd have to check with the medical examiner to get a better idea of the exact cut and the smoothness of the wound, once all the blood and viscera had been cleaned away and the vertebrae had been examined in more detail. How cleanly the attack had gone through bone would give him a better understanding of the sharpness of the blade, and any shards or shavings that were present in the wound would tell him what kind of weapon it was.

His first thought, of course, had led to the ABB, specifically their unpowered members. They were known to carry swords, especially katana; nearly all of them carried one, mostly cheap things made of inferior steel, but from one such weapon the BBPD had confiscated after a bust, it was apparent that Lung did not skimp for his favored lieutenants — he bought only authentic replicas, made in the traditional Japanese fashion.

Colin had ruled it out, though. Among other reasons, Shadow Stalker was already several hours dead, and the ABB had not claimed credit at all. That was why he'd moved on to parahumans, instead.

Colin's frown deepened. There were only so many villains in Brockton Bay who wielded bladed weapons or a blade of any kind, however. Oni Lee. Cricket. Hookwolf. Kaiser. Stormtiger, by technicality, but aerokinetic attacks were different from physical weapons. Of those who wielded bladed weapons, really only Kaiser used something long enough and sharp enough to actually bisect a human being in one go.

But for Kaiser to attack and kill a Ward? That was a line Colin wasn't sure Kaiser would cross without serious provocation. Too, where was the motive? Where was evidence of a battle? Aside from Shadow Stalker herself, there had been no weapons, no damage to the surroundings, no evidence that anything at all had happened.

An assassination? Possible, but again, why? What could Kaiser possibly have against a Ward? Enough that he would go after her in the dead of the night in an otherwise quiet neighborhood a fair distance from either E88 or ABB territory?

So, why would he bother? To send a message? That was possible, but to who? The Heberts? Why them? Perhaps not them in general so much as Danny Hebert in particular, then. That was possible, as well — if the E88 had been sniffing around the dockworkers in hopes of getting them to look the other way when a shipment came in and Daniel Hebert, head of hiring, had put his foot down, that might be it.

Except if he was hoping to send a message, there were other ways to do it that would also not bring the wrath of the Protectorate and PRT down on the Empire, and Kaiser was smart enough to realize that.

There was a ping from one of the several monitors in his lab, and when he went to check it, it told him what he had expected it to: no known recent triggers or out of city parahumans within one-hundred miles that had powers related to blades or were known to wield bladed weapons.

With that avenue closed, it almost had to be —

Colin stiffened.

Unless it wasn't the Empire or the ABB. After all, there was a pretty infamous cape with a power related to bladed weapons.

"Dragon," said Colin, turning to the monitor she was using to connect to his lab, "what was the last known location of the Slaughterhouse Nine?"

The screen jerked out of its screensaver and flickered, displaying his companion's face. Colin had never understood why she didn't use her real face, but respected her enough not to ask.

"New Glarus, Wisconsin, two weeks ago," Dragon replied. "Suspected direction of travel puts them heading towards Nevada. Why? You don't think they're involved in this, do you?"

Colin grunted. "I don't know. The trouble is, with a cut as clean as the one that killed Shadow Stalker, it has to be some kind of edged weapon, like a blade, and of the villains in Brockton Bay who use some form of blade, I can't figure a motive for any one of them that actually explains where and how she was killed."

There was still a feeling of relief, however tentative it might wind up being, to know that the likelihood of getting a visit from the Nine was so slim. Colin had been far too young during their last sojourn in Brockton Bay, but even the anecdotes he'd heard hadn't been…pretty.

"Maybe you should leave motives to detectives investigating the case?" suggested Dragon. "After all, we're doing forensics. Our job is how, when, what, where, and who, not why."

Colin grunted again. "Right," he said reluctantly. He looked back down at the photos of Shadow Stalker, splayed out on the grass in two halves. "Unfortunately, without the autopsy report from the ME, I'm a bit stuck on what killed her. I won't be able to narrow it down until he can get me a shard or a sliver of whatever the murder weapon left behind."

Dragon hummed thoughtfully.

"Maybe Shadow Stalker's personal effects, then? The ones she had on her when she…well."

Colin let out a frustrated sound from the back of his throat. If only it had been that simple.

"Less helpful than you might think," he told her gruffly. "By all accounts, it was basically the costume she wore before she became a Ward. The crossbow was her official crossbow, but there were some less official broadhead bolts that suggest Shadow Stalker might not have been toeing the line as cleanly as the PRT would have liked. The only thing really strange was the chloroform."

"Chloroform?" Dragon asked.

"Yeah. A full bottle of the stuff, unopened. Putting aside where she got something like that, it doesn't fit with her usual MO — neither as a Ward nor a vigilante. None of the attacks we linked to her involved any form of sedation, let alone something as unreliable as chloroform. That she had it on her now suggests she intended to use it, but on who or why is…harder to answer."

There was a second of silence, uncharacteristic. Colin turned to the monitor to find a look of what he might call hesitation on her face.

"Dragon?"

"I…might have an idea," Dragon admitted. "It's a little strange, I'll grant you, but in light of the evidence…"

Colin turned fully to face her. "What?"

"Have you gone through the Heberts' witness statement?"

"No, not yet."

Mostly because he didn't think there'd be anything worth noting to it. Unless this was a message to Daniel Hebert, odds were that they just happened to be incredibly unlucky enough to have Shadow Stalker die on their front lawn.

"It's like you probably suspect, not very helpful, until, that is, you get towards the end, when Detective Chase started to ask about Shadow Stalker's civilian life and school," said Dragon. "That's when things get…interesting."

Interesting?

"Interesting how?"

Dragon didn't answer; instead, after a moment or two, an audio file began to play from the speakers. Based upon the acoustics and the sound quality, Colin knew immediately that it came from one of the recording devices installed as standard in all of the PRTHQ conference rooms.

"No, I don't know who," a young woman's voice said. A chill went down Colin's spine — it sounded familiar. "But I might thank them if I did. There's only so many ways to escalate from attempted murder, after all, and somehow, I don't think Sophia Hess was coming to bring me flowers."

There was a brief pause, barely a second, where he understood the response was being skipped over, then —

"You didn't know? In January, just after winter break ended, Sophia Hess, Emma Barnes, and Madison Clements conspired to shove me into my locker, which they'd filled with a bunch of rotted tampons and…other used hygiene products. They left me in there for hours; the doctors said I was lucky I didn't get a major infection or go into toxic shock and die."

"Dragon," Colin said gravely, "that sounds like —"

"A Trigger Event, yes," Dragon agreed. "There's more, though."

"What was Sophia Hess doing on my front lawn, last night?" the young woman's voice asked. "I don't know. Last time I saw her was yesterday, when I called her a thug in front of all of her sycophants at school."

"A thug?" echoed the voice of who could only be Detective Chase. "Why would you…"

"I called her a thug because she, Madison, and my ex-best friend, Emma Barnes, have spent the better part of the last two years making my life miserable. If you'd asked me before New Years', I might have said she was going to egg our house, but my guess right now? She was coming to finish what she started in January.

"I don't know what killed her, and at this point, I'm beyond caring. She's gone, and I won't have to worry about being shoved down a flight of stairs or shouldered into a door ever again."

The audio file ended. For a moment afterwards, the air was still and stale and almost oppressive in its weight.

"Miss Hebert left shortly after that," Dragon explained into the silence. "Mister Hebert stayed…long enough to give Detective Chase quite an earful."

Colin frowned and glanced back down at the photos. Suddenly, with a sinking sensation in his stomach, he had a suspicion about how it was Shadow Stalker had died and why she'd been on the Heberts' front lawn, and he could only hope that he was wrong.

"Dragon," he asked, "what do we know about Shadow Stalker and this girl's interactions at Winslow?"

He needed to understand. How had it come to this? Why? Was she telling the truth?

"Nothing," Dragon answered succinctly. Her mouth was pulled into a grim line. "There's a report listed January 10, with Sophia Hess as a suspect in the incident Miss Hebert describes in her witness statement, but nothing ever came of it. Other than that, Winslow has no records of any altercations between Sophia Hess and Taylor Hebert."

Colin's lips pulled into a scowl.

"Was she lying, then? About the whole thing?"

"If I was basing it solely on the lack of any incident reports, I'd have to say yes."

If his suspicion was at all true, then that certainly didn't sound like the girl he'd met two nights ago. Humble, modest, a little starstruck, but a good person above all — that was the impression she'd given him. It took a special kind of person, one that Colin had found all too uncommon, to go out, be a hero, and fight the tough fights for the sake of a complete and total stranger.

Even Colin had other motives, as much as he tried not to act solely on them.

"However," Dragon said, "in light of that, I did some digging through their student records. Prior to entering Winslow, Taylor Hebert was a straight-A model student with a nearly impeccable attendance record. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Sophia Hess was not. She did well enough to maintain her place the Winslow Track team, but prior to Winslow, her grades could be called a B-average at best."

"And?"

"And then something peculiar happens," Dragon told him. "Starting roughly a year and a half ago, Miss Hebert's grades started to slip and she began to miss parts of her days — she would show up in the morning, but leave sometime during the lunch break. Not very often, at first, but with increasing frequency. And the reason her grades began to slip? Even though she did fairly well on tests, she apparently didn't turn in her projects and assignments on time, when she turned them in at all."

Colin felt his brow furrow. "I'm sensing that this and Shadow Stalker's grades are somehow related."

"They are." Dragon smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Or so it would appear. Starting around seventeen months ago, Shadow Stalker's grades started to pick up suddenly. Subjects where she would normally get a C or a B, she was turning in assignments that earned an A. Where things get very interesting is that these assignments were only turned in on days and in classes where Miss Hebert's weren't. What should get your attention about this the most is that there are some incidents like this where Miss Hebert claimed that her work vanished from her locker."

"You mean that Shadow Stalker was using her power to steal Hebert's work," Colin concluded. He grunted. "Unfortunately, that's hard to prove. Teenagers have been making up excuses for their missing homework forever."

It would make a degree of sense, though. Maybe not on its own, but with the narrative that was building right before his eyes, it wasn't a hard conclusion to come to, not when one knew that Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

He met her eyes. "What was your idea, then? About what she was doing on the Heberts' front lawn."

A complicated expression crossed Dragon's face, something that was a peculiar mix between several different things that Colin had trouble separating. There was, however, a trace of hesitation.

"It's a bit more of a supposition than an actual theory," she admitted, "and it's not really supported by evidence so much as a…feeling. A hunch, if you will."

"It'll still be more than what we have now."

"Unfortunately, you're right." She gave him a wan smile. "Well, if we take Miss Hebert's testimony as fact, then it would seem that Shadow Stalker had a grudge or something against her. At the very least, she was Miss Hess's favorite victim. The psychology of a bully, however, doesn't permit losing, especially not to someone they've been beating down for almost two years. Given the chloroform, the location of the body, and the admission of a confrontation the day of Miss Hess's death, do you think it impossible that maybe Shadow Stalker was intent on some form of revenge?"

Colin chewed on the inside of his cheek. "It's not impossible, no. In fact, it would neatly explain her presence in front of the Hebert house. It just doesn't explain enough…"

For a moment, he sat there and thought. It felt like he was running around in circles — lots of evidence, none of it coherent enough to make a solid conclusion. There was a picture coming together, a disconcerting image of a campaign of torment inflicted on an otherwise innocent girl — for what? For Shadow Stalker's own amusement? Colin couldn't say he knew the girl well enough to claim it was in her character, only that she wasn't the most personable of people.

He needed more information.

"Dragon, do we have the report on the locker incident Miss Hebert mentions in her statement?"

"It's in your inbox," Dragon replied.

Colin looked down at his interactive worktable, a piece of hi-tech machinery that functioned as a touchscreen computer as well as a workbench. He navigated his way to his Protectorate email and opened the one Dragon had just sent him, then opened the document attached to it; a page popped up, roughly the size of a standard piece of paper, with a few tabs smushed next to it to signify extra pages.

For a few minutes, Colin went through it, and his scowl got deeper and deeper and deeper as his stomach roiled with disgust. With every word, he became more and more sure that what he was looking at was the details of Taylor Hebert's Trigger Event — and, if the prosecutor was imaginative enough, an act of terrorism.

When he was done, he leaned back away from his table and took in a breath through his nose.

"Fuck," he said flatly. "If that's not a Trigger Event…"

And Shadow Stalker had been named a suspect in that?

No witnesses, though. No one had come forward. None of the teachers had had anything to say one way or the other. No one had been charged or even punished, and by all accounts, it had all been swept under the rug. Taylor Hebert had been stuffed into a pile of shit that Colin wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, and whoever had done it had gotten away with it.

She thought it was Sophia Hess — Shadow Stalker — though, and if her claims, unverified though they might be, were valid, then it had been going on unabated for nearly two years. And yet, there had been no incident reports by the school, no reports from the school to Hess's social worker, no reports from the social worker to anyone else in the PRT. There hadn't even been a post-it note in Shadow Stalker's record about the accusation.

That, itself, was telling, and there would undoubtedly be a reckoning later on. For now, however, the picture was starting to become clear. There was an obvious pattern of animosity between victim and tormentor, and it seemed to have come to a head, now, in Shadow Stalker's death.

Colin frowned. Except it hadn't. If his suspicion was right…

"Dragon," he said, "do we have security footage of Taylor Hebert?"

"We do," Dragon replied. "As she was coming in, as she was coming through the halls, and as she left."

"I need a front, profile, and rear view."

A moment later, three stills came up on his worktable, each showing an angled view of a teenage girl with long, curly dark hair — familiar hair. Colin's lips thinned, but this wasn't enough. He needed to get more specific and have more solid evidence. After all, Arcadia's method of hiding the Wards' identities relied on what one might call body doubles.

"Next, footage from my helmet cam of the night we brought Lung in. If you can, I need similar shots of the hero I met that night, Apocrypha."

"Colin," said Dragon, "you don't think…"

"I don't know," Colin replied gruffly. "But I want to be sure."

Three more stills appeared on his worktable. The images weren't as good — the lighting was single source from his bike headlight, and the angles weren't quite as clean — but they were good enough. Comparing the two sets of images, they were strikingly similar. Not quite a perfect match, because Apocrypha's mask changed the shape of her face, but the hair was quite distinctive.

"It's not an exact match, but…"

"One last thing, Dragon. Can you estimate the height and weight of Apocrypha and Taylor Hebert, based upon references in the pictures?"

A moment later, sets of lines etched themselves onto the photos like handwritten notes. On the pictures of Apocrypha, they said "175cm" and "53kg." On the pictures of Taylor Hebert, they said "171 cm" and "54kg." A negligible difference that could be accounted for by anything from posture to her clothing and shoes.

Colin scowled.

"Miss Hebert's baggy clothes made estimating her weight a bit harder, but even so, Colin —"

"Yeah," he said grimly. "It's too close to be a coincidence."

He sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. What a fucking mess.

"The only real questions remaining are how Shadow Stalker actually died and whether or not Taylor Hebert knew her secret identity before she died."

Because the answers to those could change the entire situation.

"She didn't," Dragon informed him.

Colin looked back over to her. "You're sure?"

"I analyzed the stress patterns in her voice, using the recap of her initial statement at the scene as a baseline. She was calm, open, and honest up until Winslow was mentioned and she made the connection between Sophia Hess and Shadow Stalker. After that, she became…well, very angry."

He grunted. "I noticed."

He took in a slow breath through his nose, stilled the whirl and hum of his thoughts, and looked back down at the pictures, both of Shadow Stalker's body and the comparison photos of Taylor Hebert and Apocrypha.

Like that, he reviewed all of the information in his head, all of the clues and the hints, all of the things ruled out and left hanging, including the conclusions he and Dragon had come to, regardless of whether the facts completely supported them or not. The picture they were painting was an ugly thing, an unholy combination of an unpunished injustice, a tragic death, and a series of errors and oversights more befitting one of Shakespeare's infamous plays than real life.

None of it was certain. There were caveats and loose threads that might unravel the whole thing, but he was confident enough in where everything pointed to say that what he thought had happened was the truth.

There was only one thing left for him to do, now. An unenviable job that fell to him.

He straightened.

"Dragon."

"Yes, Colin?"

"I want to hear that whole conversation, all of it."

"Of course, Colin."

"In the meantime, I need you to send all we have, including those photos, to Director Piggot and let her know I'm on my way up. If Miss Militia's in the building, I need her to be there, too."

"I'll get right on it."

A moment later, her face disappeared from the monitor and Detective Chase's voice started to play from the speakers; Colin pulled on his helmet and began attaching the ablative armor pieces to the protective undersuit he always wore, so that he could be ready in minutes rather than spending half an hour getting into his armor, listening all the while.

"It is Tuesday, April twelfth, and it is…Nine-oh-five AM. I am Detective Harvey Chase, conducting the interview of Mister Daniel Hebert and Miss Taylor Hebert regarding the Shadow Stalker homicide…"

— o.0.O.O.0.o —

By the time Colin — no, Armsmaster, now — reached the Director's office, he had finished listening to the Heberts' recorded witness statement and solidified the conclusion that Taylor Hebert had indeed not known Shadow Stalker was Sophia Hess beforehand. It lent credence to the theory that Shadow Stalker's death had been a result of her pursuing her own grudge, rather than Taylor Hebert's intent, and it left very few possibilities for what had actually happened.

Either way, the Director wouldn't be pleased.

Armsmaster knocked on the door.

"Enter!"

The automatic lock on the door beeped, then the door itself whooshed open, and Armsmaster stepped into the Director's office; the door shut behind him. He glanced around, and found that aside from Director Piggot, seated at her desk, Miss Militia was already there and in one of the other chairs.

Armsmaster gave them both polite nods. "Director Piggot, Miss Militia."

"Armsmaster," both greeted.

"So," said Director Piggot, folding her hands as she leaned forward, "I understand you have something for me, regarding the Shadow Stalker case?"

"Plenty," said Armsmaster. "I won't have a more definitive murder weapon until the medical examiner reports his findings and sends any shards or shavings from the wound to my lab for analysis, but I'm fairly confident in the conclusions I've reached so far."

Director Piggot raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Let's hear it, then."

"Yes." Armsmaster nodded. "Have you seen the photos from the crime scene?"

"I have."

"Then you've seen the wound."

"I have, yes."

"Based upon the nature of the wound itself, in addition to the size and severity of it, I concluded that it must have been caused by a bladed weapon," Armsmaster explained. "Of the known parahuman criminals —"

"Wait," the Director interrupted. "Are you certain it was even a parahuman at all?"

Armsmaster, lips thinning at the interruption, nodded. "There is a distinct lack of evidence to indicate the possibility that Shadow Stalker was killed by an ordinary human with a sword. Among other things, there is no sign of the presence of such an individual and no organization, particularly the ABB, who are known to carry katana, has taken credit for her death."

Piggot frowned but gave him a nod. "Go on, then."

"Of the known parahuman criminal in Brockton Bay, those who are known to wield a physical blade include Oni Lee, Cricket, Hookwolf, Kaiser, and Fenja."

"Most of those are part of the Empire," Piggot noted sourly. "Are you thinking this was a hate crime?"

Armsmaster pursed his lips. "No. Of those five, Oni Lee and Cricket can be discounted based upon the size of their weapons — neither Oni Lee's knives nor Cricket's kama are large enough to bisect a human being in one swing, as Shadow Stalker was. Of the remaining three, Hookwolf may be discounted based upon the lack of other wounds, and Fenja may be discounted based upon the wound's size."

"Leaving Kaiser. You don't think Kaiser himself killed her, do you?"

The doubt in her voice indicated that she didn't believe it, either.

"No," said Armsmaster. "In fact, this discounts most of the others, as well: the area around the body was pristine. There was no evidence of collateral damage caused by the use of powers. There were no marks indicating the presence of a transformed Hookwolf, no material left behind from one of Kasier's blades, no gouges from Fenja's missed strikes, nothing that indicated the presence of any of these capes in the vicinity."

"An unknown, then?" Miss Militia suggested. "Someone from out of the city?"

"Possible, but unlikely," Armsmaster acknowledged. "There are no known parahumans from outside the city within one-hundred miles that wield blades long enough to have killed Shadow Stalker. It's possible that it was a recent trigger that has not yet appeared on our radar, but unlikely that such a parahuman would have a strong enough grudge to come after a Ward."

He took in a breath. "From there, I considered the possibility that it might have been an opening move by Jack Slash —"

Both Director Piggot and Miss Militia went rigid. "The Slaughterhouse Nine?"

"However," Armsmaster stressed the word, "their last known location was Wisconsin, two weeks ago, with a projected destination in Nevada. I ruled it out as unlikely."

After they had a moment to relax, Piggot turned a frown on him. "That doesn't sound like something, Armsmaster," she told him sourly. "In fact, that sounds like a whole lot of nothing."

"It lends credence to my theory," he countered stoically. "Director, have you had a chance to listen to Taylor Hebert's witness statement?"

Director Piggot grimaced, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath through her nostrils. "Yes," she said gravely.

"Then you are aware —"

"I'm aware," Director Piggot barked. "I'm well aware, now, of what Shadow Stalker has apparently been getting up to in her off time. In fact, if I had heard of this when she was still alive, she would be sitting in front of me right now trying to tell me why I shouldn't have her ass thrown into juvenile detention. I'm well aware that somebody in our employ has been screwing up so badly that Hess seems to have gotten away with a crime while we were supposed to be keeping a close eye on her. How is this relevant?"

Armsmaster's lips twisted.

"The conclusion Dragon and I came to was that Shadow Stalker may have been attempting to assault Taylor Hebert last night, following the confrontation yesterday that she mentioned in her statement. The presence of chloroform and broadhead bolts among Shadow Stalker's possessions indicates that her intentions were likely violent."

Piggot said nothing for a moment, eyes narrowing as she brought her hands up to her mouth. It was, instead, Miss Militia who spoke.

"Colin," she said, "Shadow Stalker might not have been a model hero, but she was a hero. Do you really think she would do such a thing?"

"The testimony Taylor Hebert gave indicates a pattern of violence and aggression," Armsmaster countered. "Admittedly, there is a lack of corroborating evidence, given that there were no incident reports filed by the school, but —"

"So you want to base all of this on the word of a single teenage girl?" asked Piggot. "A girl who apparently has reason to dislike Sophia Hess, and therefore every reason to malign her? The incident with the locker will be easy enough to verify, but without either corroborating evidence or similar testimony from other Winslow students, you want to take Hebert at her word?"

"Director," came Dragon's voice; the screen on the far wall, normally dedicated to conference calls with other directors, came to life, "I can verify Miss Hebert's testimony. I ran a stress pattern analysis on her voice seven times, just to be sure. Almost everything she says during her witness statement is the truth, at least as she believes it."

Director Piggot's eyes sharpened. "Almost?" she asked suspiciously.

Dragon's face, or at least the rendered image of her face, had the grace to appear chagrined. Armsmaster himself chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek and wondered why she'd even bothered to include that functionality.

"Well…"

"Dragon," growled the Director.

"There was some uncertainty regarding exactly how much she knew about Shadow Stalker's demise," Dragon admitted reluctantly. "The stress patterns are harder to judge as a result of her emotional distress after learning of Shadow Stalker's identity, so the degree of truthfulness is harder to measure."

An admirable attempt at damage control, he had to think. Unfortunately, however, Dragon's obfuscation proved to be useless.

"I want her back here immediately," Director Piggot snarled, face beginning to redden. "Arrest her, if you have to, charge her with Obstruction of Justice, whatever, I want her back here so she can —"

"If you follow through with that, you'll alienate her for good!" Armsmaster warned loudly.

Director Piggot rounded on him. "And why," she asked dangerously, "should I be at all concerned about the feelings of a teenage girl who is standing in the way of our investigation into the death of one of our Wards?"

"Several reasons," Armsmaster replied, calm in the face of the storm as he planned out exactly how he was going to word this. "One of them is that it's unnecessary; I already have a theory regarding the manner of Shadow Stalker's death. Primarily, however…Director, you should have received an email around the time I asked Dragon to inform you of my intention to meet you here. If you haven't opened it, yet, do so now."

The Director did not look happy, and belatedly, Armsmaster realized that it may have been the way he worded his request as more like an order, but she did turn to her computer, set her hand on the mouse, and a few moments later, gaze intently at the screen, at what Armsmaster knew to be the annotated pictures of Apocrypha and Taylor Hebert, juxtaposed for comparison.

"Armsmaster," she said gravely, not looking away, "is this…?"

"We fucked up."

Miss Militia turned to him. "Colin?"

"Shadow Stalker may have single-handedly cost us any goodwill that Miss Militia and I managed to foster with the most powerful parahuman in Brockton Bay."

Miss Militia straightened, eyes widening. "You don't mean…Taylor Hebert is…"

"And as the people who were supposed to be responsible for her and watching to make sure she toed the line," Armsmaster continued, "we may have handed her the rope she used to hang us all with."

Piggot turned away from the computer to look at him. "Walk me through this one, Armsmaster."

Armsmaster inclined his head. "Taylor Hebert's testimony included several details that warranted investigation. Even coming from a teenage girl, her allegations of attempted murder were serious enough that Dragon and I looked into the incident in question."

An eyebrow was raised. "And?"

"The incident in question occurred January third, the first day back from the winter holiday," said Armsmaster. "Testimony given following the incident indicates that Taylor Hebert was pushed into her locker, which contained, as she said, used and rotted feminine hygiene products, then locked inside for a period of about three hours. She was found, catatonic and unresponsive, by a janitor who claimed to have received a complaint about the smell."

"Lord have mercy," Miss Militia murmured.

Piggot's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like —"

"A Trigger Event, yes," Armsmaster agreed. "That was the conclusion Dragon and I came to, as well. According to testimony Miss Hebert gave to investigators, she believed Sophia Hess to be the one to have shoved her into the locker. However, the police report lists lack of evidence and no corroborating statements from classmates as the reason why no suspects were named and no arrests made. Financial records show that Winslow paid Miss Hebert's hospital bill."

Piggot's lips thinned. Armsmaster didn't have to imagine why; not only was the entire incident horrid, but they had not heard about it. At the very least, there should have been a notification sent by the school explaining that Sophia Hess was a person of interest in a criminal investigation, especially because she was under probation.

"From there, Dragon went through their records on a hunch," he said. He turned to the monitor as though passing the conversation over to her.

"Prior to and following the incident in January, there are no other reports filed by the school regarding any hostile interactions between Sophia Hess and Taylor Hebert," Dragon chimed in. "However, there were some discrepancies I noted in their grades. Prior to Winslow and for the first three or so months of her freshman year, Sophia Hess maintained a B average grade, if only barely. Over the same timeframe, Taylor Hebert maintained a high A, such that she was offered the opportunity to skip a grade, but declined.

"Starting about seventeen months ago, shortly after Miss Hebert complained to the school that she was being bullied," Dragon went on, "Miss Hebert's grades started to decline on account of missed assignments and Miss Hess's grades began to improve. Comparing the dates, the classes, and the assignments missed, I noticed a correlation between them: whenever Miss Hess turned in an assignment that earned her a high grade, Miss Hebert turned in no assignment at all, and always for a class they shared. For some of these assignments, Miss Hebert claimed hers had gone missing either from her locker or directly from her bag."

"And you're sure Miss Hebert wasn't simply missing her assignments?" Piggot asked. "That she wasn't just falling behind?"

"It's possible, but doesn't fit the data," Dragon said. "Aside from her missed assignments, Miss Hebert consistently managed to perform well on written exams and in-class work. Furthermore, about a month after this pattern began, Miss Hebert started to rack up absences — but only in the afternoons. Her attendance records show that some days, she would show up in the morning, attend her first two classes, then leave during or shortly after lunch. Interestingly, the only classes Miss Hebert shares with Sophia Hess all occur in the afternoon. Security camera footage from the only working camera at the entrance shows Miss Hebert leaving Winslow around noon last Friday, dripping wet."

Piggot's expression was thunderous.

"So," she began, "let me see if I understand what you're telling me, here. For over a year, Shadow Stalker, in her civilian identity as Sophia Hess, has apparently spent her free time during school stealing assignments — with her powers, if I understood your implication correctly — and performing mean-spirited pranks on an apparently unrelated teenage peer, in the process sabotaging the education of what was apparently an honors student?"

"Yes, Director."

"Of course, it doesn't end there, does it? After a year of this…let's call it a campaign, because this isn't just a habit. After a year of this campaign and only a month or two after joining our Wards program, she allegedly participated in a prank so vile and so cruel that you're fairly sure it was Miss Hebert's Trigger Event. And yet, despite our request to Winslow's administration to report any incidents to us and despite the fact that Hess was a person of interest, if not an outright suspect, in a criminal investigation, this is the first we're hearing about it?"

"That's correct," Armsmaster replied.

Piggot looked very much like she wanted to start yelling, but with the discipline that probably came from her time as a trooper, she reined herself in.

"I see." Her voice was steady and even, but anything but calm. "And this…confrontation Hebert mentions occurred yesterday, you're of the opinion that it's the catalyst for Shadow Stalker appearing on their front lawn?"

"I am," answered Armsmaster. "Given the pattern of animosity, the presence of chloroform and broadhead bolts on Shadow Stalker's person, her personality profile, and the confrontation yesterday as the catalyst, I am of the opinion that Shadow Stalker intended to perform some manner of violence on Taylor Hebert, last night."

The Director opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Dragon spoke up. "Director Piggot. Analysis of Shadow Stalker's phone records just came back. Yesterday afternoon, shortly after the school day ended for Winslow, she used her phone to search for the phone number and personal address first of Hebert, Taylor, then Hebert, Daniel. Several hours later, she entered that address as a destination location in her phone's GPS system."

Director Piggot's lips formed into a grim line. "Well," she said. "It seems that part has been cleared up, at least. Perhaps now you'd like to explain what this has to do with Apocrypha?"

"Her powers, Director," Armsmaster answered.

"What?"

"Her powers," echoed Miss Militia. She was looking at Armsmaster when he turned to her. "Apocrypha told us when we went to capture Lung that her powers worked by borrowing the equipment, skills, and abilities of figures from legend and mythology. The name she by which she described the powerset she used to defeat Lung was 'Siegfried,' from the Richard Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen, who slew the dragon Fafnir."

Piggot reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. "If you could get more to the point…"

"Mythology is rife with magic, Director," Miss Militia explained before Armsmaster could even open his mouth. "If Apocrypha's powers let her use wizards and witches like Circe and Merlin, then I think it would be entirely possible that a powerset like that might be interpreted as a kind of…lingering Shaker effect, perhaps similar in scale to Labyrinth, from Faultline's crew. Right, Armsmaster?"

Armsmaster frowned, but nodded. "That's correct. In that case, it's not beyond the realm of possibility that she may have layered a series of defenses on or outside her home. Shadow Stalker simply ran afoul of them on her way in to pay Miss Hebert back for the confrontation earlier in the day."

"I see," said Director Piggot. "And I suppose that you would have me believe that there was some…system in place that prevented these defenses from activating whenever anyone else tried to come in?"

"It may be some kind of intent-based measurement system," Armsmaster reasoned. "Perhaps reading aggression response in hormone levels, or maybe some kind of IFF, or even a combination thereof."

"In other words," Piggot replied, "our understanding of powers and how they work is such that even our best guess is only our best guess, and there's no way to say for sure outside of asking the girl directly."

She sighed, and for a moment, she was silent; then, she looked Armsmaster directly in the eye through his visor. "We'll do the official paperwork later. For now, give me your best estimate of what kind of threat we're facing if she decides to hold us accountable for Hess's fuckups."

Armsmaster made to respond, but once again, Miss Militia beat him to it.

"Mid to high level Trump," she rattled off. "Trump four, maybe as high as seven or eight. Subsets of Brute and Mover, maybe Shaker or Blaster. High ratings across the board, likely immune to small arms fire. It'll depend upon what hero she uses, but if we have to face her, it'd be a good idea to have any response team be well versed in prominent mythological figures. Ideally, if we absolutely had to fight, we'd neutralize her before she could use her power."

Piggot frowned, a sour, distinctly unhappy expression that looked like she'd just swallowed a particularly large lemon. It wasn't hard to read her thoughts off of her face, even for someone that sometimes struggled with social cues: she'd just been told that she had a live nuclear warhead in her city, and it might be aimed directly at her office.

"You're a little too generous," said Armsmaster. "She's a Trump, for certain, and certainly, she can access a powerset that includes a high Brute rating, if she can go toe to toe with Lung. However, even if her powersets are versatile and varied enough to include 'wizards' that provide a Shaker ability, Apocrypha herself admitted that she doesn't quite yet have a handle on her own limitations. Unless and until she exhibits the breadth and depth that she has implied she can, we shouldn't rate her higher than we can prove she can reach. Trump four, Brute six or seven, Shaker 3, with perhaps a two in all the other classifications, just to account for the possibility of her other powersets."

For an instant, he hesitated.

"I also noted a slight distortion around her base form," Armsmaster added, swallowing the faint stirrings of guilt. "She may have a secondary Breaker power as a form of personal shield, similar to Glory Girl. Given that she opted not to fight Lung with it, it may not be very strong."

Even that, however, did not seem to make the Director any happier. In fact, from the face she made, it seemed like she might have thought he was just splitting hairs.

"In other words," Piggot summed it up, "if we can't hit her hard enough to take her down before the fight begins, we might as well not even fight at all."

Dragon, however, seemed to have had enough. "With all due respect, Director, I think that treating Miss Hebert as an enemy is a grave mistake. Seeking a confrontation with her, physical or otherwise, should be the last option we explore, not the first."

The Director turned to Dragon's monitor, one eyebrow rising.

"You think we should bend over for her and ignore the fact that Shadow Stalker, for however much of a pain she was and for whatever she may have done, is dead apparently because of her?"

"No," said Dragon. "I think we should consider it what it was and rule Shadow Stalker's death an act of self-defense. I also think that we would be remiss not to acknowledge the mistakes made that led to this event in the first place and offer our apologies to Miss Hebert that things got so out of hand."

"Our apologies, you mean, since you're not an official member of the Protectorate. It's easy to say something like that when you, personally, don't wind up with egg on your face."

Armsmaster bit his tongue to stop from saying something he might regret. It wasn't that he didn't understand the importance of good PR and keeping the image of a strong, competent PRT and Protectorate, he just didn't like it when it stopped them from doing the right thing, and especially not when it alienated people who could do a lot of good.

"As you say, Director," Dragon agreed. "However, it doesn't change my position. If you circle the wagons and attempt to fight her, you'll only create your own worst enemy. If you try to use this event as blackmail to force her into the Wards, you'll destroy any remaining trust and goodwill you have with her. If you want at all to end this in a manner that doesn't result in the most powerful parahuman in the Bay as a villain, then the only option available to you is to repair these burned bridges with whatever means you have available."

Emboldened, Armsmaster took a step forward. "Director," he said, "I agree with Dragon."

Director Piggot turned now to regard him with something akin to surprise on her face.

"You do?"

"I was the one to first encounter her," he told her passionately. "I had a chance to see both the legendary hero and the insecure, teenage girl trying to live up to something that was so immensely beyond herself. I had a chance to see a girl almost half my age stutter and swoon, who had just minutes before beaten the most dangerous criminal cape in the Bay on her first night out, all because she couldn't bear the thought of letting him go and kill children."

It didn't feel like enough. It didn't feel like he had convinced her, either of Apocrypha's heroism or of the connection between Apocrypha and Taylor Hebert that he felt was obvious. He could still see some skepticism, a look on her face that said she was humoring him but that he hadn't won her over. If he just had something that could show her, something more persuasive…

It was all circumstantial evidence, of course, as it always was. The PRT wasn't in the business of proving secret identities, but they gathered and maintained all the information they could about the heroes and villains and who they were behind the mask, just in case. Even if what they could find didn't prove beyond a doubt that this cape was this person in civilian life, it was often useful in keeping track of who was probably who and what they did outside the mask.

Taylor Hebert and Apocrypha were the same. Armsmaster had nothing rock solid, but he had enough tidbits and pieces that he was sure that they were the same person, that the girl who had been seething in one of their conference rooms was the same as the young heroine he had met just a couple nights ago —

Seized by a sudden idea, he turned to the monitor on the wall and said, "Dragon, I need the footage from my helmet cam from two nights ago, starting with the moment I came upon the scene."

Dragon's face disappeared.

"I understand that this is a lot to take on faith, Director," said Armsmaster. "Even in our line of work, circumstantial evidence is difficult to base your decisions on. However, watch this footage, listen to her, and tell me that Taylor Hebert isn't Apocrypha. Tell me that she's not a damaged girl, trying to prove herself better than her darkest moment."

A moment later, the screen flickered back to life and he was watching himself dismount his bike and aim his halberd at a tall, athletic woman with silvery hair who had turned to look at him.

"You gonna fight me?" his past self asked gruffly.

A trace of a smile flitted across the woman's lips and she said, "It wouldn't even be an actual fight."

Director Piggot snorted, but didn't interrupt.

Barely had the words left the woman's lips than did her face twist in surprised horror, and in between one frame and the next, she had shrunk several inches and a slightly less tall and marginally less athletic teenage girl stood in her place.

"Oh my god," the girl said. "I'm sorry, that wasn't even me — Siegfried was the one who — it just kind of slipped out before I could — I didn't even — oh…"

Armsmaster watched her swoon and his past self catch her, and he remained silent as the rest of the encounter played out. Seeing it now, from an outside perspective, it was even easier to catch the cues she gave off, some of which he'd noticed the first time and some of which he hadn't.

It only reinforced the impression he'd formed of her that night. Shy, nervous, a little starstruck, but proud of what she had accomplished and, yes, even horrified by the damage she and Lung had inflicted upon the street. Painfully new and inexperienced, but learning quickly. She would make a good hero, if only she had the chance.

When it was over and Dragon's face had replaced the footage on screen, the room was silent. Director Piggot remained, staring straight at the wall, with a thoughtful and contemplative look on her face.

"You had her," she said at last. "If you'd managed to bring her back here with you, it would've all been over but the signing. Hess might still have been an issue, but one that we could handle in-house, rather than in death."

Armsmaster shifted a little. He glanced to the silent Miss Militia, who was looking intently at the Director, as though waiting for her orders. Or maybe she was waiting until her opinion was needed again and observing the flow of things in the meantime — Armsmaster had always had more trouble reading her than any of his other colleagues.

"Director?"

Finally, Piggot turned back around and lifted up her eyes to stare into his helmet. The set of her brow told him she'd come to a decision.

"So," she began, voice strong, "we need to mend this bridge and find out how to recapture some of that awe and goodwill. I need a game plan, and I need it yesterday."

Armsmaster didn't hesitate. He straightened, already working through ideas on how to do just that, and replied, "Of course, Director Piggot."

Colin had never lost a Ward before, and that was a tragedy, but perhaps, amidst this terrible mess, her death had given them the chance to prevent another one.

— o.0.O.O.0.o —