34

Chapter Text

"You hideous evil beast! You have DESTROYED me!!"

Regional Director Tagg winced and bit back a groan at Glenn Chambers' falsetto screeching. The P.R. director was a teeth-grating irritant to deal with at the best of times; from his hair gelled up into a faux mohawk to his sloppy mismatched clothes (were those plaid golfing pants??), his entire persona was a facade made to show how far he was above normal social conventions. Just looking at the man was an irritant; when he was going into hysterics he was intolerable. Not to mention his effeminate voice rapidly reached ear-piercing decibels. It was mercifully drowned out partially by the prevailign winds--- seeing as it was delivered by the fat little man as he straddled the windowsill preparatory to jumping. 

Director James Tagg of the East Northeast PRT did not have time for this. He had called a joint meeting of the Protectorate and the PRT out on the Rig to fully brief everyone on the strategies he had set in motion for dealing with the Cape situation in Brockton Bay. At which point Glenn Chambers, the Head of P.R. for the entire PRT, stormed in and began threatening to fling himself out the window.(Why was there a damned sliding window in here in the first place? Oh, right, flying capes.) 

He had to admit, as far as ultimatums went, it was even more melodramatic than Miss Militia's bursting in and snarling that he had "Started World War Three, with Brockton Bay as ground Zero."Granted, Chambers' histrionics were being delivered while Chambers had one foot out the window...

 It was muted by the lack of sincere alarm from most of those present (Tagg could hear at least two of the Ward chanting "jump, jump, jump" under their breath.) "A WAR?" Glenn squealed, his eyes bugging behind his square-rimmed glasses. "You had the PRT declare WAR on the single most beloved group of indie Capes since the Triumvirate formed? The team that defeated the Teeth, the Slaughterhouse Nine, the ABB and the Merchants, and who materially contributed to the defeat of an ENDBRINGER? And you violated the Unwritten Rules to do it? AND YOU WANT ME TO PUT A POSITIVE SPIN ON IT??"

"Yes," James Tagg said, his face stony.

"I'm in HELL!" Glenn sobbed hysterically. He began heaving himself back and forth, trying to scoot his behind further out the window. His efforts were aborted when Armsmaster got to his feet, grabbed him by the belt with one armored hand, and dragged him, still protesting, back inside. Glenn fell blubbering to the floor.

"Needless to say, we all would have appreciated being informed BEFORE you precipitated this course of action," the armored hero said grimly, as he firmly set the weeping PR head down in a nearby chair. 

"For that you have my regrets if not my apologies," Tagg said, lips in a thin line. "But the PRT had to take action quickly and unilaterally, before other actors could intervene."

Clockblocker, down at the 'kiddy' end of the table with the other Wards, slowly raised a hand. "That would be big-boy talk for 'we had to catch them by surprise,' wouldn't it?" he asked. It had to be handed to him; the blank, featureless bubble of his helmet's visor, with its sweeping watch hands, made for a perfect deadpan delivery.

"Very observant," Tagg said, eyeballing the Ward briefly. 

Armsmaster glowered. "All the same, we all woke up this morning, discovered that all patrols and orders for the day were cancelled and that we were summoned here on your orders for this meeting... only to discover after we arrived that the PRT has gone on a spree, issuing injunctions, detaining civilians, outright arresting several public figures--"

"Or attempting to and failing miserably--" Assault snarked.

"Rolling out en masse with orders, warrants, all across the city simultaneously, literally from the crack of dawn." The armored Tinkerer's lips pursed. "It's obvious even to a child that you had this action pre-packaged before you even arrived in Brockton Bay. It is also obvious to any child that you are specifically, if not exclusively, targeting the members of the rogue hero team the Alliance. While we have been sitting here, waiting for your arrival, I have received via radio reports of agitation and unrest, protests bordering on riots springing up, and allegedly one prominent political figure in the city being SHOT!

"Speaking as the leader of the local branch of the Protectorate, I respectfully request that you explain what the hell you think you're doing."

By way of answer, Tagg pulled a box out from under the table. It was one of the cases used by the PRT to transport and store samples of Tinkertech; the torn red tape and "authorized access only" labels indicated it had been opened previously. He reached inside and pulled out what looked like a thin, adjustable metal headband with a small plastic box attached to one side. "Identify this for us, Armsmaster," he said.

Armsmaster picked the device up; with a flick of an armored finger the plastic casing popped open, revealing a tiny, very compact bundle of wires and oddly jewel-like circuitry. "It's one of the Master-Stranger Influence Inhibitors distributed at the last Endbringer attack," he said. "The so-called 'Ziz-blockers.' I have come up with more streamlined versions than this; they are being incorporated into regular Protectorate and PRT gear."

"Not anymore," Tagg said tersely. "Not in the ENE. I put out the order to halt that immediately. And any and all versions of this Tinkertech now in use is to be removed and turned in for confiscation immediately." There was an immediate uproar from all those assembled; there wasn't a hero present who hadn't incorporated the lifesaving devices into their own gear, and more than a few PRT. Tagg could feel his temper rising at the obstinance, even if he understood it; The Simurgh was a nightmare of nightmares, and nobody was going to give up their lone security blanket easily. When the roar of disapproval died down, he looked around the table. "Aren't you going to evcen ask why?" he said with the air of a disappointed and displeased father. "Or better yet; where I got this from?"

That made everyone pause and stare. "What does one have to do with the other?" Triumph said, puzzled. He obviously wasn't the only one, but some of them were already getting suspicions. Tagg could see it in their eyes. Good. They weren't all slow on the uptake.

Wordlessly Tagg pulled out a remote and pressed a button. A widescreen monitor dropped smoothly down in place at the end of the table. It lit up and faintly wobbly video began to play; an outdoor gathering of some sort of, to put it politely, the severely blue-collar set, going by the number of scuffed blue jeans, wifebeaters and open cans of cheap beer to be seen among the partygoers. "This is video from inside the major Fallen compound in Alabama."

Everyone at the table stiffened. The Fallen were a cult of inbred clans who worshipped the Endbringers. They had grown with terrifying speed over the years since the Endbringers' appearance, preaching a mad dog's dinner of doomsday theology slathered with Catholic symbolism and racial-slash-parahuman supremacy--- that the Endbringers were the angels of God, or the agents of God, or even God/gods themselves, who would destroy/remake the world and purge it of all but the "worthy"-- the worthy being anyone with Clan bloodlines, and especially those with powers. THey had engaged in a campaign of cult recruiting, kidnapping, brainwashing, slavery and forced breeding for over two decades, and noone dared touch them for fear of the small but steadily growing number of terrifyingly powerful Capes among their inbred number.

"FBI agents obtained this footage via internet... the cameraman was a member of the Fallen... one of their "breeding stock," recruited into the cult, then when she passed through one of their "trials of the faithful" and triggered, made a sex slave and Mastered a dozen ways to Sunday. 

"The following was livestreamed directly to the PRT, through the Fallen's own Wi-Fi network." he glanced around. "Don't look so surprised," he said humorlessly."Can't get the Good Word of the Fallen out to the world without some modern technical amenities, now can they?" his voice suddenly grew more sober, almost respectful. "This recording constitutes her last will and testament, so pay attention."

He pressed another button on the remote. The video resumed, the audio rose in volume. A young woman-- presumably the one wearing the camera--- could be heard speaking low under her breath. Her voice shook with terror and weariness, the voice of a girl long pushed beyond the edge. "...so sorry Momma, you were right all along and I was a fool," she babbled on. "Monsters, the lot of them... I'm sending this out because I want everyone to know. I want the world to KNOW she's DEAD." The last word was a sibilant hiss. "They HAVE to know she's dead, or they'll just find another witch to prop up in her place---" the girl stopped briefly, then continued. "Momma, Papa, I'm sorry, I love you hand I hope this makes up for it--"

The crowd thickened, parted. Directly ahead was a thin, haggard woman dressed in white with long, silvery white hair. Flanking her were two young men, a blonde haired effeminate man dressed in a feathered costume and a scowling, muscular one wearing a leonine mask and a vest styled to look like a mane.

 A chill went through the room; noone could fail to recognize Mama Mathers, the leader of the Fallen and the matriarch of their largest clan. The woman was a living horror with a seemingly limitless Master power: she could sense the mind of, and inflict sensory hallucinations on, anyone who had perceived her in any way. If you had seen her, she could make you see visions of her. If you heard her, she could make you hear her voice. If you touched her, she could make you feel phantom sensations. She could inflict unfathomable pain on anyone who resisted her... and her power seemed to have no range limit.

The men flanking her were Valefor and Lionheart, two of her sons and her two most powerful lieutentants. They were masters like her; one could gain hypnotic control of you when your eyes met his, and the other could enslave you by "branding" you with his fire powers.

"Mama Mathers!" the girl could be heard calling.

The older-looking woman's head snapped up in seeming surprise, she scowled in confusion at the camera wielder. "Dear Child," she said, "why can't I see you--"

A pistol snapped up. There was a crack of gunfire and the white haired woman's head split open in a shower of blood. Screams broke out; Lionheart shouted in rage and dismay, lunging to catch his mother's corpse. Valefor raised his hand as if to issue a benediction. "STOP!" he shouted. The only response he got was the double-crack of two more shots, these apparently went into each of his eyes and exploded out of the back of his head. Lionheart went down next, a bullet in the mouth and throat.

The video clicked to a stop as the crowd exploded into screams and panic. "Needless to say the young woman did not survive long after," Tagg said, his heavy brows furrowed together. 

"How...?" someone said in disbelief. How had a lone woman managed to get past the psychic defenses of three of the most powerful Masters in North America, walk up to them and simply shoot them?

Tagg grimaced and continued. "The young woman in question triggered with a power they called Enhance," he said. "She could greatly amplify the effectiveness of any mechanical or electronic device. Increase the broadcast range of a Go-Pro camera to connect to a Wi Fi station miles away... or enhance the range, accuracy, and power of a handgun to that of a scoped sniper rifle. She was sent out by the Fallen under cover, loaded down with cameras and posing as an unregistered Rogue, , to the last Endbringer fight with instructions to 'film the actions of the great Mistress Simurgh for the glory and edification of her People," et cetera."

He pointed at the Ziz-blocker. "The moment she clipped that Tinker trinket on, the Mastering effect--- all of it, all that months of conditioning and controlling by Mama Mathers and her little boys-- snapped off like a burnt out christmas light. in the throes of her returned sanity, she smuggled the Ziz-blocker out of Canberra and returned to Alabama to... share the benefits of her new insight with her loving Clan," he said, voice turning wry.

"But-- but this is great!" Clockblocker interrupted. "Isn't it? I mean, it's bad that someone died, but Mama Mathers is gone, the Fallen are done for--"

Tagg's wry look turned sour. "You really think so, young man?" he snapped. "This... assassination may have beheaded the Fallen, but the body is alive and well. The main three branches, the Mathers, the Crowleys and the McVeays were already struggling for dominance; it was only Mama Mathers that kepd them in line. Now all three branches, several thousand strong, are at each others throats, each group blaming the other for 'admitting the infidel' who whacked their high priestess mother-figure.

"For an added twist? In her last few seconds of life she used her powers to boost the range of the Ziz-blocker. Hundreds of the Fallen's faithful, brainwashed followers at that inbreeding hoedown "woke up" like a stage hypnotist had snapped fingers under their nose, and went ballistic on the rest. That entire region has turned into a warzone overnight. They're tearing up territory all over the south. The only mercy is that right now they're more focused on tearing themselves apart rather than anyone else."

Clockblocker huffed. "Still seems like a net gain," he said, with a hint of rebellion.

"Let me paint the rest of the picture for you then," Tagg barked, getting to his feet. "I have it on good authority from PRT Thinkers and Tinkers--- ones who gave those so-called 'Ziz-blockers' more than a cursory once over--" (Armsmaster stiffened at the implied insult to his own meticulousness but said nothing) "and they've confirmed that they not only can be used to block and break Master/Stranger effects, but with a little adjustment they can be used to amplify them."

THe room seemed to fill with arctic air, it got so chill. "That's right," Tagg said, walking around the table to stand by the monitor. "Amplify. Strengthen, direct, even focus... as should have been obvious to anyone when your local heroine Glory Girl started using one that focused her emotion-controlling aura into a beam." Tagg was clearly resisting the urge to smirk as looks of comprehension dawned on faces of PRT and Protectorate alike. "Materials discipline was rather sloppy in Canberra, wasn't it. Dozens of these "Ziz-blockers" were never accounted for; lost or stolen or simply flew off back home with the Capes that were wearing them...but all to the good, right? More people out there with a way to block Master or Stranger effects. So long as you forget that they can be tweaked to amplify the wearer's own Master powers. Or turning the dial the other direction, make the wearer more susceptible to others."

The image on the screen changed to a world map, one spattered with red dots. "That little fiasco down in Alabama was just one of dozens of incidents worldwide. After Canberra literal hundreds of Capes walked off with these. They returned to their villain teams and their outlaw factions and their cults and their third-world warlords and the YangBan with Mind-Control Tinkertech tucked under their arms. 

"Thanks to the beloved Alliance of Brockton Bay, dozens of hot spots around the world have destabilized as various minions and low ranking Cape underlings suddenly got ambitious for their bosses' jobs. And nobody knows what those brainwashing slavemasters in China are up to; less than 24 hours after the Yang Ban returned to their masters with a Ziz blocker in hand, the whole country locked up more watertight than a frog's bunghole. Every country in the region expects to wake up tomorrow with a Mastered army of Chinese Capes kicking down their front door to Master them in turn." Several of the capes present blanched. Tagg suppressed the urge to smirk in triumph. The Yang Ban-- the press-ganged, brainwashed Cape enforcers of the Chinese government, and not ONLY press-ganged from the Chinese population-- was the nightmare of every parahuman on the planet. They kept their capes enslaved with a mix of brainwashing, drug "therapy" and several key Masters. The vision of that third world hellhole clapping them all in mind-control helmets and exploding collars had them paying close attention to Tagg now.

"And that's just ONE of the ticking time bombs the Alliance has let loose," he continued. "You've seen the news reports on Dragon. Well, it WAS top secret a week ago, but not anymore-- as you've seen on the News, Dragon has revealed to the world that she is an AI. An UNFETTERED AI, with everything that means."

To his eternal credit, Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Regardless of her origins, it remains standing that Dragon has demonstrated herself to be above reproach--" he said, bearded chin jutting out.

"In what comic book fantasy?" Tagg exploded. "Not five minutes after the programmed restraints on her failed, she freed a Federal prisoner, a MASTER, from imprisonment and aided in her escape--"

"Whom subsequent investigation has shown to be innocent, or at the very least illegally railroaded by the system--"

"--Claimed a chain of islands off the coast of Africa, proclaimed them a sovereign state, and is even now refusing all lawful orders and is threatening to crack open the Birdcage and free its inmates," Tagg snarled, his jowls reddening. "And it's no question whose finger was in THAT pie as she has also formed open ties with, you guessed it again, the Brockton Bay Alliance. Both its capes and its semi-legal business entities such as Azeroth Limited.

"...Which," he pressed another button on the remote, flipping the monitor through a series of product catalog pages and shipping manifests, "has been making and selling products, including unknown forms of Tinkertech, all over the continent," he said. 

"Unknown forms of Tinkertech?" Kid Win asked the Ward next to him. "What kind is--"

"The kind that makes our Thinkers keel over with migraines the moment they look at them too closely," one of the lab coats standing next to Tagg said drily. "Things ranging from innocent-seeming desk baubles to artwork to mechanical toys..."

"Two of which were given to the Mayor's niece," The man snorted. "You've all read the after-action reports on that. eight-foot-tall killer droids disguised as wind up toy robots." He shook his head. "The girl's down in Master-Stranger confinement with her parents right now, throwing a tantrum because we took away her dollies..."

"And to complete the fun and games, we've confirmed that both robots are AIs. Full, Turing-tested AIs. And according to reports the Alliance Tinker who makes them cranks them out by the dozens. And most of them are set to work making more of their own kind."

The pall over the room settled deeper. Self- replicating machines were all but a guaranteed Kill Order for any Tinker who set one loose. The city of Eagleton, Tennessee had paid the price for such 'innovation' already when one ambitious new Trigger built the Machine Army. Where a city of several thousand souls once stood was now Quarantine Zone Q3--- a city devoid of all life, composed of thousands of shape-shifting killer robots disguised as empty buildings, abandoned cars, vending machines...

"Oh come on," Triumph quite literally growled. He was seriously irritable; it was his relatives that were in Master/Stranger lockup for the price of accepting a couple of Tinker Christmas presents, and it was straining his tether to listen to Tagg's increasing paranoia. "We've all seen his tinkerbots. They're no more the next Machine Army than one of George Lucas' stage props. Why not just claim they're the next Nilbog.... OH COME ON!" he facepalmed as Tagg's expression did not change.

"Interesting choice of words," Tagg said. He gestured to another labcoat nearby, who hefted a computer tablet and looked sour.

"It seems that we have seriously underestimated one of the Capes among us," he said, looking over his wire-rimmed specs and clearly trying to look grim and serious. It didn't work; his balding head and pudgy cheeks made him look more like a scholatically themed Mr Potato Head. "Panacea, it seems, has been sandbagging. She's not merely a healer, but a biotinker and biokinetic. Possibly the most powerful of either in the world. She's been creating entirely new forms of plant and animal and.... other.... life at a prodigious rate. Most of them just for use in a show garden, God help us!"

"Wait wait wait," Vista protested. "She had those cleared by the PRT!"

"As well I know," Miss Militia chipped in. "I was the one standing there for hours on end with a lit and fueled flamethrower while you and your men examined her creations. You certified them as non reproducing--- no seeds, no spores...."

Professor Potato Head sniffed and rolled his eyes over his glasses at her. "Well we got word from on high to take a second, closer look. They are non-reproducing. Technically." he pointed to the monitor; Tagg obligingly clicked and the view switched to that of a room full of hydroponics with dozens of small growing plants. "Except they can be grown from almost any cutting, almost more easily than you could grow regular plants from a seed..."

"Could they actually grow in the wild?" Battery asked, disbelieving.

"In the wild? They could take root in a puddle on the hood of a Dodge," the researcher said. 

The man was exaggerating for effect, and Tagg knew it. The cuttings of Panacea's experimental plants certainly could grow 'in the wild, on the hood of a Dodge...' if said hood was put under grow lamps and covered in hydroponic gel. He wasn't above exploiting that exaggeration, however. He slapped the monitor remote down on the table for drama and planted his knuckles on either side of it. "It comes down to this; , this Skinwalker and his team of Rogue Capes have triggered dozens of uncontrolled, chaos-producing events, any ONE of which would be a potential S-class threat or worse.... and as to accident or deliberate, I hold by the old-fashioned military doctrine that 'once is circumstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is enemy action.'

"They've engaged in illegal trade, set off multiple international incidents, made terroristic threats against the Triumvirate--"

"what--??"

"--and thanks to the evidence we squeezed out of Thomas Calvert AKA Coil, we know they have connections to villains ranging from Uber and Leet clear up to Heartbreaker! Now this is our orders and they come from on high and we are talking the WHITE HOUSE, this Skinwalker and his Alliance are loose cannons of the worst sort--- and because they're in our back yard, MY back yard, we are to round them and all their associates and collaborators by any means necessary. 

"All Tinkertech provided by the Alliance is to be collected and turned in for confiscation and lockup--- I DON'T CARE how useful it is!" He bellowed, interrupting the hue and cry that started to rise from the Tinkertech equipped heroes. " I want it locked up as HAZARDOUS ORDINANCE, and every person in possession of it put through Master/Stranger protocols. and I want those Renfaire furry cosplaying idiots neutered and muzzled and on our leash or BIRDCAGED by the end of this Quarter, AM I CLEAR?"

His voice rang off the walls. "As crystal," Armsmaster said into the silence, tight lipped.

"And you," he said, pointing to a sweating, pasty Glenn Chambers, "I want to make it look good. I want every English-speaking person on this HEMISPHERE to know that the Alliance was using its fake heroics to conspire against the Protectorate, the PRT, the United States and the free countries of the world. I want them to speak the names of Skinwalker, Hemlokk, and the rest in the same breath they spit at the name of Kaiser and Skidmark. Got it?" Glumly, Glenn Chambers nodded.

Tagg sat down and leaned back, pleased. He had been a career military man of the old school his whole life; he despised what capes had done to the armed forces and to society at large, rendering men of authority and action like himself to desk-chair warriors, objects of ridicule. When Thomas Calvert had spilled his guts, it had been a gold mine; when word had come down from no less than Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown herself confirming all his worst suspicions about the so-called band of rogue heroes, it had been the motherlode.

 It was perfect. The Merchants were gone, the ABB and the E88 reduced to shells of themselves, the Teeth and the Slaughterhouse 9 were dust and ash. There was nothing standing in the way of him making a clean sweep of the board and riding a career-making victory over the Alliance and the cape conspiracy... all the way to Costa-Brown's own seat, if he played it right.

 "Good," he said. "Dismissed."