interlude

Well, certainly. Everything said in this office is entirely between us; there aren't even security cameras inside.'

Something that spoke more of her confidence in self-defence than of a dedication to confidentiality, you supposed, but a concession you were grateful for.

Nodding, you sighed a rattling sound, as though trying to warn yourself off, before reaching you hands up and unclasping your helmet. There was a subtle click and a brief wooshing sound, as though the thing were depressurising, before you were able to lift it off and place it down on Carol's desk.

'My name is Taylor Hebert, Mrs Dallon. Nice to meet you.'

She took a moment to evaluate you, her eyes becoming more focused until you were half sure that they were going to burn through the back of your head and punch holes into the door, before she leaned back slightly in her seat.

'Nice to meet you too, Ms Hebert. It's been a pleasure to work with you.'

And with that, the meeting resumed almost without aplomb. The ease with which Carol took the revelation into account spoke to her vast experience in the field. You supposed that your identity meant, at the end of the day, exactly as little to her as it meant much to you, and for someone who had probably heard clients admit to all manner of truly ridiculous things the revelation of something as simple as a name – and not even a particularly remarkable one – was just another morning. She seemed surprised, of course, and grateful that you would trust her with it, but she wasn't one to make a scene over it either.

Discussion went on for a short while before the move to Dad's office was proposed; contrary to your expectations, it was Carol's suggestion.

'If we would like to speak to your father before it's too late, we should probably leave now. If he has a lot of questions it would be best to have the time to answer them all.'

You couldn't argue, and you returned your helmet to its rightful place around your skull before the two of you exited the office together. Clambering into Carol's car, you once again pondered the nature of driving when you could fly; were you more to blame than the average person for the environmental effects, or was the fact that Carol would have to drive even if you didn't enough to make up for it.

You'd never done best in environmental sciences at school and though you'd kept up well enough with your homework since leaving Winslow, you never thought that you'd have a knack for it.

Carol's law office was located reasonably close to the docks despite its wealthy appearance, and so it took fewer than thirty minutes for you to arrive and to enter Dad's office. Once inside, you removed your helmet again – something you'd planned out with Dad when the idea of bringing Carol in on the secret arose.

'Mr Hebert,' she began, 'it's nice to meet you. We have rather a lot to discuss; I'm pleased that I won't be speaking to someone without any understanding of contract law, though of course, feel free to ask as many questions as you may need.'

'It's lovely to meet you as well, Mrs Dallon; please take a seat. Taylor speaks well of you and I'm grateful for how much you've done to support her.'

Much of the conversation went over your head. Dad seemed much more at home dealing with this than he had with hearing that you were a parahuman in the first place, and Carol had a commanding grasp of the material. They discussed terms back and forth, and both of them seemed impressed by the transparency of the offers. It appeared that the PRT wanted you on their good side enough that they were willing to forego some of the usual stipulations placed in contracts and offers and instead simply pitch you the proposals they thought you were most likely to accept.

The afternoon went quickly as you had things explained to you – you didn't need things explaining thrice but you would be a liar if you denied that a second pass had been required from time to time. Intelligent as you were, legal matters were as much familiarity with the jargon and the experience of the style as they were intellect and you were grateful beyond gratitude that you had such a robust level of support around you. While the descriptions of the offers seemed to be positive enough that you were sure that you wouldn't have been completely in trouble regardless of what you would have picked on your own, you were sceptical that you'd have been as confident in your decision as you were without their support.

Slowly, as discussion began to wind down, it became apparent that you had made a decision. The specific contours of that decision weren't fully finalised and Carol had assured you that even after you had presented the PRT with your conclusion things weren't over: she would be putting forward a number of your own concerns – namely, the full confidentiality of Dad's identity despite any legal paperwork that might require your own real name – and supervising the writing of those contractual segments personally. You weren't envious of the poor legal secretary who had to modify your situation with the sharpened eye of Carol Dallon on oversight.

But while you weren't envious, you did feel ready – which was an unfamiliar enough emotion that it took a moment to place.

Sunday, 13th March

The day had come and you had arrived at the PRT headquarters once again with Carol Dallon in tow. You were beginning to think that the receptionist believed you were fused at the hip, and if she hadn't seen you a handful of times without the older woman to advise you, you suspected that she might have started spreading rumours of her own on PHO.

As if there weren't enough of them already. You'd never even heard of some of the things they were suggesting, and at this point, you were too scared to ask. Had anyone even suggested that Crusader could create ghosts with alternate powers to infiltrate the PRT before, or was that simply a new form of virtual madness that someone had come up with on their own? Either way, you were worried for the health of everyone involved.

Director Piggot had been expecting you. From the urgency with which you were called to her office, you supposed that she had been expecting you sooner than you had come in; given a week, of course, but you were apparently not expected to fully use it. More fool the PRT, you supposed, if they had a problem with it – if you gave people an amount of time, they were going to use it if they knew what was best for them. Better than running in half-cocked and getting something fatally wrong.

There was something of deja vu to the situation. Again, you were sat in front of Piggot's desk while she was flanked by Dauntless and Armsmaster. Part of you wondered how you had come in so regularly and never yet seen Velocity, Assault, Battery, or Miss Militia, but then you also thought it natural that they would try to focus on the capes you had already built something of a relationship with – positive or not.

'Penumbra,' the Director began. 'It's good to see you back. I take it you and your lawyer have taken the time to look over your paperwork and come to a decision?'

You nodded.

'We have, and I believe that I've come to a decision.'

'With some room for negotiation, of course.' Carol added in her curt tones. You'd realised after spending some time with her that she didn't really speak like that all the time; putting someone else on edge at the beginning of a negotiation, however, was a vital tactic.

'Of course.' Piggot did not appear phased. 'Do you have any questions for us, before you give your choice?'

'Not particularly, Director. Anything beyond the scope of the proposals you gave us can be discussed before things are finalised.'

She looked back at you as though she expected you to continue with no input. Dauntless and Armsmaster both appeared interested in your response, though for different reasons; the eagerness on Dauntless' face contrasted well with the subtle mixture of dread and worry on the older man's.

'After having discussed the situation at length with Mrs Dallon, my family, and having heard the opinions of others who would know, I have decided that it would be within the best interests of myself and everyone else involved if I were to join the Wards programme and become integrated, to a degree, with the system as it exists. Pending negotiations, of course.'

'Of course.' Piggot appeared calm, but there was a slight twitch to her jaw that suggested she might develop something of a pavlovian hatred of the word negotiations, were things to go on much longer.

'You've made the right choice,' she continued, once the air had cleared of her sour mood. 'I don't believe that you will regret it. Of course, before you can join officially there's much to talk about, not least the choice of district.'

She reached below her desk and withdrew a folder.

'Now, I've made it clear to you in the past that I would prefer for you to stay in Brockton Bay. This is still true. Nevertheless, it has been made clear to me that I must offer you the choice of joining one of the districts in which there is currently an available Ward space. Not every roster of Wards is as well stocked as we have here, partly due to local cape presence but also due to heroic/villainous tendency differences, so you will find that not every site in which the Protectorate operates has openings. That said, you should be able to find somewhere – should it not be Brockton Bay – that suits your liking. Once you've made a choice we'll file the paperwork and, should you be leaving, you will have roughly a month before you are expected to report to your new station.'

With that, she slid a small folder forwards. It didn't appear to be particularly dense, but you assumed it to contain information on the other departments that you were to choose between.

'Other than that,' she said, a satisfied tone in her voice. 'I believe we have very little to do other than welcome you officially to the Wards programme.'

You were looking forward to it.

You have leveled up, and can thus vote for another Power type. See the list below to see both your options and the definitions I am using for each Power type

Interlude: Piggot's Processes

Wednesday, 16th March

'I'm telling you, Emily, it's a coup. Plain and simple.'

Glenn Chambers' round face looked out at her through the screen on her desk and she found it difficult to pay attention. Of course, she still did it – Emily Piggot was, if nothing else, very capable of doing things she didn't want to – but there were many other things she would have rather been doing than speaking to someone so superficial as Chambers.

'Of course, it would have been better if we could have gotten to her before it happened, arranged for some real media, but you can't always get what you want. She's still put us miles ahead of most of the new names.'

Chambers, the PRT's head of public relations, merchandising, and anything else that might require an advertisement, had been clued in on Penumbra's decision to join the Wards almost immediately after it had happened and had scrambled to communicate with Piggot shortly after. She'd been able to put the meeting off for a while given the ongoing turmoil in the Bay, particularly the growing squabble between Kaiser and his rabid sister, but eventually the bureaucracy had a way of catching up with everyone. She'd logged on almost half an hour ago and been subjected to endless marketing spiel since.

Perhaps she was being harsh: Emily Piggot understood the need for good public relations. After all, as grim as the thought might be, the PRT was a government agency and did well when the public thought of them in a positive light. It was difficult to cast parahumans positively. Most of them were, in her estimation, essentially overgrown children whose powers allowed them to pretend that the fantasies of their youth would never go away, and the rest of the normal people in the world simply had to deal with it. As a jolt of pain lanced through her abdomen, she shuffled in her chair; fatal consequences, she noted to herself, often came to those who failed to deal with it adequately.

Penumbra's clearing of Lord's Dock shortly before she had come into the PRT to sign up as a Ward was something of a mixed bag. On the one hand it was refreshing to have a parahuman do something objectively good in a way that co-ordinated effectively with local industry and with permission from the local authorities. It was, to an extent, everything Emily had ever wanted parahumans to do.

But the downside was that she had done it while still independent and now Emily was being forced to listen to Chambers lament the missed opportunity. The corpulent man wasn't nearly as bad as some people thought, his media understanding savvy rather than predatory and his calculated dishevelment belying a sharp mind, but he was as capable of being a bore as anyone – particularly when he was given free reign over a topic.

'Yes, Glen, I am aware. She has mentioned, however, as part of her signing negotiations, a willingness to partake in future charity work. So you will have more than enough opportunity to put cameras in front of her going forward, believe me. Besides, Brockton Bay needed it doing more than she needed the positive boost in publicity – and she's had that anyway. The Wards reliably inform me that people are speaking positively of her in every avenue. What more could you want?'

Emily hoped that he had no answer, because if he did she was sure to hear about it. What she wanted was to get out of her seat and go to the medical bay; she'd been keeping up on her treatment and she wasn't due for any immediate care but there was something nagging at her that probably warranted an expert's opinion. If she was forced to deal with a pain she'd rather it be her kidneys than Glenn.

Luckily, there was very little that her colleague had to say beyond his repeated congratulations on securing Penumbra and his complaints about her premature action, and as his image dropped from her screen Piggot fell back against her chair.

It had only been a few days since the new Ward had agreed to join the team, and the work had been nigh endless. Carol Dallon being enlisted as her lawyer was, Piggot had to admit, a smart move but one which introduced an annoying network of complications – luckily, the legal team didn't need much direct oversight with it, but as Director it was still Emily's job to approve or disapprove of any major new changes; and there were many.

Rather than attending school, Penumbra was to be allowed to continue her homeschooling. Though she was not quite sixteen, she would be allowed to pretend that she was and therefore take on solo patrols both within and, as long as the PRT was informed beforehand and afterwards, without her scheduled hours. She was to be allowed to patrol at least once per week with a member of the Protectorate, wherever it was that she was stationed, and therefore might even see combat – something which tasted sour to the Director but a request she couldn't truly deny given Penumbra's evident capacity for practical action both in capturing Coil and Alabaster.

There were a number of other issues, most small and technical, but their existence was an irritation and Emily was glad that they were beginning to wind down. Understanding of the context she may have been, Emily was no fan of making special provision for parahumans in general. One rule for everyone should have been standard. Joining the Wards was more of a formal title than a set of rulings for the girl; she'd had her pick of privileges and there wasn't much left but for the girl to choose whether she was staying in Brockton Bay or leaving.

As Piggot contemplated the possibility of keeping such a strong parahuman in the bay – or at least maximising her use during the month she'd have before she left – she was interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door.

'Come in.'

Swinging open, the heavy door – thicker than most realised and lined with bulletproof and blast-proof materials – was silent on its hinges.

Armsmaster stepped in, hands filled with paperwork and a worried look on his face.

'Armsmaster, good to see you. I'm assuming you have a report for me.'

'Yes, Director. We've finished the first phase of Penumbra's power testing. Still more to come, of course, but we've got an outline of her powers as she currently understands them.'

He handed her the paperwork and she briefly looked over it, squinting slightly at the small typeface. Armsmaster, for all of his genius, was often fairly limited in his outlook; just because he looked at the world through a visor that adjusted things to a comfortable size at all times didn't mean others did, and his insistence on filing paperwork in size six font was reflective of his myopia. Something to go on his next evaluation, Piggot thought.

She couldn't dispute his words, though.

While the actual testing of limits had yet to be done, Penumbra had indeed given an outline of her current powers as she understood them. Some were obvious: that she was a brute was the kind of thing anyone with any form of perception at all could have told you, and that she had a very capable mover capacity was also undeniable. The breaker, trump, and shaker capacities that Dauntless and Armsmaster had reported in the wake of the Coil debacle were also there in evidence, with some additional information outlining their limits according to Penumbra's understanding. Piggot stifled a wry smile. Parahumans almost never had a real grasp of their own abilities – the impromptu nature of the training most of them underwent and the slapdash existence of independents made that certain.

Beyond that, however, were some additional powers or details that they had yet to hear about. The first, a stranger power, instantly made sense of a reported mass-blindness on the Boardwalk almost two months ago. That was one problem solved, and it also clarified why Armsmaster had been unable to quite see how Penumbra had incapacitated Coil.

The second trump power, however, was even more notable; the girl had somehow become a radar for parahuman detection and had simply not mentioned it to any of them yet, not really. Such an ability would be invaluable in all manner of ways, and she had been using it largely just to make sure that she hadn't been surprised when her friends appeared. The wastefulness of youth was almost disgusting, in some ways.

Finally, for now, the thinker power – Armsmaster, too, had heard about this and included it in earlier reports. It was, after all, how he had located Coil in the first place. Piggot evaluated the summary Penumbra had given and judged it to be both more and less useful than it might seem on the surface. On the one hand the limitation regarding known parties and percentages framed things in a particular light. That was a limit. On the other hand, the ability it had to work quickly and answer questions with fairly abstract interpretations spoke well to its flexibility as a diagnostic and planning tool. Something for the head of any Protectorate branch to be well aware of.

'It's certainly very detailed, Armsmaster. Am I to take it that this is all?'

'Not quite. Penumbra informed us, rather abruptly, that these powers essentially 'ambush' her, to use her word for it. She seems to be gathering them, adding powers, for reasons and by means that she cannot actually explain to anybody. Assuming the date she gave for her trigger is accurate, that is more than half a dozen powers in fewer than twelve weeks: this is, I'm sure you are aware, unprecedented. Even now, her power is formidable. Once we have completed individual power testing, we will know precisely how formidable. But the potential that she can keep adding powers is, frankly, frightening. If she weren't so comparatively sane I would fear another Glaistig Uaine.'

Piggot's eyes snapped up to Armsmaster and pinned him in place, like a moth on an aurelian's board.

'If it weren't for the fact that I know you aren't prone to hyperbole, I would have you evaluated for a statement like that. I still might.'

The visor prevented Piggot from seeing a clear response, but she was sure that he was uncowed. Armsmaster was many things, but prideful was chief among them, and he would rather lose a limb than back down from a claim to which he had committed himself.

'I wouldn't say it if it weren't the case. I think she will need regular monitoring, and we will need to add a clause to her contract to inform us if new powers arise.'

Silence sat in the air like fog. The clink of armour broke it occasionally, as Armsmaster's hands curled and uncurled with regularity; one might take it as a sign of nerves, but Emily knew that it was simply the habit of a tinker who wished to be back in his workshop.

'Dismissed, Armsmaster.'

'Director.'

His receding footsteps were measured, but Emily could sense his stress – another reason she didn't quite trust parahumans. Though she knew that she had some issues of her own to work through, a self-awareness that served her well when attempting to moderate those issues, Emily still felt relatively stable. By contrast, outside of perhaps Legend and Dragon, she had yet to meet a single parahuman she wouldn't describe as being fundamentally whacky in some core sense.

Armsmaster's formality and overt professionalism was a thin veneer for the fact that the man was, at his core, a basket case. Therapy would be mandatory if she had her way.

Browsing quietly through the paperwork Armsmaster had left behind, she paused when she came to the results of Penumbra's physical evaluation.

Roughly 5'10, with a projected maximum height of 6'0, the girl was already tall and set to be taller. Thin, weight currently measured at 124lbs, Piggot noted that the mask and cloak must have made her seem larger; she certainly had a presence.

Her vision was poor, but she had glasses that were integrated into the helmet. Her hearing was exemplary, her reflexes perfectly normal, and she had no reported diseases or health conditions from early blood work. She seemed, in general, a healthy – if somewhat waifish – teenage girl.

Towards the end of the report, however, Piggot stopped dead.

As part of the general, normal intake process for a Ward, there was a brain scan. This was normal.

All parahumans had a corona pollentia, an organ which seemed to be related to their powers in some way, and a gemma which represented the control over the power the corona had. Basic enough to be taken as standard, the size and shape of the corona occasionally varied and in some rare cases existed outside of the brain itself, but was always present.

It never looked like Penumbra's.

There, the images of the scans held it clear to see. Rather than a singular point, a growth located in the brain that Piggot could identify immediately, the girl's corona was, seemingly, everywhere. Not a node, a network; it had enmeshed her entire brain inside an expansive webbing that collected into large cores – one located where one would typically expect a corona, and another at the back of her head, with skeins of corona-tissue linking the two. Another smaller zone on the left side of her brain appeared to be thickening, perhaps preparing to take on a similar form. Something similar occasionally occurred with particularly young triggers, but even then it had a singular corona.

Piggot was stunned, and dove into the accompanying text for clarification.

It was like nothing the medical staff had seen either and yet – strangely enough – it appeared to be completely unproblematic. Penumbra reported headaches but only in line with what was expected from thinkers. Her personality, other than the typical foolishness that all parahumans appeared to be possessed with, had not altered significantly. Her enrolment in school and continued progress in studies indicated that she hadn't suddenly flown off into heroism with zero thought. She had purchased an official costume, and was working with a well known and qualified lawyer. Nor, as Shadow Stalker had, did she resort to obscure and violence vigilante action.

Her brain was, to put it bluntly, aberrant, but her behaviour seemed exemplary.

Placing the scans back on her desk, she sighed again. Emily still wanted to get to the medical wing, but it would have to wait.

The cool plastic of her phone pressed to her ear and she dialled a familiar number.

It rang through twice, before being picked up.

'Director Piggot?'

'Ah yes, Chief Director – I'm glad you could accept my call. I've just received the initial reports of Penumbra's preliminary testing physical and survey, and I have some information that I believe you would find significant.'

'Please, go on.'

And the Chief Director found the information very interesting indeed.

Spoiler: Current Actions and Goals - In Stasis until Arc 3

Choosing Our Department:

When Taylor joined the Wards, she was given plenty of information about the possible locations she could go. Much of that was technical, concerning recent crime statistics and so on - you aren't going to get that information in full. It would be, frankly, too much to write and very boring to read. Instead, you are going to get a brief summary of the cities she could go to, their Protectorate/Ward rosters, and a brief description of the city and its danger level.

Note that a low danger level does not mean there is no crime - it just means there may only be a number of lower level criminals, or a singular large organisation. Nowhere is going to be just devoid of crime - especially once we get there, because things change over time.

There are plenty of Original Characters in some of these cities. Some - such as New Orleans - are not even actual Protectorate districts as far as we know from canon. Yes, I have planned all of these characters out including their powers, so wherever we go, I have ideas ready.

If we decide to leave Brockton Bay, there will be a one month delay before that move is made - ostensibly for paperwork, processing, et cetera. Therefore we will still have time to work in Brockton Bay, regardless of the outcome. This choice is long term, not short.

Here are your choices

Interlude: Battleground

Thursday, 17th March

'We took a route that went around the majority of their territory, so it wasn't a surprise that we saw the fuss. There were a few people getting into scuffles but nothing the squads couldn't deal with.'

'Schedule another patrol for tomorrow. I want at least one of you two on it, and take at least another squad with you. There's no room for slipping – I want at least one more of them in custody by the end of the week.'

Undercut nodded, his blonde hair flipping over the front of his mask and hanging in front of his eyes as he did so. He looked ridiculous.

'I'll go, with Glacial. She'll make sure things don't get too heated.'

Scrivener's eyes rolled. Undercut's propensity for puns was something that only he held a passion for, and the rest of the team was entirely fed up with it. Scrivener had only been on the Wards for six months, triggering less than a year ago, and he had already seen a lot, but despite all of it he still felt as though perhaps the largest injustice in the city was Undercut's wordplay.

Cinereal simply nodded; that was enough for the audience to know the meeting was over.

She watched as Scrivener left and turned over the information they had given her in her head. Inheritance were making noise again, something she had hoped would have taken them longer after their last defeat. When she'd dragged Patriarch into a cell personally, stripped of his weapons, dignity, and teeth, she'd wondered if it would have been enough to keep them down for an extended period of time. It was not to be; Cavalry had stepped up almost immediately and Inheritance had begun agitating in the streets once again.

Though their popularity was limited to certain regions in the North of the city, the fact that those regions happened to be economically comfortable in comparison to much of the metropolis at large was problematic enough.

Undercut lingered in front of her desk, a nervous look on his face.

'What do you need?'

'Well, ma'am,' and she paid attention – Undercut knew when to be serious and Cinereal had learned to listen. 'While we were on the way back I noticed that not everything I was putting down was sticking. I think there might be something in the works from Octave. Oneironaut dreaming again, maybe.'

Cinereal's face betrayed no emotion, and her mask prevented anyone from even attempting to read that blankness, but she was nevertheless irritated. Undercut's flows, as he put them, were more than simply physical. They transferred energy in its purest state, pushing people and things around with ease, and there was no such thing as them failing to stick.

The only exception any of them had found during his tenure in the city was when Oneironaut was involved. The teenager's ability tended to interfere with his own, as well as Glacial's on occasion, and was the primary reason that Octave had been as successful as they had. Cinereal herself was sure that she could defeat the group if necessary, but the collateral damage would put the city back to 2007 and it was simply unfeasible. She stuck to keeping them caged in, but resented their existence.

'Noted. I'll dispatch Flashdrive to retrieve Station 14, it may have information that could be relevant. If Oneironaut is dreaming, that's information I need. I'll send the word immediately but if you see him within the next thirty minutes, tell him I want to see him anyway. This can't wait.'

'Ma'am.'

Cinereal nodded again, and Undercut turned on his heel and left.

She stood from her desk, the standard issue office chair spinning slightly with her movement, and walked over to the window. There was a thick pollen in the air already and if it weren't for her mask she might have developed some unpleasant symptoms – perhaps she would request allergy medication to be included in her daily supplements as summer began to creep in yet again.

Always, she felt, the summer was when things picked up. The city warmed early, and with it the various filth that coagulated around the city began to wake up, luxuriating in the newfound head and using the sunlight as their permission to spread their vile hands around.

Many of the issues that faced that city when she had first arrived were gone, in some form or another. More than half of them, she had seen off alone; vaguely, she remembered walking through walls of fire as the more minor criminals of the city banded together to attempt a move shortly after she took over the local department. She truly hadn't understood them then, and had yet to come any closer to understanding since; ever since her days as Ash Phoenix in the Wards, her immunity to fire had been public knowledge. Perhaps they had sought to show her that there were levels above what she had seen before; she certainly recalled the flames being powerful. They had underestimated her, however; she, whose flames burned with even more rage.

Aged eighteen, she had arrested two and placed another below the ground. Only Coalbelcher had made it out, and he had been largely inactive since; petty crimes at most. She wondered briefly when he would next show his face. They always did.

It was a failure that still plagued her.

The sun was moving lower in the sky. She moved to adjust her blinds, cutting the light into pieces and dimming her office. The flat furniture appeared almost two dimensional against the blackness, and she contemplated removing her mask for once; she had the urge a handful of times a year, particularly in the summer heat, but always resisted. For some, the mask was the face.

Breaking her attention, the phone began to ring, rattling around in its holder. Two strides over to her desk and she answered.

'Cinereal's office.'

'Ah yes, thank you, Shrugg here,' came the tentative voice.

'I am aware, please continue.'

She didn't have to imagine his slight recoil, as she was almost sure she had heard it through the phone.

'I was just checking in to see if you happened to be free for a meeting right now, as I have some news you may want to hear.'

'Nothing is on my schedule for another hour. Please report to my office within the next twenty minutes, or I will be moving to the gym.'

'Yes, yes, of course. I'll see you there.'

She hung up, placing the phone on its receiver and taking her seat behind the desk yet again. Shrugg was a capable man and, she could admit to herself, pleasant. His most important quality, however, was his understanding of how things worked. Cinereal had taken over the Protectorate when there was nothing to take over, and while it was helpful to have someone there to co-ordinate the PRT squads and do administrative work with other branches, she had grown used to calling the shots; that Shrugg was willing to play second fiddle was perhaps the reason they worked so well together.

Knocking came shortly after, and the door creaked open after only a moment – one knock, then enter. Always preferable.

Shrugg was a man of medium height, medium build, with a mildly thinning head of brown hair and a small moustache. He wore thin glasses with a gold frame and had a stark accumulation of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Vaguely recalling that he had children and a grandchild, Cinereal attributed the wrinkles to the ravages of a happy life spent smiling.

'Hello, hello, nice to see you. I'll get right to it, shall I?'

A short nod.

'Well, I just got off the phone with Director Emily Piggot – I don't suppose you remember her, made the news some years ago, you would have been too young I think – who works with the PRT ENE in Brockton Bay, near New York.'

'I know of Brockton Bay. Lung is there.'

Shrugg gulped slightly. Though she had never had occasion to meet the monstrous man, Cinereal made it her business to be at least somewhat aware of the major threats in her country. After all, many of them made it a habit of roaming around rather than staying where you could see them and she had no intention of being surprised when yet another villain decided the state of Georgia was an intriguing place to set up shop.

'That he is, yes. Anyway, Director Piggot was informing me that they've picked up a new Ward by the name of Penumbra, a name you may have also heard of recently, cleared up the docks there you see, and well, the Protectorate are really quite eager to get her involved and so they gave her some choices on where she could potentially go. The usual pitch for high profile figures, you understand, and here's the rub – she's apparently on her way here. Transfers over in a month. Is that not wonderful?'

Wonderful might not be the word for it, Cinereal thought to herself. Helpful, perhaps, depending on the specifics. Shrugg's speculation aside, she had not really heard much about Penumbra other than the news story to which he referred; she's seen a short video clip of the boats being lifted and yes, the strength was certainly impressive, but it didn't confer much information about her abilities as a crime fighter. There were a lot of very strong people out there who wouldn't last very long in Atlanta.

As Shrugg continued, ignorant or uncaring of her neutrality, however, she grew more intrigued.

'Yes, it was quite the surprise to me to me as well, but certainly a pleasant one – another pair of hands, you know what they say. In any case, I'm hoping that she may be of help with some of our trickier problems, Watcher and the like, you know the sort. Armsmaster reports that she has some kind of thinker power that allowed them to bring in Coil.'

Now that was far more interesting to the local leader. The thinker power was something, and could certainly be helpful, but it was the second part that was more interesting; an actual track record of success spoke to far more than a simple power ever could. Cinereal could still remember the first time she heard that Bastion hadn't brought in a single big name villain in almost five years; disappointed wasn't even the beginning. No wonder the Butcher found Boston to be such a productive place to be; it was run by incompetents.

'As I say, she'll be remaining there for a month to allow for paperwork and power testing and such, apparently there's been an interesting development of her corona they would like to get more of a look at, but then she'll be joining us starting the middle of April, very likely around the fifteenth as long as medicals clear. Be prepared!'

'I'll be ready. I'll have her on rotation for introductions, engage in some work with her of my own, and then get her out on patrols as soon as possible. My eye for talent rarely lets me down; if she's not ready for a place like this, I'll have her shipped back out shortly.'

He then nodded to her, knowing that he was unlikely to extract much more from the taciturn woman, waited for her to nod in response, and turned to leave. She waited until he had exited the room again the stand and nearly sighed; she had heard him begin to whistle as he hit the corridor.

Standing again, she moved over to one of the plain wooden cupboards that lined the right hand side of her room and opened the door, revealing a small refrigeration unit, which she promptly opened and from which she withdrew a small jug and a cool glass, pouring a drink.

She'd never taken to alcohol, given its mind numbing effects, but perhaps as a memory of her youth, before the blood, she'd always found it easier to think with iced tea in hand.

Another Ward, she thought to herself. Was this how Gryphon felt when she was recruited? A grim, angry teenager who knew nothing but outrage and bile. He'd helped hone her into something much more controlled, much more focused, and then he had left her alone. Though she understood it wasn't quite as simple as leaving, she couldn't really bring herself to feel it as anything other than that. There was something in her that was a little too broken for that kind of thing.

She'd found him there, in his office, at his desk, blood across his lap, and she'd been the one to call it in to a PRT office that could do nothing to help and barely existed. There was no fond thinking for such a time. No room for hope, back then, and it was rare enough now, even with the city beginning to look up in places. In some ways, she felt as though she'd never left that room, that morning.

She took a sip of her drink and savoured the chill. A new Ward was always a risk. Still, she hoped that this Penumbra wouldn't be another corpse on her hands.

Spoiler: Current Actions and Goals - In Stasis until Arc 3Short little interlude for everyone, including our first look at a few people in Atlanta.

This interlude is set on Thursday 17th March: when we pick back up with Taylor at the start of Arc 3, it will be Monday 14th March, the day after she officially joins the Wards. We will then have until Monday, 18th April, to remain in Brockton Bay: a little over a month. As such you can still vote for actions that we can take in Brockton Bay: if you have any ideas, vote now using the usual