h

As a result, unless you wanted to push hard into becoming an overachiever there wasn't much to do from home, which, you supposed was kind of the point of being half-grounded in the first place. Damn Dad for sort of knowing what he was doing, and damn yourself for not remembering to notify him before running out to bunch giant metal Nazi wolves.

Reaching the conclusion of many teenagers with spare time on their hands, you found yourself at home sat in front of the computer. If you couldn't hang out with anyone in person outside of Ward work until Saturday, you would simply do so online; Vicky was a perfectly active chatter and you were getting along well enough with Scrivener even if his occasional switches from active to unresponsive were a little bit irritating to deal with. You supposed you'd understand al little more once you were in Atlanta yourself and got to see exactly how busy the patrolling schedules were in practice.

Pulling up your messages, you clicked on the last one you had received from the boy before writing out your own in the next series of communications.

Penumbra: Hi Scrivener, I have some fairly significant news for you that you might wish to pass on to Cinereal, if she hasn't already been made aware. There's a non-zero possibility that when I transfer to Atlanta, I will be at least one other Ward coming with me, potentially two. I thought it best to let you know so that the Atlanta branch could make any arrangements that it deems necessary for such a thing.

Bartleby (That's Scrivener): Well, thanks for letting us know. Any idea who?

Penumbra: Both of them are probationary candidates, teenagers taken from a criminal organisation named the Undersiders. Small time, mostly involved in heists and similar. One, Regent, is a confirmed transfer. The other, known officially to the PRT as Hellhound, is currently pending. Things seem like they should allow for her transfer but I can't guarantee it until Sunday, at least.

Bartleby (That's Scrivener): Good to hear tho, we could always use the extra help. I'm let Cinereal know. Probationary tho?

Penumbra: I'm lead to believe that's what it's called when a Ward is made out of an ex-villain. They're under some degree of extra supervision until such time as they are judged to be beyond reproach.

Bartleby (That's Scrivener): oh, gotcha. I'll be straight up with you, that's most Wards here. Not me, but Phyton's like that. Guess we don't even give it a name since it happens so often, nobody is going to care so you can tell them that if they were worried.Bartleby (That's Scrivener): Well, thanks for letting us know. Any idea who?

Penumbra: Both of them are probationary candidates, teenagers taken from a criminal organisation named the Undersiders. Small time, mostly involved in heists and similar. One, Regent, is a confirmed transfer. The other, known officially to the PRT as Hellhound, is currently pending. Things seem like they should allow for her transfer but I can't guarantee it until Sunday, at least.

Bartleby (That's Scrivener): Good to hear tho, we could always use the extra help. I'm let Cinereal know. Probationary tho?

Penumbra: I'm lead to believe that's what it's called when a Ward is made out of an ex-villain. They're under some degree of extra supervision until such time as they are judged to be beyond reproach.

Bartleby (That's Scrivener): oh, gotcha. I'll be straight up with you, that's most Wards here. Not me, but Phyton's like that. Guess we don't even give it a name since it happens so often, nobody is going to care so you can tell them that if they were worried.

Click to shrink...

You looked at the screen in surprise. You had known that Atlanta had been in a rough state for a little while but you wondered about the internal politics of a department where probationary Wards were frequent enough that nobody even really made a distinction. Scrivener himself had given no indication that he was one, but Phyton apparently was and you had no way of knowing whether they were the only one or if that had just been the first example that had come to Scrivener's mind.

Still, you'd done what you had intended to, passing along the knowledge, and there wasn't a huge amount else for you to do other than to engage in idle chatter. You sent back another message asking a few questions about how things were going in Atlanta, trying to continue building your knowledge base ready for transfer, but overall you allowed yourself to be distracted by other means.

Most notably, Vicky. You'd spoken to her and booked in a hang-out, which was awesome, but you had some other ideas in mind; perhaps the easiest to accomplish was using her as a source of information on Amy. After all, you'd pledged to get her a coffee at some point but not only did you have no idea about how to do that without just randomly showing up at the hospital and hoping she was present that night, you also had no idea about what kind of coffee she'd want. As a person who rarely imbibed in the stuff, you had very little other than cliché to use as your guide and it wouldn't exactly help your attempts to neutralise the animosity between the two of you if you showed up to give her an iced latte when she only drank espresso.

Conveniently, then, Vicky was exactly the person who would know, and was also likely to be helpful about it. So, simply enough, you fired off another message.

Penumbra: I'm not sure if she would have told you, but I now owe Panacea a coffee. However, that puts me in an awkward position – namely, I don't know how she takes her coffee. Any chance you can help me out? I'll owe you.

You smiled as you sent off the message and, clicking around to see if Scrivener had followed up, you saw that he had logged off. Busy life down South, you figured, and trawled a few of the forums for a little while. Just as you were contemplating going downstairs and making yourself a snack, you got a notification that drew your attention; Vicky.

Glory Girl: ugh, black with a short of vanilla. I know. I tell her the same thing, get some milk in your life, but she says that if you wanted milk then you should be buying a milkshake. Doesn't like it whne you tell her that if she wanted vanilla she should buy an ice cream. Made that mistake a few times lol

Click to expand...

Certainly an odd order, but nothing that would be too difficult. Though, you did hope that showing up to a coffee shop in costume to place such a bizarre order wouldn't attach rumours concerning your taste buds to your name. Even if you were leaving to Atlanta in a few weeks, that kind of thing was the sort of nonsense that sticks.

Logging off, you abandoned the idea of spending more time online. You were just clicking around and not really achieving anything, and you felt like if you were going to achieve nothing you should at least spend that time achieving nothing to do with something important rather than something where even if you did achieve something it wouldn't matter.

Trying to make sense of that logic trap hurt your head, and so you didn't attempt to unpick it any further.

Instead, you turned your attention back to the Empire. They were going to strike, at some point – Iron Rain in particular – and you were going to hope that it happened after you had already got Hookwolf safely ensconced in the Birdcage. If you were a villain, however, that seemed like the perfect time to strike. Hookwolf was Iron Rain's own lackey, after all, and she'd probably want him back; even if she didn't, attacking Kaiser during the time Hookwolf's transport was being made, and thus when several members of the local Protectorate would be out on escort, made a lot of sense.

Of course, Iron Rain had little way to know that most of the Protectorate would be at home, with Hookwolf being partly supervised by yourself and Rachel, but even that was telling; you were, without attempting to be arrogant, a significant force in the Bay and your absence would be meaningful in most conflicts.

You wondered for a while if it was possible to be in more than once place at once, but if that was a power you were ever going to get, you didn't have it thus far. Being a tinker might have helped, at least if you were the kind of tinker who could make a remote robot, but even that wouldn't be very useful unless it was a very tough robot.

Unfortunately, there wasn't exactly much in the way of backup to call on. Not unless you wanted to start paying independents to try and fight the Empire, and you weren't sure how well that would work out.

Even as you considered the idea, though, you realised that it may not have been quite as absurd as it sounded at first. After all, while Vicky may not like them, you did have a business card secreted away in a desk and a phone number that you could call.

Faultline's Crew. Mercenaries, independents, whatever you wanted to call them: you'd looked them up for a little while after your first encounter and whatever they were, they were effective. They barely ever failed and they had taken on some big names. On the plus side, that gave you confidence that maybe they could help against the Empire. On the downside, some of those big names had Protectorate positions and you weren't sure how fondly the Protectorate would look upon the idea of hiring the team that had clashed with Chevalier only a few months ago.

It was worth a call though, you thought. No commitment, but if it was even possible that might be something to put on the table as an option. After all, the other thing you had confirmed was that Faultline hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't a straight-up villain; she'd done work with heroic causes in the past, and truly did seem to follow the money where it went. And even if she didn't, you of all people knew that not every villain was irredeemable – thoughts of Rachel reminded you of that much.

Lurching to your feet, you moved to your drawer and pulled out the business card – slightly crumpled, it was nevertheless absolutely legible and you moved towards your phone. Before stopping short and realising how terrible an idea it would be to call a group of sort-of-villains from your personal devices, either Ward or civilian.

It was by this means that you found yourself emerging from the outer wall of your house and making a short trip back to the local library. You hadn't been since weeks prior, when you had reported Sophia's extracurricular activities and you supposed that it had been long enough for the heat to die down, at least in large part. Even if it hadn't, as a member of the Wards you wondered how imperative it was that it be kept a continued secret.

More importantly, the phone booth outside of the library – one of only a handful still functioning in town – called to you.

Stopping inside, you quickly dialled the number listed on the card and cast your deafening aura around the phone booth, not powerfully but strong enough that anyone attempting to successfully eavesdrop would be forced to get so close that you couldn't help but see them.

The phone rang three times before answering, and when it did, you heard Faultline's familiar voice on the other end.

'Faultline at Palanquin, what do you need?'

Her prompt answer froze you for a moment, but you ploughed on nonetheless.

'Faultline, this is Penumbra. I have an enquiry that I need to make.'

'Oh really? I was beginning to think we would never hear from you. Ready to go rogue?'

'I'm afraid not, as I have officially joined the Wards and am not long for Brockton Bay. However, the in the mean time, I have cause to request your services.'

There was a brief pause before the response came, voice bored as though this was an almost academic pursuit.

'Standard fare is $10k a day, regardless of the goal. Goes up from there depending on what you need and how dangerous it is. If you know what you need us for, let me know and I can get more accurate.'

Eyes widening, you took a moment to breathe. That was a lot of money. Still, you were far from committed and it couldn't hurt to attempt to learn more about the actual cost involved in what you wanted.

'How much to hire you to perform what is essentially secure and contain procedures on an area of Brockton Bay for a single calendar day?'

A sharp whistle came down the phone line, followed by an almost-certainly faux chuckle that contained too much stomach and not nearly enough chest for it to be convincing.

'Brockton Bay adds a premium, we don't usually work in the same city we live in – causes tension, you know? One day? $50k, $75k if you actually want us to fight anyone.'

Something inside you was tempted to whistle in response, but you withheld the urge. Faultline's Crew certainly didn't come cheap, you supposed, and you wondered how anyone got the money to pay their fee for extended periods.

From your earlier research, they had gone a trip that had them guarding a supply drop for almost a month last year, and they had fought three separate battles in the process of doing so. Though the battles were apparently easy and the distance short, you couldn't imagine it costing any less than half a million dollars at the kind of rate that Faultline was pushing now. Although, perhaps the price now was because of that track record of success; it was hard to tell.

'Thank you for your time. I will be back in touch if we decide to purchase your services.'

You made to hang up, phone arcing towards the receiver, when you heard a commotion from the other end of the line.

'Wait wait,' Faultline started. 'Penumbra, right? Yes. I know we got off on the wrong foot last time, maybe it was a little creepy, but we don't necessarily have to be enemies, you know that?'

'I know that. I don't consider you an enemy. If I did, I wouldn't have called.'

'Good. Just, even if you don't end up hiring us for this job, keep us in mind. We travel, you know?'

'I'll keep it under consideration. Good afternoon, Faultline.'

'Stay safe, Penumbra.'

The phone line clicked on her end before you could lay the receiver down and you wondered how much of that final message was simply out of an urge to get the last word. Faultline seemed like the kind of person who would care about things like that.

Thursday, 24th March

Though you hadn't been on patrol since seeing the warehouse with Miss Militia, the excuse to get out into the air during broad daylight and with very little likelihood of horrific revelation was irresistible, and as a result you found yourself waiting in the PRT headquarters foyer yet again, this time for Gallant, who was to accompany you on a routine 5 – 8 PM patrol around the perimeter of Empire territory. Despite your own personal conflicts growing with the Empire with alarming regularity, there was little expectation of your duo being attacked; your thinker power had clarified that an assault outside of Empire grounds would be unlikely, and you were going to stick almost a block away from the known demarcation between neutral and Empire territory at all times.

Gallant's presence, too, was anticipated to be helpful for evading any major attack. Between a combination of his ability to sense powerful states of emotion and your own parahuman senses, it was the hope that you wouldn't be falling victim to any ambushes; even Victor, their best long distance sniper, was out of commission moved, as he was, to wherever was standing in as temporary substitute for the PRT's holding cells.

The armour clad teen arrived precisely on time, at 4:45 PM, giving you the time to get out onto the road. Gallant lacked the personalised motorcycles of Armsmaster and Miss Militia, as well as the mover abilities and personalised tinkertech of figures like Kid Win and Aegis and so, as when you had patrolled with Clockblocker, you were taken by PRT squad car to a drop-off point to begin your patrol. From that point on the two of you were on your own, moving throughout the city.

Time crawled relatively slowly as the two of you split up to cover a larger area of ground, though always remaining within eye-sight of one another. Your flight, slowed to account for Gallant's personal patrol speed, granted you a fantastic birds-eye view of the city and allowed you to see things in advance long before Gallant could see them on the ground – meanwhile, his own perspective gave him far greater insight into the smaller clues that could be missed from above.

Despite this, the two of you never came across anything of particular interest. You hadn't anticipated it, of course, but it was still strange to patrol so close to where you had been in conflict before and get nothing; you could swear that you had passed by the building where you had captured Victor's trio relatively soon into your travels.

Eventually, the two of you met back up at the mid-point of the patrol. Over an hour in with nothing to show for it, not even the public relations gains that might have come from being swamped by civilians, and the two of you were ready to both take a break and stage a miniature stake-out. It was fairly common protocol to find a location at the closest point to expected danger in a patrol and park up in anticipation of some kind of crime. For the most part, Wards were excluded from this in formal documentation and if anyone were to ask, only Protectorate heroes followed such a process. Given your own flexible rule-set, however, it seemed that something of a blurred line had developed on Ward patrols which included Penumbra, as your own enhanced freedom gave you the ability to dictate rules of action that were outside of official guidelines with minimal backlash.

Or at least, minimal backlash insofar as nothing happened. If someone ended up injured, you were sure that Director Piggot would find some way to string you up by your ankles, special privileges or no.

Gallant's armour, matte grey and silver all over, gleamed in the early evening sun. There was an amusing juxtaposition between the dramatic, semi-fantasy look of his knightly armour glimmering with sunbeams and the urban sprawl surrounding him, and that was only compounded by the distinctly teenage huff as he sat perched on the rooftop. Apparently climbing a fire-escape in full armour was impactful on even a well trained cardiovascular system and you found yourself pitying him a little.

'Vicky told me to tell you she said hi.' Gallant said, after catching his breath.

'Well, tell her I said hi as well. Is she doing okay? She said she was last time I spoke to her but that was through text.'

'She's okay. Getting over it quickly. She's tough.'

Gallant's voice possessed something of a fawning tone, but you were confident that it was a natural kind of affection rather than anything strange. He just sounded like a lovesick teenager.

'She is indeed. Thank you for calling me to deal with Hookwolf, by the way.'

'That was all her. I was on the phone to the PRT. I trust her when she says you can do things but without any evidence, I was going to the Protectorate as the first priority. Sorry about that.'

You evaluated what he said but found that it was pretty difficult to judge him too harshly for it. Even though you knew that you could take on someone like Hookwolf, and the history had laid that out more clearly than any speculation ever could, there was no way for Gallant to know that at the time and if Vicky had been wrong and he hadn't called anyone, there was a good chance that the PRT would have rolled up just in time to scrape four teenagers off the Boardwalk.

'No need to apologise. I get it. I'm just glad that everyone came out of it okay.'

'You don't need to tell me twice. Even Miss Militia's walking around like nothing happened and she was in a bad state.'

'Well, that's Panacea for you, I suppose. She lives up to the reputation,' you started, before furrowing your brow. 'Even if she didn't spend any time healing Bitch. She was still bandaged up when I saw her yesterday.'

Gallant threw his head back with a sigh. For someone who was entirely sealed within a tin can, he was far more emotive than someone like Armsmaster, and you wondered whether that was something to do with his power or just a trait he'd always had. He shifted uncomfortably in his spot and you got the sense that there something exceedingly portentous implied in his movements.

'Amy is,' he paused again, taking a moment. 'Amy is a strange case. She's got a very absolutist way of thinking about things. For her, if you're a villain, you're always a villain no matter what. That's just how it is. Unless she's forced into it, she wouldn't patch someone like Hellhound up. It's just not in her nature. She's stubborn like that.'

Nothing he said contrasted with your own opinions of the girl, which also seemed to imply that she ran fairly hot and cold – and mostly cold. She'd begrudged you from the first moment you had met and though she had become slightly less icy recently, there was nothing in her behaviour that implied that she actually liked you. For all you knew, she was just using you for coffee.

'That can't always be true though. Vicky has done questionable things in the past, she's told me as much, as Amy still likes her.'

Gallant winced as that, as though you'd touched on a nerve he would rather not have exposed. Before you could prod, however, he pushed back.

'Maybe, but it works the same way in reverse. Once she thinks you're a hero, there's very little you can do to change her mind. She kind of picks an end goal and then logics her way backwards from there, instead of starting from what's in front of her.'

Running the experiences you had with her through your mind, you couldn't really provide any counterargument to Gallant's narrative. Though you'd been almost exclusively nice to her since you'd met her, or at least not unpleasant, she'd picked an outlook from the start and changing it was like trying to fight against the tide. Your thinker power had informed you as to why, she was jealous of the time you spent with Vicky, but even that seemed overblown. After all, you probably only spent a dozen hours together in person, if that, when you had first met Amy and she'd already decided to hate you by that point. It was hardly as though you were draining all of Vicky's time away.

'Makes sense. She doesn't really like me too much, and I don't think I've given her any reason to.' You deliberated over whether to tell Gallant, but ultimately you decided that if anyone would be able to offer some good pointers about how to proceed, it would be the guy who could literally throw emotions out of his hands. 'Honestly, I get the idea that she's jealous of me, for being Vicky's friend. Which is nonsense, of course, and I can't prove it but I have my instincts. Thinker instincts, you could say.'

Gallant went quiet again, and dropped his chin to his chest. Though you weren't able to sense anything peculiar, you still inspected him closely. Something about him felt tense and awkward, as though he had something he desperately wanted to say but couldn't think of a way to get it out without stepping on toes. For someone so in tune with emotions, you had to wonder if maybe that was why he was such a bland figure; he could always know when something was going to be received in a certain way, and so interactions had relatively little surprise to him.

That was purely speculation, as you had no real deep knowledge of his powers, but it seemed to make sense to you and it was a lot nicer than assuming he was just boring.

Besides, he had been a perfectly reasonably conversationalist up until the pause. That pause extended, and you got the idea that the boy was turning an idea over in his head like a hamster in a wheel, and you decided not to pry. Taylor Hebert was many things and nosy was not one of them. Although, sometimes it was. Only in cases that seemed significant, however, and Gallant's relationship with Amy seemed a lot more personal than the kind of thing you had to know.

'She's the same way to me, you know? Cold. Impolite. Rude.'

Gallant's voice was still, somehow, as though he was forcing himself to speak in a measured tone before some form of better judgment called him to heel.

'Has been ever since I got with Vicky. It took me a while to figure out why, but eventually I felt it from her, strong as I've ever felt it from anyone else towards anyone else. It's hard to explain.'

The tension in his body seemed to drop out of him, and he lost the bizarre focus that appeared to have overtaken him.

'I guess she's just a very jealous person.'

The words came limply from him, and you got the feeling that he had intended to say something else but decided against it at the last moment. Far be it for you to pry, however, especially when it seemed to have set him on edge to even get that far.

'I suppose so.'

The boy clambered back to his feet and moved towards the fire escape again, as though he was attempting to flee the situation. You allowed him to go, not wanting to push him into something he didn't want to raise; personal issues were something you weren't really willing to try to dig from someone else, especially when ultimately your relationship with Amy appeared to be improving, however slow that pace was in the end.

Nothing seemed to brighten Gallant's mood for the rest of the patrol, and when you left him back at headquarters for the evening you got the distinct feeling that, were he old enough, he would be seeking solace in a bottle. You'd seen what that looked like in the past.