I'd like to thank all those who pledged to me on my Patreon. You really do help out a lot more than you know. Special thanks to my Betas; kenmadragon, Segev, dasstan, FancyMolasses, and the newest of them all, MagusZanin. Cutscene: PRT (or Emily Piggot and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day) – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – The camera's view shifted downwards to highlight the current focus of attention, the banner at the bottom of the screen shifting from the standard, patriotic Protectorate color scheme, flag and all, to a simple, blue strip with 'Sir Prodigy (White Knight)' writ large across it, and below, in smaller font, 'Mystery Cape; Potential Ward? Independent Hero?' The question from the now-offscreen hero hung in the air as the young, armored cape tilted his chin, the visible parts of his face beneath the dirty, bloodstained helm scrunching up as if in thought. A pause, then his mouth opened to display a set of red-stained teeth grinning in a way that still managed to come off as playful, giving the teenager a younger air than his voice and physical frame would suggest. "What can I say except..." He paused mid-sentence as he affixed his gaze directly on the camera closest to him, playful expression still unchanged. The blue eyes behind the helm seemed to run through a gamut of emotions, exhaustion primarily, before he finally concluded with, "...You're welcome. Honestly, you're welcome. I don't know what else I can say, really. I've done a lot since yesterday. And I'm extremely beat and I could use all the sleep but I'm glad I was able to do what I could and help where I was needed. So, again, all I can say is, well... G'night, Brockton Bay!" Screaming the last three words like a rockstar after his encore, the young cape suddenly rocketed straight up into the air without warning, the immediate exit leaving a powerful burst of wind in his wake that seemed to stumble almost everyone in the vicinity bar Dauntless. The camera quickly shifted to the cape in question but the golden-armored hero looked just as lost as one would expect. After glancing up at the sky one more as if to trace the young cape's arc through the air, Dauntless let out a somewhat shaky laugh and opened his mouth to— – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair at the same moment that the footage projected on the wall froze; the halted image of Dauntless' face fading slightly as powerful fluorescent lights switched themselves on. Eyes closed and hands folded over her stomach, the director took in a deep and entirely unsubtle breath. Everyone else sitting around the table held their own as they watched her, waiting for the eventual eruption. It didn't come. The director took another breath before righting her ergonomic chair, her bob shifting slightly as she settled her bulk properly into her seat. Several of the capes in the room raised an eyebrow at the deceptively flat look she wore, barely displaying a hint of the storm resting underneath. Her expression seemed almost perfectly composed as she sat at the head of the glossy, marble conference table, turning her head slowly to stare at each of the gathered capes in turn. It didn't take a discerning eye to note the signs of exhaustion and wear each hero bore, both in their features and in their costumes, but she took careful note of each one of them all the same. Of the lot, her gaze only paused to linger upon Dauntless. The Protectorate's 'golden boy' averted his eyes as she rested her gaze on him, shoulders drooping slightly as if to sink unseen into his seat, like a child who knew he was going to be punished; the standard reaction of any who expected a reprimand from her. Expected, yes, but not at all appreciated. Not in the slightest. Thin, chapped lips pursed slightly, as Dauntless continued to avoid her gaze. With only the slightest narrowing of her eyes as an additional sign of displeasure, she turned away from the blond sitting farthest away from her and surveyed the other occupants within the conference room once again. The tension seemed to rise with each silent moment until, finally, Emily Piggot lowered her head and raised her clasped hands onto the table and chose to set the tone the way only she could. "Just to provide some context before this meeting proceeds — and it is a meeting, not a debriefing so I don't want to hear what you put in your reports— " Every cape in the room seemed to sit straighter when the director finally spoke, a Pavlovian response developed during her tenure, "I want each and every one of you to keep in mind that I am already well aware of who, have spent all day discussing what, fully understand as to where, am entirely cognizant as to when, and finally, have no interest whatsoever as to why." Red-rimmed eyes burning with unspoken threats of unpleasantness visible above her clenched hands, Director Piggot of PRT ENE snarled, "What I want to know is how?" The words hung in the air for a few seconds and Piggot noted the not-insignificant confusion on the faces of those who had bothered to unmask for the private meeting she had called for – meaning everyone who wasn't Armsmaster. Before anyone could voice a request for clarification, Piggot forestalled any such attempts with a wave of the hand and a humorless smile. "I have to admit that it could almost be funny on some level. A child… younger than all but two of our Wards, upstaging the entirety of the Protectorate more than once in a twelve-hour period…" Leaving aside the fact that the PRT had also been left playing catch-up alongside the Protectorate, Director Piggot clenched her fingers around a pen she had in front of her, smile falling away as she tapped it on the impressive stack of papers and reports she had yet to even start. "Three times we had the chance to prove we are the heroes of the city, and three times we were left looking complete idiots. And on each occasion… there just happened to be footage! "Even in the most unlikely of situations just hours ago… footage. Footage proving that the Protectorate of Brockton Bay and the PRT ENE can't even keep up with a literal child in ramshackle armor. I can barely believe it myself as it is so..." Taking in another breath, she stared at the entirety of the Brockton Bay Protectorate and continued, voice slightly strained as she spoke. "Again, I have to ask how... How could you simply let this happen?" Silence. "I wasn't being rhetorical." Apart from the faint creaks of people shifting in their seats, the conference room remained silent. Several grown adults instead exchanged pointed looks, as if daring one another to be the first to speak and receive the Director's attention. Pitiful. Director Piggot let out another breath, a sour smile returning to her face as she struggled with the urge to vent her frustrations in a much more vocal manner. It wouldn't help, of course, but it would likely ease the pounding migraine that had been building in her skull since Sunday. Exhaustion seemed to haunt everyone in PRT HQ and the Rig these days, and the stress had been murder on all of them. Some more than others, she noted as her gaze flicked over to the haggard-looking Triumph. But as Director of the PRT ENE, she couldn't give a damn about that. That wasn't her job. "It seems that I was wrong in assuming that one of you would like to say something to address what I can only assume is the worst and most visible failure of this Protectorate branch in the last ten years." Armsmaster shifted in place as he turned slightly to face the director. Even through the bulk of metal and other materials that made up his suit, his body language still managed to come off as remarkably tense. "Director, I suppose I might…" "Armsmaster, just go ahead." Since none of your subordinates seem to possess the balls to do so, remained unsaid as Piggot impatiently rapped the marble tabletop with her pen. Or don't want to come up with excuses for being found inadequate while they're bleary-eyed and exhausted. The power-armored hero eased back into his seat slightly, his reinforced chair barely making a noise despite the movement of his bulk. Keeping his attention focused on Director Piggot, Armsmaster didn't even turn to glance at the holographic screen that curved over the arm he rested on the conference table. The fingers on his free hand went to work, tapping away in almost complete silence as the Tinker began to speak in his usual direct, almost-monotone, manner. "Referring to the confrontation with Lung, the cape in question, age notwithstanding, inserted himself into our operation to occupy Lung's attention and prevent him from ramping up further by diverting his focus and not allowing Lung the opportunity to properly engage us. Armsmaster paused for a moment, head tilting as if to scope out the room before turning back towards Piggot, a subtle new edge to his voice as he continued. "Upon analysis, our distraction-play against Lung is likely to have been effective to the degree that previous projections implied. However, as the PRT protocols in place to deal with Tinker-tech WMDs required the delegation of explosive reconnaissance duties to certain members of the Protectorate, those of us set to go against Lung were reinforced by Glory Girl, Manpower, and Lady Photon of New Wave. But, given their lack of familiarity with our anti-Lung protocols and the lack of practiced coordination between Protectorate and New Wave in maneuvering as a unit, any advantage we possessed against Lung was effectively neutralized. However, we were still able to contain Lung to Coventree Plaza and mitigate the villain's rate of escalation for an unprecedented period of time, but that status could not have been sustained given projected exhaustion levels of all Heroes involved, devastation to the Plaza, and the fighting between PRT Troopers and the ABB gang-members accompanying Lung with their Tinker-tech weaponry. However... " Pausing both his words and typing for a moment, Armsmaster eased himself back in his reinforced seat and gestured towards the projected image of Dauntless on the screen, somehow giving off the impression of raising an eyebrow despite the majority of his face being concealed behind his helmet and visor. "If I may?" "Again, Armsmaster," Through some herculean feat of self-control, Piggot managed to withhold an exasperated sigh as she replied, "just continue." He nodded, tapping a few more non-physical keys as the projected footage shifted from the close-up shot of Dauntless' face to a high-angle, frozen image of a silver-scaled Lung with the villain's four-parted maw breathing fire in the direction of an armored cape surrounded by a maelstrom of wind surrounding. "Upon the interruption of the new cape — assumed code-name: 'Sir Prodigy', demotic code-name: 'White Knight' — Lung's growth began to escalate at a rate that surpassed all noted records or projections and outpaced our ability to engage him, at least not without severe injury or potential casualties. Judging from what little analysis of compiled footage in the short time I have had to conduct my observations, 'Prodigy' possesses several complementary abilities and powers – a tentative [Multi-Trigger] note has been added to his file – the combination of which made him an effective counter to Lung's own parahuman powers. In terms of Threat Ratings for response, I have settled upon giving Prodigy a tentative mid-level Hurdle/Run/Takeoff combination-category Mover rating of 4 along with a mid-level, composite Brute rating built from twin categories; Field and R-" "Armsmaster…" Piggot's voice dipped into a growl she didn't have the energy to maintain, her calm composure splintering as she fixed the Tinker with the closest thing to a glare she could manage. "It's nearing 4 AM. None of us have the time nor the patience for this." "Understood," Armsmaster voiced, the terse undertone to his words the only sign of his annoyance at being interrupted. "'Prodigy' is a capable Brute, Mover, Blaster, Shaker, Striker and – tentative – Thinker capable of avoiding, engaging and severely harming a highly-escalated Lung. None of us within the Protectorate East-North-East possess that level of versatility, at least not to such a pronounced degree. In short, the Protectorate was outdone and outshone by a child." His jaw clenched on the last syllable, the word almost forced out of his mouth as he held Piggot's gaze. "Adequate?" It was interesting just how something so simple could affect him, the large woman mused, noting a hint of anger from the normally reticent Tinker. To anyone else, the slight tension in Armsmaster's jaw would have been just that. To Piggot, the man might as well have been openly scowling and yet… he didn't seem anywhere near as livid as she would have expected; his body language was oddly relaxed with the exception of his tense facial muscles. For goodness' sake, he was even leaning back in his seat, battle-ready power armor notwithstanding. Armsmaster was as much the ENE Protectorate as he was his own person; their failures were his and vice versa. Even the slightest observation would tell anyone that much. So, why was it that the prideful cape seemed so much more irritable at her interruption than the embarrassment he and his team were facing? At almost any other time other than 4 in the morning after several days without proper sleep, she might have gone so far as to question whether Armsmaster was beginning to get used to being casually outshone by smiling blonds in period armor. Now, though, she'd let it go. Later. "Adequate." "Is the situation…" Piggot found herself matching the movements of everyone else in the room as all eyes turned to Miss Militia, three words managing to shift the focus onto her. The weapon-toting cape sat there, attention focused on the table in front of her with a look of distinct concentration on her face, "I mean… are things really as bad as we're assuming?" She shook her head and glanced up, gaze not meeting the eyes of anyone in particular as she rubbed a patch of slightly-paler skin on her bare forearm. "I'm not understating the seriousness, of course, but there is a possibility that we're…" "Wrong?" Assault cut in, the cape tapping a light drumbeat on the dark marble as he flashed the flag-bearing woman a smirk that he often swore up and down was his trademark. Said expression only slightly marred by his general weariness, the former villain leaned forward and let out a low breath of air accompanied by a slight laugh. "Ooh, I wish. If that's the case, me and the sweetheart," said sweetheart strangled an instinctual groan before it could reach completion, shooting her partner a warning look that went ignored and unnoticed as Assault continued, "aren't gonna have to drop our plans for the next week just to sit through a bunch of boring meetings with Risk Assessment, Crisis Management, PR… ughh, Glenn is gonna lose his shit, isn't he?" Assault took a moment to breathe, shaking his head as a frown crossed his face. Wearing a similar expression, Miss Militia spoke up again, curious, "What are the chances that this… Prodigy… can be convinced into joining the Wards?" "Doubtful."/"Minimal." Piggot and Armsmaster answered in unison, neither turning to look at the other as everyone else glanced their way. Armsmaster continued, replying, "His profile indicates a distrust of governmental and pseudo-governmental agencies as well as a level of irreverence and casual disdain for propriety and tact reminiscent of Mouse Protector in her Ward days." Those last few words left Miss Militia quiet, one eye shut in a wince as she slowly leaned back in her seat with a sigh on her lips. Assault let out a long breath to match hers, the sound just a slight shift of his lips away from becoming a whistle. "...Well, then, that's a bust. Anyway, I hope you're right about everything else, Miss M. I doubt it, but here's hoping." Miss Militia didn't respond. Verbally, at least. A single raised eyebrow and the slight tilt of her head managed to convey at least a few sentences worth of replies in under a second. "I get it. I get it. You're a silver-lining person." Assault tilted his head, matching Miss Militia's body language as he sat up straighter. "But, uh… how do I put this? Take it from me when I say that the public doesn't tend to be forgiving when the Protectorate comes off looking… bad. It's bad enough when a villain gives a Protectorate team the run-around more often than not, or when an Independent shows a couple of heroes up. But a kid? Half a dozen times in the same day? On camera too?" Another small laugh spilled out as his smirk expanded into a grin, the amusement on Assault's face remaining strong even among a room full of solemn stares. "Yeaaah… we're gonna be feeling this one for a while." There was silence again, Miss Militia taking the words to heart more than most as she returned to staring at the dark marble surface. Piggot couldn't help but agree with Assault's opinion, despite how grating she found the man. "I still can't believe it. Three times?" Battery's voice made itself heard by breaking the silence before it could drag on to the point of awkwardness again. Her ponytail bobbed slightly as she tilted her head upwards to look her smirking husband in the eye. "You said three times?" The slight rise in pitch that came with her echoed question did very little to ease the sharp, nigh-confrontational edge that was usual for the woman when speaking to Assault in-costume. "He took down Lung and brought in Bakuda but-" She paused, gaze flicking towards the armored cape at the far end of the table. Dauntless didn't even look up despite the eyes on him. The embarrassment radiating off him was practically palpable from the way he fidgeted his hands on the table. Good. Piggot knew better than to blame him for the situation on everyone's mind, but that didn't mean she wasn't fine with letting him stew in his own misguided sense of guilt. It was a rare cape, in her view, that had enough self-awareness to realize their missteps – imagined or not – and she'd be an idiot to weaken that by convincing them they did nothing wrong. "If we're being honest, it's definitely more than three," Velocity said, voice clipped and direct in a way that even Armsmaster couldn't quite manage, as expected when in Piggot's presence. Years of service didn't exactly fade from the psyche quite so easily, after all. "PHO, police reports, media blurbs; they all say the same thing. The kid's been darting all over the Bay, pulling rescues and scaring off looters and ABB – no combat, though – in the hours before the Bakuda incident. Local news has been running with that like you wouldn't believe." Tilting his head toward his fellow teammates in red, the former military man could only add, "Assault's on point with this, at least with the fact that we're gonna get knocked around a bit." Piggot forced herself not to sigh, well aware that last bit of bad news could also be laid at her feet. A level of media silence on the part of the Protectorate had been enforced these last few days. The idea had been to keep the team's movements beneath the awareness of the ABB as individual squads hunted down the Tinker and her bombs alongside New Wave. Said silence had been made almost total as Lung not only confirmed PRT Thinker projections of a 'Super Bomb'. Their movements had to be without fanfare lest they tip the bomb-Tinker off and spook her into creating more devastation. A gag order had been issued, and protocols were utilized to thoroughly search the city with as much haste as possible without alerting the ABB to the precise nature of their deployments and maneuvers. In doing so, they had made significant work in crippling the ABB's operations and subdued several gang members for arrest, but had succeeded in keeping their operations relatively quiet. The media being what it was, though, was far too eager to jump on whatever it could find and a new, Wards-age Independent actually being effective was too much of a find to convince any media outlet to keep silent, especially with very little coming from the usually visible heroes. "That's to be expected, isn't it?" Miss Militia spoke up again, shaking her head as she spoke. "He's new, he's young, he's made an impression. If it was just that, this wouldn't be cause for a serious meeting. There's been dozens of those in the last decade. They never last, sadly. On the other hand, the Protectorate has history and weight to it. We're a part of this city and there's no storm that we can't weather." She paused, mouth open for a few short seconds as she seemed to go over her thoughts. "No matter how bad this seems, it will fade. It always does." Emily couldn't help the slight narrowing of her eyes as Miss Militia said her piece, looking far more centered than before. It was true that the Protectorate had been around for decades, long enough that the people – young and old – considered it a fixture in their lives. The Director knew Miss Militia's history with the Protectorate, and for the veteran parahuman, the organization was certainly a foundational element of her life. Yet, none of that meant as much as Miss Militia seemed to think it did. Capes had been around before the PRT or Protectorate were formed and they would be around when they both crumble. It was eventual that they would, of course. Only idealists and idiots – one and the same, really – would ever assume otherwise. Capes would remain capes. The PRT was just the most effective leash North America had. "There is… uh, I do have some good news on that front, at least," Triumph chose to make himself heard, his voice uncharacteristically subdued for someone normally only outdone by Assault when it came to sheer exuberance. Given what he had been through just days ago, Piggot wasn't much surprised. "Da-… I mean, Mayor Christner… He… uh, he plans on making a public statement… th-thanking the Protectorate for their part in keeping the city safe and… and fighting off further traffickings attempts and attempted political terrorism so… ugh…" The former baseball player let out an audible sigh, wan complexion and slightly-sunken cheeks standing out as he tried to keep himself together. Despite herself, Piggot found herself sympathizing; the cape had gone through enough trauma in the last four days – of multiple types – to surpass the rest of his team combined. Panacea could only do so much after all, especially without a mountain of biomass at hand to fix damage so severe. An attempt to give him twenty-four hours to recuperate with family and nearby relatives had only put him in the line of fire again, when the lone cape ended up facing off against a small convoy of suspiciously well-armed ABB attempting a home invasion on the mayor's property. "So…" Triumph spoke once more, having collected himself. "We have a cushion there, I think. I mean… it's not gonna be a major hit, at least." The smile on his face, as tired as it seemed, spoke for his optimism and from the looks of things, several others seemed to agree. Unfortunately, Piggot didn't find herself sharing their spirit. The portly woman instead frowned behind her interlaced fingers as she continued staring at the capes arrayed before her. For all that it claimed not to be a government agency, the PRT was as hamstrung by politics as any other. If not politics in the form of direct governmental oversight, then politics in the form of public relations, as PR was nothing but. This new cape had outshone the PRT repeatedly at a time when the city was on the brink and their heroes were almost unseen by the public; by choice and design, of course, but still... Regardless of how she personally felt about it, there was momentum in an image that Prodigy had (inadvertently? She wasn't sure) cultivated, and a hell of a lot of power in that kind of momentum. Public Relations, just like politics, was all about image. A solid win was something that could make or break public opinion. Two? Even better. Three times? One after the other? Now, that was a pattern. People liked patterns. People trusted patterns. Unfortunately for Piggot, neither the Protectorate nor PRT Troopers under her command had had a pattern of winning in a long while, let alone a single, strong win by itself. What they did have was a pattern of keeping things stable in the city… relatively speaking, at least. This was Brockton Bay, after all. It wasn't exactly what they wanted but for the most part, the heroes did their job, smiled for the camera and proved that they could, if not defeat the villains outright, then at least beat them back. That was a strength as much as it was a weakness, allowing the heroes to be seen fighting "the good fight" for the city and winning hearts and minds just by being visible. People of course complained that the same threats were still around and of course, they were right. Any idiot who pulled his head out of the sand could see that much. Ten years like this. Ten years working the same, stupid balancing act. It couldn't go on forever, Piggot knew that much, and it was all she could do to keep it in one piece for as long as possible. Lately, it was far too often that Emily found herself wondering if she had made the right choice in accepting a position as thankless and problematic as this one. 'Things will fall apart, though,' a firm scowl worked itself onto her face at the thought, 'and who are they gonna blame when it eventually does?' And every single time she found herself struggling to reach an answer. "-ector Piggot…" The woman glanced up at the sound of her name, a voice she hadn't quite expected to hear drawing her attention more than anything else. She affixed the speaker with a focused stare, the scowl still on her face intensifying for a multitude of reasons. "Dauntless." There was no heat or even much tension in her voice despite the expression on her face, something both Armsmaster and Miss Militia noticed, both of them silently conveying curiosity in their own manner. "Director," Dauntless continued, sitting up in his seat with both hands locked together and resting on the marble surface. "I'd like to formally apologize for my…" Despite the laser-focused intensity on Piggot's face as she kept her gaze on Dauntless, the woman almost immediately tuned out the apologetic cape as he continued to drone on with the mea-culpa she had no interest in. After a few seconds of noting the ever-increasing upwards tilt of Armsmaster's lips as Dauntless continued speaking, Piggot decided that things had already gone on long enough. Her raised palm was enough to silence the apologetic hero, Dauntless' words faltering into quiet mumbles as the director looked him in the eye. "The sentiment is appreciated but your apologies aren't necessary, Dauntless. There will be repercussions, of course, for your part in the situation but everyone of importance is well aware that your words weren't your own. In fact, the handler assigned to you earlier this morning to quarterback your address to Prodigy and the media has already been reprimanded and reassigned, with termination still on the table." As expected, Piggot's statement managed to raise eyebrows. One in particular. "So quickly?" The frown on Miss Militia's face spoke volumes on how she felt about the situation, not that Piggot didn't understand where she was coming from. "A reassignment without even a review? That seems... rushed." "I don't disagree, Miss Militia," Piggot replied, nodding in her direction. "Under normal circumstances, that would be what protocol dictates. However, a point has to be made; we are currently in a crisis situation and allowing incompetence like that to remain in a position where it could further damage public opinion would be a serious mistake." Her expression seemed to shift as she paused for breath, hints of annoyance and exasperation clouding the director's face. "If you honestly believe so strongly about the issue, I'd recommend you take it up with our new Vice Director. I've delegated personal supervision of various media and public-or-civilian-related departments to his oversight." "Oh yeah, the new guy," Assault chimed in. "Haven't seen him around yet." Piggot's frown intensified further, the woman losing more and more of her semblance of calm the longer she kept speaking. "And I wouldn't expect to. At least, not for the next few days or so." With that said, Emily Piggot leaned back in her seat again, surveying the room once more with a scowl that could frighten grown men. "On a related note, some of you may have heard of a certain… problem that was uncovered within our Wards... – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – It was a well known fact about Sophia Hess that she contemplated violence rather often. Most of those who made the unfortunate decision to get to know her would quickly discover that simple aspect of her personality. Violence was many things to Sophia Hess. It was a problem-solver, of course. Very few problems she dealt with often remained problems after a brutal kick connected with… well, any body part, really. It was also a method of keeping herself sharp, making sure she was always in peak condition. Of course, there were better methods of doing so than going about antagonizing others and picking fights but Sophia was also the type of person to stick to her preferred methods. It was both a time-waster and a hobby; meaningless and rather brutal violence was one of the very few activities that Sophia Hess actually enjoyed engaging in as a pastime. There were certainly plenty of other reasons Sophia Hess found herself so obsessed with the simple joy that came with inflicting pain on others, but there was one that stood out in the forefront of Sophia's mind at this very moment. "Tell me — and please, be honest here — was all of this some deluded attempt to create a new supervillain? One for you to eventually defeat to increase your own reputation?" Violence was, without a doubt, very handy when it came to shutting up those assholes that seemed to have triggered with the power to get under her skin with every word out of their mouth, regardless of whether they actually had powers or not. "I asked you a question, Miss Hess. I expect an answer." he continued, his voice a sharp yet smooth wedge designed solely to interrupt her thoughts. Sophia bristled at the sound, clenching her teeth. Very, very useful. Sophia Hess opened her eyes slowly, blinking a few times as she once again stared out of the viewing window at the tall man standing just outside — fortunately for him — the fortified door and wall. "No." The man in the jet-black business suit didn't even bother to frown at her growled response, simply tilting his head slightly as he continued looking at her. "And you're absolutely sure about that?" Sophia Hess took a deep breath in, hands clenched tightly at her side as she tried to keep herself together. It didn't help her temper that the man's voice came at her from all sides, piped into her containment cell through omnidirectional speakers. To make things even worse, she had no idea who he actually was, other than some PRT paper-pusher they had sent down to deal with her. After hours upon hours of being left to stew in this hermetically-sealed and electrified cage, she had expected Rennick or maybe even the Pig herself. She knew both of them well enough; one an overworked and stuttering idiot, and the other, an overweight and overworked idiot. She could deal with both of them. This guy, though? "I said, ar–" "Yes," she interjected, the single syllable as harsh as she could manage through gritted teeth. Her hands clenched again — even tighter, this time — and Sophia turned her head to the side to stare holes into another blank wall. "Yes, I'm sure." This guy just pissed her off. "Hmm..." He stepped forward, allowing Sophia to better see the gaunt face of the man looking down at her. Dark skin seemed to stretch tightly over his skull as he frowned at her, beady eyes judging her… as if he knew a fucking thing. "I have to tell you that our newest Ward was very detailed as to the breadth of your actions towards her over the past… what was it now?" He paused, the sides of his mouth twitching as if he wasn't sure whether to smile or openly scowl. "Ah, yes. Two years," he continued, lips twitching once more, "I believe it was, in fact, two years. Two years of purposeful and malicious behavior designed to push one's intended victim to the brink. And of course, all of that pales in comparison to what was described to me as the… Locker Incident." The paper-pusher let out a low breath, one hand rising to cup his chin. "With everything we have been informed of, it is of no surprise to me, the Director, or any of your fellow Wards that Miss Hebert responded in the way she did towards you last night. While not entirely justified, her reaction was understandable and, given what we now know, not unexpected. Naturally, we have made it clear to her that, as a new Ward faced with the cause of her trigger, she will face no repercussions. You, on the other hand..." He raised his gaze slightly, frown now clear on his face as Sophia glared back at him with a look that bordered on murderous. "You played out a dedicated campaign of physical and emotional abuse, gaslighting, theft and many more acts along the same lines; actions unbecoming of any representative of the PRT, let alone a Ward. Disgraceful." Sophia's arms trembled, muscles taut as she continued to hold them tight at her sides. There was nothing she could say, nothing that would get her anywhere if Hebert really had confessed and of course she fuckin' did. Her mom had basically given her over to the PRT to keep the authorities from throwing her in juvie when she was finally caught by the self-righteous, parahuman clowns and the teenage girl knew for a fact that not a fucking one of them would say shit in her defense if Hebert gave them her whole sob-story. People were egocentric, blind morons that way, slaves to the lies they tell themselves about how the world works because they're too weak to handle the truth. This isn't fuckin' fair, she fumed to herself, eyes stinging as she fought the urge to scream again. I did everything they wanted. I danced for the fucking cameras. I went to the fucking Behemoth fight. I played nice with those shitheads on my team. This isn't fuckin' fair! He stepped closer again, this time to the point that he was almost pressed up against the electrified glass as he continued to look down on the simmering figure in the containment cell, a scowl stretching his cheeks and enhancing his skeleton-like appearance. "Let me make it clear to you, Shadow Stalker, that while you will not yet be removed from the Wards, you will not be leaving this cell without serious concessions on your part. Your movements will be restricted, your actions will be limited and your communications will be regulated to those we approve. Consider this as the PRT taking your probation a step further." "... You can't do-" She found her voice again, long enough to growl out those three syllables, only for the man standing across from her to interject. "You are in no position to instruct the PRT on what we can or cannot do. Especially, as you have made it very clear with your behavior that you are far from being considered a hero." He paused to breathe. The microphone was sensitive enough to catch even the patronizing inhale as the man in the business suit towered over her, glaring at her imperiously. "No, you are, first and foremost, a threat to both the image of the PRT as an organization and the safety of this city as a whole. In fact, I do not doubt that if your teammate, Clockblocker, had not been both brave and smart enough to freeze you, Miss Hebert might be dead and you would be on your way to the Birdcage already." Sophia found herself shuddering again, hands —bruised and purpling from pounding at her sealed, electrified cage she couldn't slip free from like the wraith that stalked the night she knew she was— clenched even tighter at her sides. This wasn't how things weren't supposed to be. None of this… It wasn't right. The frown lifted from his face, returning his expression to the blank line it had been since the beginning. "I will be making it my personal duty to ensure that you are kept in line and treated like the rabid dog you have proven yourself to be." With that said, he turned on his heel and began to make his way towards the exit of this particular M/S cell block, dress shoes clicking loudly enough for the microphone connected to Sophia's cell to pick up. She watched his back as he walked, frustration and anger pooling in her chest as she bared her snarling teeth with clenched fists, almost frothing with rage as she voiced the one question on her mind. Voice ragged and hoarse from hours of earlier rages, she shouted as loud as she could manage, "And who the fuck are you supposed to be, anyway?!" The suited man stopped just feet away from the exit doors and glanced over his shoulder, an actual smile playing at his lips as he responded, "The name is Thomas Calvert. Effective as of 24 hours ago, I am the new Vice-Director of the Parahuman Response Team, East-North-East. I would like to say it was a pleasure to have finally met you, but that would be a lie." He began walking away as Sophia finally gave in and rushed the door to her cell, pounding on it with renewed anger as she screamed her frustrations and the pain of electricity jolting her with every strike to anyone watching. "Have a good day, Miss Hess."