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Chapter 29
🕑 Added 2024-03-07 06:50:07 +0000 UTCFebruary 2nd, 10:36 PM
The Protectorate HQ
The Rig was like an anxious den of busy activity, troopers and officials moving back and forth with brisk, hurried footsteps. While normally not an uncommon occurrence, considering the state of the city it claimed fealty to, the energy in the air was… stiff. Tense. Electric.
“Dauntless has just engaged Purity, Director. They’re fighting over Cypress Avenue. No recorded civilian casualties from her previous blasts, but reported injuries are closing in on a dozen.”
Piggot blamed it on the sudden news and subsequent panic of Purity turning an entire ABB-affiliated warehouse district in the southern Docks to fucking scrap. The timing of the sporadic and destructive attack coinciding directly with the meticulously-planned Birdcage convoy finally getting the green light to get Hookwolf the fuck out of her city was definitely a coincidence, right?
Wrong.
Even her own internal sarcasm was pissing her off right now.
“Get us eyes on; tap into any CCTV footage in the area. And damn it, someone get me Lady Photon on the line! We need more aerial support to contain Purity before she draws Lung out of whatever hole he’s been hiding in. That is not a clash we want to happen tonight of all nights, and we don’t have the manpower consolidated to win. Make contact with Brandish as well; if neither of them answers, I want one of you to make a damned house call, beating on their doors.”
…
“Now!”
Men and women in dark uniforms and suits scattered at her command, some going for phones while others continued to monitor emergency PRT lines
Pain shot through her side like a lance, almost stopping her brisk pacing in its track, but Piggot gritted her teeth, jutted out her jaw, and pushed through the agony. Stress aches, as understated of a term as that was, were commonplace for her nowadays. Heading the operations of an underfunded, understaffed, and, quite frankly, underappreciated PRT branch in a city overly abundant with selfish and destructive parahumans did nothing to regulate her stress.
Stress was bad for the kidneys. Maybe it was a good thing that she’d long since lost hers. At least now, she wasn’t putting her actual organs at risk - just the dialysis machine.
“Ma’am,” Clancy called out, swiveling in her chair to face the pacing Director. The woman was a fresh promotee, elevated from benign grunt work to Operations Center intel and communications. She was smart and efficient, though not well-suited for physically strenuous work. “I have Lady Photon on comms; she’s the one who called. She is en route to intercept Purity alongside Laserdream, Panacea, and Glory Girl.”
Any amount of satisfaction was buried beneath the weight of pragmatic expectations and the responsibility of holding countless lives in her hands, alongside the fact that the Empire was clearly planning a break-out. Purity’s attack was merely a diversion.
Piggot turned away from the - so far - mundane camera footage coming from the top of the heavily armored PRT containment van carrying Hookwolf. In the peripherals of the camera, almost cut off by the edges of the monitor, two additional vans with foam sprayers attached to the roofs drove on either side.
Another monitor, this one smaller and less high-quality, showed the fish-eyed footage being streamed from Armsmaster’s visor; the man was tailing the caravan on his Tinkertech motorcycle, riding alongside Miss Militia, whilst the crimson blur of a sprinting Velocity occasionally shot by.
They were sticking with the caravan until I-89 out of Brockton Bay proper.
“Good. Estimated time of arrival?” The Director queried offhandedly, pressing her finger repeatedly against her headset to cycle to the transport’s encrypted channel.
“ETA is ten minutes with their current rate of travel, ma’am.”
Piggot grunted in acknowledgment. Assuming they were traveling well within the maximum range of their total flight speed, that was most likely the best they were going to get. Say what you wanted about New Wave’s transparency, the majority of the group was as swift and effective as concentrated missile fire - as long as your aim was good.
“Transport Team,” she spoke tersely into her microphone, returning her attention to the monitors. “Listen closely: Purity is raising hell in the Docks, moving completely outside of her usual MO of attacking the gangs directly. Considering the timing, it’s safe to assume that-”
There was the sound of static, before Armsmaster’s cold, frustrated voice filtered through the headset. “It’s a run-of-the-mill diversionary tactic. She’s working with the Empire again, and any cape you pull from this team will be less security to defend against their main attack. ”
Hearing the reality of the situation directly from the leader of the Protectorate did nothing to assuage the annoyance and stress pressing heavily against her chest like a paperweight. Piggot bit back her mouth’s instinctive urge to respond with scornful cynicism. Now wasn’t the time to let her emotions get the best of her. “Stay on course until you reach the planned turn-around point, and keep all eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Whatever the Empire has planned, those bastards are going to pull it sooner rather than later. We’ll send PRT reinforcements now, so be prepared. We cannot let them rescue Hookwolf under our noses again.” Her eyes darted to a loitering officer, brows narrowing and voice raising with finality, and the man saluted and scrambled for his console.
“Understood, Director.”
“Yes ma’am!”
“Yes, Director.”
Miss Militia’s determined voice and Velocity’s slightly out-of-breath affirmation were the only responses received from the other two Protectorate heroes. On the monitor, Piggot watched as the Tinker accelerated past the main transport van, head on a swivel as he scanned the passing alleys and buildings for anything even remotely out of place. The convoy was moving at a clipped sixty miles per hour, though the exit to get on the Interstate was coming up soon. After that, their speed would accelerate considerably, and the heroes would peel off to let the vans continue unaccompanied.
If the Empire was going to attack, it would have to be before I-89. Assuming they mobilized their more dextrous and ambush-capable capes, then that would mean-
“D-Director!” The agent monitoring Dauntless’ status abruptly stood from his computer, his flax brown skin turning ashen. Heads in the Operations Center swiveled at the unprofessional shout, and Piggot herself scowled - not at the raised voice, but the alarm and panic clear on the young man’s face. The room was dark, illuminated only by the fluorescent blue glow from the countless monitors and screens lining the walls and desks, but even with her less than stellar vision Piggot could see the fear in the man’s gaze.
“Now isn’t the time for panic, agent - we’ve got enough problems outside HQ. What is it?” Pain gripped her side, coming from organs that weren’t even there anymore, but Piggot set her jaw and marched towards the pale-faced man.
“Dauntless. Dauntless is unconscious, ma’am. I was monitoring his vitals and staying up-to-date with his helmet footage and what little CCTV cameras are in the area, and...” The agent paused, licking his lips and tapping a violent combination of keys on the keyboard, and Piggot felt her face heat up in frustration.
“Shit!” she swore, slamming her palm on the cool plastic of the black desk and glaring at the screen. One corner of the monitor was straight static - Purity had to have gotten him with a shot to the head, smoking his helmet’s camera. The other parts of the screen showed scrambled and heavily warped footage of a rubble-strewn street and what seemed like burning warehouses, all byproducts of a horrible woman with the power to level buildings bursting from her chest. Another parahuman just as obsessed with destruction, chaos, and misery as the same people she ‘left’ years ago.
Another fucking hypocrite.
“Agent Clancy, ETA for New Wave. Purity needs to be apprehended.” She wasn’t just targeting ABB at this point - this was just wanton destruction for the absolute fuck of it. Whatever Kaiser offered her to help them, she was clearly willing to abandon whatever weak morals she’d attained since leaving in exchange for it.
“They’ve increased their speed, ma’am - they should be arriving in less than three minutes.”
That wasn’t fast enough.
Piggot’s index finger scratched aggravatedly against the surface of the desk. The weight in her chest grew, the dryness in her throat worsening, but she allowed none of it to show on her face. This was the burden she pledged to carry when she decided to dedicate her entire life to protecting and upholding the laws of society.
She bit back another cynical retort. “That’ll have to be enough, then. Send what field officers we have around the Docks directly to Cypress Avenue. I want Dauntless secured and stabilized in a PRT custody, and that entire neighborhood cordoned off to mitigate civilian injuries and disruption. Where the hell is Triumph? Assault and Battery?!”
Another agent, this one heavyset and bald, chimed in hurriedly from another desk. “Their patrol was interrupted by an… art museum robbery in the commercial district, Director. By the Undersiders. There were no injuries or casualties, but the villains managed to esc-”
“I don’t care if those children managed to get away with the goddamned Mona Lisa. Get Assault and Battery to the Docks, backing up New Wave, now.”
“Right. And what about Triumph…?”
“Connect him with our Birdcage prisoner transport team. As long as we can protect that containment van and bloody the Empire’s nose enough to retreat and lick their wounds, the convoy should be able to rendezvous with the Guild in Vermont.”
“On it, Director!”
Breathing hot puffs of air out of her flaring nostrils, Piggot pushed off of the desk and moved to resume her stressed pacing. If it wasn’t one fucking thing, it was a-fucking-nother. If it wasn’t the residential super nazis of the Bay attacking men and women for the color of their damn skin and breaking their pet mutt out of the pound, it was an oversized man-lizard setting fire to buildings or irresponsible teenagers robbing art museums because why not.
She had taken this position for a reason, right?
Right. Because she was too crippled to take the fucking fight directly to those bastards herself.
“Lady Photon has reported that they’ve arrived on scene, ma’am,” Agent Clancy suddenly spoke up, her voice distracted as she pressed her fingers against her headset and furrowed her brow. Piggot paused mid-step, an odd feeling flitting through her gut as the normally composed and orderly woman’s face began paling. “U-Understood, Lady Photon. Okay. Yes.”
“What is happening, Agent?” Piggot interrupted, her flinty voice lowering into a discomforted rasp. They were already spread paper-thin as is, with the added pressure of an eminent ambush looming over their heads. What else could possibly be wrong now?
“Understood.” Clancy mumbled into the headset again, before snapping her head up to meet Piggot’s narrowed gaze. The young agent hesitated for only a second, worrying her plump bottom lip with her teeth, before speaking quickly. “Ma’am, Lady Photon has reported additional capes on the scene.”
Piggot’s stomach flopped. Clenching her fists, she stepped closer. “Has Lung or Oni Lee decided to finally appear? Who are we dealing with?”
Clancy paused again, and that brief moment of silence was enough time for Piggot to flash through several varying levels of impatience. Before she could say another word, the agent continued. “Lung is engaging Purity right now, but he isn’t the only new capes to arrive. Night and Fog… they’ve returned from Boston, and are engaging with New Wave as we speak. Glory Girl was ambushed on arrival, but she was able to recover quickly.”
Ice.
Ice flooded Piggot’s veins, bringing with it a startling shock of numbness and focus. The anxiety, stress, fear, anger… she dropped it all into the whirring blender that was her will, and channeled it all into cold determination.
The nazis wanted to play fuck-fuck games, she’d give them fuck-fuck games.
“Make a request for Panacea to restore Dauntless to fighting form - he was probably taken down by a sneak attack by Night and or Fog during his fight. Assuming his boots are still functional, he should be able to rival and overcome Purity in speed,” she ordered, turning away and gesturing to another agent before Clancy could even reply.
“Underst- … okaaay.”
“You - notify Assault and Battery of the change in capes, and warn them to not engage with Lung. Night and Fog are the priorities, and they should know their powers. If Battery sees the opportunity, assist New Wave and Dauntless with apprehending Purity.”
“Yes, Director!”
Unmuting her headset, Piggot turned towards Armsmaster’s visor monitor and stepped closer to view the fish-eyed footage with a more discerning eye. They were approaching the city exit that would take them onto I-89, and in the back of her head, whispering its paranoid whispers, something was telling her that it wouldn’t be long now.
“Armsmaster, Triumph should be on his way to reinforce the-”
CRACK!
A gunshot, tinny and echoing, shot through her ears, and Piggot cold blood ran hot.
“Shots fired, shots-!”
________________________________
Birdcage Transport
“-fired! Get behind cov-”
CRACK!
CRACK!
Armsmaster’s brain couldn’t react fast enough to bark out orders in response to the sudden expert marksman. Two more gunshots, deafening and powerful, ripped through the stormy night sky, and suddenly… the transport van was leaning heavily to the right. Sparks lit up Lord Street’s four-lane road, the screeching of rims grinding viciously against the rain-slick blacktop filling the air. The agent driving the van tried to regain control, he truly did, but the third gunshot wasn’t aimed at a tire - it was aimed at the engine block.
The transport van was reinforced with a combined alloy of armored steel and carbon, and the tires were lined with a special rubber-like polymer blended to endure most forms of penetration. For all intents and purposes, mundane firearms - even military grade rifles utilizing .50 caliber munitions - would have trouble piercing its defenses. The vehicle was made to resist parahumans.
But it was staring to slow down, steam was beginning to drift from beneath the hood, and there was still a sniper with sights set on his team. The most likeliest culprit was Victor, considering he was the Empire’s most prolific sharpshooter, and those shots were good.
Armsmaster slid his motorcycle into cover behind the right-most escort van, moving along with it as the driver slowly pulled up to block the sniper’s line of sight with the transport. He didn’t like the feeling of being pinned down; defending himself from lasers and blasts of fire was wholly different from having the sight of a high-powered sniper rifle trained on his forehead, and it was partially this discomfort that stopped most capes from utilizing guns. The Unwritten Rules shunned them for a reason.
No one wanted to get shot in the head from over 300 meters away without even knowing it happened.
“Miss Militia,” he spoke loudly into his helmet’s microphone, carefully sliding off of his bike and pressing his back flat against the PRT van. “Velocity. Are either of you hit?” The heavy downpour of rain, combined with the cloudy darkness of the night sky, did its damndest to obscure his sight, but his visor was capable of seeing in a variety of vision modes.
There was a crackle in his ears, and a woman’s calm, focused voice voice came through. “I’m fine. Taking cover behind the other van. Velocity, can you spot for me? I can’t see the bastard...”
There was a blur of red that wrapped around the halted convoy, water droplets spraying into the air, and suddenly Velocity was crouched beside him. “I tried to get a good look, but the rain’s not on my side tonight - I couldn’t see anything.”
Armsmaster furrowed his brow. “Damn it. The gunshots came from the West, that much I can tell. Victor hasn’t shot to kill - with his ability, killing the drivers would’ve been child’s play. They’re not escalating to that degree yet.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t target non-vitals, Armsmaster, and if the bullets pierced the armored van…”
She didn’t need to go into further detail - the underlying meaning was clear. His armor was good, but whatever rifle Victor was using, wherever the sniper was, would most likely punch through.
Piggot’s voice, clipped and succinct, buzzed through his helmet before he could start running through different strategies. “Transport team, Triumph and PRT reinforcements are five minutes away. Hunker down and defend the van until then. Civilians are being warned to stay away from your location, but still be watchful.”
A logical directive. As Miss Militia relayed what little information they’d uncovered, Armsmaster didn’t respond verbally, opting to slide along the side of the van he was using as cover and carefully peek around the back end. In addition to nightvision, his visor was fitted with state-of-the-art telescopic software and thermal imaging. They were no longer in the residential part of Downtown anymore, as the closer you got to exiting - or entering - the city, the more tourist and traveler businesses you saw dotting the periphery. To the West, where the gunshots came from, there were multiple high-rise buildings that the sniper could’ve planted himself on top of. A few office buildings, a gas station a bit too far down the road, a four-story hotel…
He paused. The hotel was the tallest building that side of Lord Street, a part of the Pilor Resort chain that catered towards the rich all across the East Coast, and if the distance-analyzing software in his visor was correct, the hotel itself was about 309 meters away from their current location. A bit further if he calculated the lip of the rooftop instead of the flat side of the building.
Armsmaster zoomed and enhanced. At first, there was no discernible difference between the edge of the rooftop and any other rooftop in the area - just slate gray stone and little beads that he recognized as raindrops sliding down his visor - but then, something shifted. Almost unseeable, even with his night and thermal vision. The barest flash of white - heat.
“Velocity, do you feel comfortable drawing fire? I think I have eyes on Victor.”
There was a pause, before, “Can do, sir. He’s towards the West, right? I need to know where to expect a shot from if I want to have any chance at actually dodging it.” To his credit, Velocity didn’t sound perturbed at all. If anything, the veteran seemed less bored.
“There’s a grouping of buildings that you should be able to see if you run out and face Westwards - he’s on the tallest building there. Miss Militia…” Armsmaster trailed off, knowing that he didn’t need to say what needed to be said here.
A crackle through the headset. “I’ve got NVGs on and rifle trained, loaded with nonlethal ammunition. Good eye, Armsmaster. Ready when you are, Velocity.”
Armsmaster nodded at the compliment, knowing full well that she couldn’t see it.
“Three…” Velocity breathed, tapping the rain-slick ground thrice in succession.
“Two…” He shifted, subtly pulling his leg back into a runner’s stance. Armsmaster, pressing his back against the van, unholstered his Halberd.
“One!”
A blast of air buffeted him from the side, and a spray of water droplets followed right after. Armsmaster peeked out from behind the van again-
CRACK!
CRACK!
Two rapports - one from further away, and the other from right behind him. Armsmaster grit his teeth against the ear-splitting gunshots, his helmet’s sensors dampening the worst of the noise, and focused his sight on the rooftop. That white haze - Victor - was bigger now, but it wasn’t ducking back down beneath cover; it was apt to say that he was slumped over and decidedly incapacitated, considering the alternative was a much more illogical possibility that he was lying out in the open after revealing his position. Victor wasn’t stupid.
“Target down.”
“Confirmed. Good shot, Miss Militia,” he returned the compliment, before walking over to a Velocity hurriedly patting his various limbs down. With the threat - for now - taken out, there was no need to hide behind the vans - it was unlikely that one sniper was the Empire’s only plan of attack. “Any bullet holes?”
“No sir. None that I can feel, at the very least,” the Mover straightened up, a slightly twitchy grin pulling at his thin lips. “Don’t know if I’ll be drawing out sniper fire anytime soon, though. Those bullets are way too big.” He held out his hand, and in his palm was a brass-colored, three inch round that was steaming due to the rain and moisture clinging thickly to the air.
Armsmaster blinked away his intrigue. “Leave it be for forensics to handle. For now, see if you can get up to the roof of that hotel and perform an arrest. I’ll see about repairing the transport and patching up the-”
“Uh, sir-”
“What?” Armsmaster paused, his brow furrowing at being interrupted. Time was of the essence, and they did not have much of it to spare.
“I can’t see too well, but… the hell is that?” Velocity pointed over his shoulder with the bullet, and Armsmaster immediately twisted on his heel to see what he was referring to. Beneath the sound of rain and wind, and the usual violent ambience of a Brockton Bay night, there was an odd sound - like something dense cutting through the air.
His visor glinted, vision bright beneath the dark, overcast sky, and Armsmaster’s heart stopped at what he saw.
Miss Militia’s hurried voice shot through the comms. “Five capes, Empire-affiliated, flying in from over the left-most building to the East.” That was all she could get out before a staccato of angry gunfire began barking out in bursts.
Armsmaster was already sprinting forward before Miss Militia’s report was even finished. The five capes were bright and clear in his eyes, approaching rapidly from the sky on what appeared to be two large, ragged slabs of torn-apart concrete - Krieg and Alabaster on one, Stormtiger and Rune on the other, while Crusader flew above all of them. The initial approximation of ‘five’ was disingenuous, considering the ghostly forms of three more armored, spear-wielding men peeling off from Crusader and diving towards the hail of bullets flying from Miss Milita’s side of the van. Another ghost pulled away from the hovering ‘knight’ to fly West, towards the hotel.
Altogether, they were a lot of capes for just three heroes, and it was clear that the aggressive party planned to win through swift, overwhelming aerial superiority and mobility. Even now, their platforms were circling the beached convoy, never staying in one spot long enough to get a good enough shot off. That made Rune a high-priority target, with Krieg second most important since he almost definitely acting as the commander.
The slab of concrete carrying Krieg and Alabaster shot forward, faster than the others, as the bullets passed through Crusader’s ghosts, slowing to a noticeable degree the closer they got to the well-dressed nazi wearing a gasmask. He crossed his forearms over his face in an ‘X’ formation, preparing himself to straight up tank the bullets.
As they harmlessly pittered off of Krieg’s raised arms, not even tearing through the black fabric of his over the top Nazi ensemble, the white-skinned Alabaster dove off the makeshift platform, over fifty feet high in the air. Distinctly, Armsmaster could see knives gripped in his hands.
“Get to Victor before Crusader does, Velocity.”
“On it.”
A red blur passed by his left, and in the corner of his vision, he noticed the containment foam turrets swiveling to point towards the approaching capes. A spray of the pale yellow fluid blasted through the air, aimed towards Crusader, but the man was too high above ground - the turrets were made for closer targets. There was a blast of air from Stormtiger, and the containment foam blasted back towards the van that shot it. Immediately, it reacted to the oxygen in the air and bubbled up into a sticky, dense mess, coating both the turret and the windshield of the van.
Useless.
Data flashed through his HUD, predicting the angle of Alabaster’s fall alongside the height from which he’d jumped - roughly fifty feet - and the acceleration due to gravity - approximately 9.8 m/s². Gathering all of that information together, then…
Armsmaster dashed forward, his HUD lighting up the exact spot Alabaster would land - most likely with broken legs and a destroyed spine. For four seconds.
He lashed out with his Halberd, twisting the motion-sensitive shaft and triggering the electricity field around the head of his signature weapon. Blue arcs of raw energy buzzed along the metal, humming quietly amidst the sound of gunshots and rainfall, and Armsmaster squared his shoulders.
Alabaster was the least of his worries in this group, but if he was offering himself up freely, then Armsmaster would be the one to put him down and double back to-
VROOOOOOM!
A mechanical roar drowned out every other sound on Lord Street, and Armsmaster didn’t have time to look over his shoulder before something was soaring over his head, a large shadow dwarfing his form for the briefest of moments before passing.
The mechanical beast was like a black, bulky, armored missile - larger and faster than any combat-oriented truck the PRT currently had in Brockton Bay, but put together by what seemed to be burnished steel plates charred a deep, soot-like ebony. Two massive pipes extended from either side of the body like a semi, belching out a steam that seemed to turn the rain around it to vapor.
That was all he could gather in the brief couple seconds where the truck was in his direct line of sight.
His prediction program stalled, recalibrating to take into account the new variable, and Armsmaster’s eyes widened behind his visor-
CRUNCH!
SPLAT!
The battlefield quietened.
Dimly, he was aware of the chalk-colored arm plopping onto the digital red circle right in front of him. Blood mingled with the rain, slicking his visor with coppery red streak that smeared when he went to wipe it off with the gloved hand not gripping his Halberd. Through the mess of blood and water, he could see that even the Empire was confused at the sudden turn of events and gore.
The truck landed heavily on the road after splattering Alabaster across Lord Street, tires squealing and leaving behind bloodied tracts as it accelerated forward at ridiculous speeds, drifted into a two-wheeled U-turn, and drove towards the convoy at an estimated sixty miles per hour.
Armsmaster narrowed his eyes. There was a figure crouched on top of the roof, its dark form almost blending in perfectly with the black paint of the truck, but something about the silhouette was familiar.
“What the hell is going on, Armsmaster? Report.” Piggot’s voice buzzed through his helmet.
“We’ve been attacked by four additional Empire capes, led by Krieg. A third party interfered and… killed Alabaster.”
Though his voice was calm in spite of the chaos, Armsmaster didn’t stay still. He twisted his Halberd, canceling its electrical output, and shot his grappling hook towards the foam-covered van that Miss Militia had been fighting beside. In a blur of movement, he skillfully maneuvered over the hood of the vehicle and landed in front of the woman, only just noticing that there were none of Crusader’s ghosts in the area.
Miss Militia’s rifle dissipated into green energy before re-emerging as a shotgun, which she leveled in his direction - for only the very briefest of seconds. As soon as she recognized who it was, the firearm was aimed towards the ground.
“... Killed as in ‘temporarily incapacitated’?”
It was Miss Militia who answered, her voice cold and stoic. “Permanently dead. Unless he can come back from getting his brain pulverized by a few tons of metal, that is.” Her words hinted at a bite of dark humor, but there was no smile in her tone.
“Who-”
The screeching of tires skidding across the blacktop cut through whatever the Director was going to say. Armsmaster and Miss Militia moved quickly to get a handle on the situation, the gunwoman switching back to a rifle in order to line up sight for an opportune shot, but things were quickly spiraling out of control. Rune’s platforms weren’t just hovering still, especially after the rogue truck flattened Alabaster, and Krieg was nowhere to be seen.
The concrete he’d been riding crashed against the road, splintering in smaller chunks of rubble.
The figure on top of the truck was no longer in sight, and fist-sized fragments of concrete was being shot towards the vehicle at speeds comparable to bullets. Crusader’s ghosts accompanied the rock bombardment, soaring down like falcons and attempting to skewer the driver with spears, but they moved too slow to keep up.
Whoever was driving the truck was clearly a parahuman of some kind - and most likely the Tinker who worked on the vehicle. They accelerated and deaccelerated at the perfect rate to avoid projectiles, performing manuevers and on-the-spot twists and turns that just barely managed to get them out of the way of the bulk of the rocks. A fair amount still managed to hit, of course, but a cocoon-like glow of blue energy would pulsate outwards and send the concrete flying through the air.
Electromagnetic repulsion. The vehicle had a shield generator, in addition to whatever modifications were giving the truck the torque and power necessary to hit such high speeds in fractions of a fraction of a second. A few Tinkers came to mind when he thought of capes in the Bay capable of such work, and the only one that made sense to him was Squealer, who was ‘missing’ according to the imprisoned Skidmark.
The same Skidmark that was defeated and left to rot by Avalon after the independent hero attacked their ‘block party’.
The same Avalon that defeated Hookwolf and asked, under no uncertain terms, whether he’d be sent off to the Birdcage properly.
His jaw clenched, and a warm veil of frustration coated his skin.
“Avalon.” Armsmaster hissed the name out beneath his breath, but it came out clear and loud in the microphone. “He must have gained some sort of Stranger power, because I saw him before, on top of the Tinkertech truck. He’s recruited Squealer, and they’ve come together to attack - or kill the Empire’s ambush team.”
Miss Militia’s cool and composed countenance hesitated at that, but she said nothing - merely pressing her face back against the scope of her rifle and moving to follow the lethal game of cat and mouse happening ahead of their miniature blockade.
“... Are you sure about this, Armsmaster? The camera footage from your visor is compromised, so we can’t verify this information ourselves.”
His response was immediate. “I am certain.”
Who else could it have been? Armsmaster had nothing personal against the kid, but it was plays like these that made his job harder, made being the leader more difficult. When cocky, naturally-blessed capes - hell, cocky Trumps went above and beyond their station, feeling as if the rules and normal state of affairs for the more hardworking cape wasn’t worth their time, it dropped bullshit down on the rest.
Alabaster would’ve been detained without the added escalation of death. Now, the Empire would be out for fucking blood to answer for a death on their side. The public would find out, because they always did, and the Protectorate would be left picking up the pieces and defending Downtown against incensed neo-nazis while Avalon used one of his many abilities to sink back into the background, into anonymity.
The arrogance pissed him off. This was different than what happened with Hookwolf, which had been a classic case of self-defense. This was premeditated.
“Then we’ll need to collect a statement from him as well. Reinforcements should be arriving shortly. Velocity has already delivered Victor to-”
A higher-pitched girl’s voice, maybe sixteen or seventeen years of age with no discernible accent, cheerfully piped in. “Maybeee have them stay back and establish some kinda defensive perimeter? I already had to change some traffic lights to redirect a few curious civvies, and the cape nerds are gonna start crawling around to get some pics and vids for PHO. Just let us handle this.”
There was a pause. Armsmaster and Miss Militia shared a glance, the woman glancing away from her scope, and the young girl quickly continued.
“By the way, I can see you Miss Militia! Big fan of your work, but that’s probably ‘cause I play a lot of Call of Arms. Mind if I get an autograph after this mess?”
“Uh… maybe-”
Piggot’s level voice broke through. “Who are you and how do you have access to this channel?”
Something she said stood out to Armsmaster, and he frowned. “And how are you accessing my visor’s camera?” The question came out more as an order.
This time a lower, more raspy voice, this one a woman’s, yelled out from the background, and the teenage hacker swore under her breath. “Fuck, hold on! Trainwreck, it's your-”
A massive roar of wind forced his attention back to the fight, and Armsmaster watched as the truck flew back on two wheels, steam billowing from its exhaust pipes as the front wheels twisted left and right. Stormtiger stood at the edge of his slowly-diminishing concrete platform, muscles tensed and hands splayed out in front of him. As Rune moved the crumbling platform closer, recognizing the truck’s halt as the ample opportunity that it was, four of Crusader’s ghosts circled around to sink their spears into the sides of the flipped-back vehicle.
Multiple things happened at once.
Miss Militia went to take a shot at Crusader, recognizing the fact that his spears would most-likely skewer straight through the vehicles armor - and kill the occupants inside.
A familiar sound rang through the air, an alien-like whine that tapered off into an ear-splitting, high pitched roar. Golden light lit up the sky, illuminating Lord Street in a bright, fluorescent yellow glow, and Crusader's form disappeared beneath the massive ray.
The ghosts faded away.
The back end of the truck cracked open like a bear trap, allowing a towering, bulky figure encased in glimmering steel power armor to lunge out and bull-doze Stormtiger off of Rune's platform.
And finally, a powerful, bone-shattering force slammed Armsmaster against the side of the van, knocking all the breath out of his body in one go. His skeleton rattled in his skin, his brain struggled to register what force of fucking nature just hit him, and he was only scarcely aware of his flashing HUD alerting him of broken ribs and a concussion.
His vision became spotty, and something injected itself into his back from within his suit. Adrenaline. Energy.
Awareness.
“-aster! Krieg, stand down!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
An unending chain of gunshots, automatic. Useless against Krieg. His weapon would be better.
He blinked through the dots in his vision, his right middle finger sliding across the sensor on his palm. His halberd shot to his grip from where it had clattered to the ground when Krieg blindsided him, and Armsmaster began pulling himself out of the side of the van.
Large gloved hands gripped him by the neck, gravity flipped itself upside down, and suddenly Armsmaster found himself folding over Miss Militia. They were both sent crashing down against the concrete, the violent movement rustling the already broken bones in his torso. He landed on top of her, and just barely leveraged his weight to not crush her beneath his armored form, but that didn’t stop her from crying out in pain.
“Urgh!”
He barely felt the agony past a hot, almost burning sensation in his abdomen. The only thing he could feel was the blood rushing through his veins, and the adrenaline accelerating his heartbeat.
“This is a reckoning of your own making,” Krieg’s muffled, vaguely German-accented voice sounded bored - dismissive, even. “Stay down like the traitorous dogs you are and you won’t die. We will have blood for blood tonight, and we will save our own.” With no hesitation, he turned to walk away.
Armsmaster struggled to his feet, but the world itself seemed to press down on him - down on his chest, on his broken ribs. He could barely breathe.
Nearby, the sound of music and explosions and sirens began to rock Lord Street.
“Attack. We have to stop Krie-”
Nausea enveloped his entire person, threatening to rob him of his vision, and Armsmaster was barely aware of the fact that Miss Militia had caught him just as he was beginning to black out. His Halberd clattered to the concrete, again, and in the back of his lagging mind, he lamented the damage each impact caused.
“You stay right here until you can be extracted, sir. Director, I’m assuming control over the transport team. Have the reinforcements form a perimeter as the girl suggested-”
“Iris,” the assumed hacker corrected, as if she wasn’t actively riding in a vehicle smack-dab in the middle of a cape firefight. “And good idea - listening to the coolest hacker ever, that is. Looks like Avalon’s gonna start showing off now... he started playing frickin’ boss music. Them flipping the truck must've pissed him off. Oh, and Trainwreck’s pretty good at fighting too, I guessss.”
“That’s my Boss! This shit rocks!” That same distant woman’s voice - Squealer, he reminded himself - yelled from the side.
Miss Militia continued without missing a beat, “Form a perimeter as Iris suggested, but send Triumph ahead. I’m engaging Krieg now.”
“... Good luck, Miss Militia. We will have words later, ‘Iris’. Tell Avalon to deescalate. No killing.”
"Uhhh... sorry, can't do that. He's black, and they're nazis. They kinda deserve it, don't they?"
"You are not the ones to decide whether-"
The voices were getting more distant.
His head swam again, this time taking him completely under.
Everything went black.
____________________________________
A/N:
The ambush starts! Don't worry, I know you didn't get to see much action in this chapter - we're going to go to Avalon's POV next, so you get a better idea of what's going on. Armsmaster did get fucked up by Krieg, yes, but Krieg's powers are actually fucking strong. Dude's a Brute/Shaker that actively lessens the kinetic energy of everything around him through unconscious manipulation of air pressure. Being near an enemy actively slows them down and compresses their fucking chest.
Combined that with a Brute rating that lets him kick full grown men through brick walls, and of course Armsy got one-tap sucker-punched. Avalon was a bit too focused on saving his people to focus on Krieg sneaking up on the convoy.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed a look into the PRT/Protectorate. They are really stretched thin. The Empire doesn't often flex their power like this, seeing as it's bad for escalation on both sides, but saving Hookwolf was worth it in Kaiser's opinion - and speaking of Kaiser, we're due a POV of him soon too.
Two perks were rolled during this chapter and will be revealed next chapter.
See you soon!
Comments
Wasted Ink
The entire plan from the second he captured Hookwolf in the mall was to use the inevitable Empire breakout attack as an opportunity to take out the vast majority of their capes in one big fight that shows his strength to the PRT and the world. He could do the mystical subtle mastermind thing, but he straight up told Cass that he plans to kill the Empire and make himself seem so powerful that he can hold Downtown and ward away any potential gang vacuum through sheer presence and power. Doing things subtly won’t give the over the top effect he’s going for, and Jason is characteristically a ‘punch wizard’ anyways - he enhances himself and goes for destructive spells most of the time, otherwise the fight with Hookwolf would’ve been done in one or two Master spells. And assuming he won’t profit from this afterwards is a bit wild of a statement to make when the whole chapter was from the POV of other people. Kaiser, the twins, Othala, Purity, Night and Fog - they’re all still alive, the empire safehouses are still there, and nothing can stop Avalon from draining Max dry after toppling his empire in front of him. The PRT are not mindless apes who scream ‘murder’ and attack the clearly dangerous and trained group of capes who are killing nazis and who, quite literally, saved them from what was clearly a lost battle. For one, the PR backlash would be fucking insane. For two, Cauldron definitely wouldn’t want that. Avalon is showing versatility the likes of which even Eidolon doesn’t possess, and his powers are NOT stopping. Overall, I think you’re both underestimating Avalon’s value and expecting something different from what he practically laid out in-story already. This is a war against the Empire, starting from the ‘culling’ of most their capes during Hookwolf’s transport. Avalon plans to TAKE downtown and make it too hot of a place for villains to fuck with since he, the one who almost single-handedly took out the Empire, is occupying it.
Itisn1tmyname
So I returned to this chapter to see if my comment got any reactions just to see that apparently my internet connection obliterated it before it ever arrived here... To paraphrase: I found this chapter disappointing. Avalon is a wizard with prep time *and* information on enemy movements, I kinda expected wide scale AoEs with esoteric effects - whether it be simple sleep or "inability to speak till they acknowledge the faults in their rethoric, inability to feel joy until they repented etc.." (though I'm not familiar enough with the winds to say if that was possible in the first place. Furthermore, I kinda expected the killer truck to do a drive by of every single stash house in the meantime, but oh well. Missed opportunities. What peeves me is that they massively endangered the already responding heroes for and antagonized the PRT for no good reason beyond immediate gratification when it would have been just as possible to enchant the Nazis with sleep or immobility till Birdcage, with a hidden sudden death effect that only triggers at a later time. Y’know, not splattering meatbags in front of the self-righteous. I'm all for killing the Nazis. Just... don't invite massive troubles to your doorstep by doing so? And maybe set up events so you profitate, in the end. Be smart about it instead of ... uncoordinatedly storming right into the raid like Mad Max barbarians...
Bishop7053
Moaaaar, I need more for my addiction. Also can't wait for purity to get some behavior correction via dick
