Director Piggot hated the procedures and cultural practices surrounding the loss of an officer or a member of the parahuman teams that reported to her.
She loathed funerals, placing that level of dislike even higher than the level of dislike of the other, related elements.
Dragon had briefed her on the situation with the core. It was complicated, because while Apex was certainly dead, there was a possibility that it might not always be the case. Uncharted territories for everyone involved. After a brief conference call with the Chief Director, Dragon, and several experts in the field of parahuman research, the call was made to proceed with handling it as a funeral. It was unlikely that any revival attempts would yield results in the immediate future, and people needed answers in the here and now.
The existence of the core and activities surrounding it was going to be classified at the highest level. Dragon had been granted provisional approval to begin conducting research, but it wouldn’t be possible to make any final decisions until they had something to work with.
The flight over to the restored fire station had been short, and everyone had remained silent during the flight. Piggot could feel the massive hit in morale as much as she could see and hear it. Dragon would be coming over once the ground team had finished securing the site at the university. Initial reporting and chatter indicated that there was evidence of a somewhat sizeable group of people who had been squatting in the university in the wake of Leviathan’s attack. It wasn’t any surprise that was the situation at many properties throughout the city. The university was one of the areas that was both mostly undamaged by the tsunamis and left empty.
The current working theory was that it was the source for many of the conscripts, reanimated corpses, or whatever you might want to call them.
Disgusting. Foul perversions of nature, and a mockery of the people who’d lost their lives at the hands of the Nine.
Piggot shifted in her seat. The interior of the helicopter was nearly filled to capacity with the passengers returning to the station. It was hard to get comfortable, between her numerous medical conditions, her obesity, the prosthetic limbs she wore, and the military-style seating the chopper had. She glanced at her watch. It was a little after 1 AM, Sunday, July 10th, 2011. She pressed a thumb to the back of one of her hands. It left a very shallow imprint behind, grade one edema. Piggot was normally either in bed or getting ready for bed by this hour and already hooked up for dialysis. The slightly metallic taste in her mouth was also a giveaway.
She’d be fine putting it off for a few more hours to handle this business. Her health was always a secondary concern to her; the job always came first.
Her mind was wandering tonight; there were a number of things bothering her that she was consciously aware of, and more wandering around in the darker parts of her mind.
The Slaughterhouse Nine were dead. Under her command, and in her city. That was likely to raise nearly as many eyebrows as Leviathan being killed. While Endbringers had been this unstoppable force of nature that the globe was burdened with, the Nine were a different kind of oppressive. The doctrine for Endbringer arrivals had been survival measures for civilians, contain and deter for parahuman forces. The Slaughterhouse Nine didn’t represent anywhere near the same level of threat as an Endbringer, but they’d been a continuous smear on the reputation of the PRT and The Guild. A relatively small group of parahumans shouldn’t have been able to cause as much damage and chaos as they’d been able to do, and for so long.
There would be no small amount of prestige to be had in taking them down, but Piggot didn’t care about the prestige. She cared about the results, and seeing her own goals advanced. In this regard, taking down the Nine was going to be even further political capital available to use to those ends. And that was before taking into consideration this prophecy concerning the end of the world. Miss Militia had radioed in not long ago, reporting the results of their task force.
Coil apprehended and in containment. Dinah Alcott secured. A large stash of heavy weaponry secured. From the sounds of things, there had been a significant fight in the underground facility, but it was related to the parahuman Coil had kept under wraps, and not the mercenary forces. Multiple wounded, no fatalities.
Their chopper did a slow circle over the top of the station as they dropped their altitude. Piggot looked out the side window as they circled. The station itself was large, and stout walls surrounded the place. Additional defensive measures had been built up from the looks of things, but it was far more organized than what Piggot would have expected from what was essentially a refugee camp. Filling the streets surrounding the station were stacks of multi-colored cargo containers, along with staircases and walkways to allow access into the containers. She saw people coming and going; it was still fairly active, even given the hour.
They settled onto the landing pads on the rooftop, and the crew dropped the turbines down to idle so they had time to cool. The doors slid open, and other crew members guided the passengers out. Piggot waited for the rest of the heroes to disembark before stepping out herself. The spec ops team would be accompanying her, which annoyed her. She didn’t need bodyguards and minders, but this was one of the things she’d learned was easier to put up with rather than to take issue with. She took one of the troopers aside and told them to try to keep out of the way.
Skitter was waiting for her by the side of the building; the rest had shuffled inside. She opened the heavy door for the Director. Piggot stopped just outside the door, eyes running over the claw marks scratched into the bricks around the frame.
“Apex, she–” Taylor cleared her throat. “Difficulty getting through single doors like this.”
Piggot nodded. It made sense; it was an acrobatic feat she could fit through them in the first place.
“Director.” She pulled her helmet off and ran a finger through her hair. Her eyes were still red and puffy, but she stood there, holding the door open with her eyes downcast. She brought them up at last, making eye contact with Piggot. She watched the teenage girl straighten herself as she did. It was like someone had taken a bicycle pump and inflated her. She stood taller, her shoulders back, chest out, and chin up.
“I would appreciate it if you stood with me to deliver the message to our community, and if you’d like to say anything, you can as well.” The hesitation and uncertainty were gone from Taylor, and her voice was firm. It was a remarkable change. Apex had been very taken with Ms. Hebert, downright insistent on her inclusion and bringing her into meetings that most Wards wouldn’t be interested in. Piggot considered herself a good judge of character, and she’d seen a bit of a mixed bag in Hebert, but this girl in front of her? If this was who Apex had seen in her, it made sense.
Piggot gave a brief nod to Hebert, then stepped inside. The interior was brightly lit, and people were moving about.
“Would you care for a brief tour of what we’ve built?” Taylor asked.
“Please,” Piggot said. She had to admit, she had a bit more than a passing curiosity as to what they’d been up to out here, and Piggot rarely got the opportunity to leave the two places she existed, which were work and home. Home was secure, but the lack of utilities made it more trouble than it was worth, so she’d been living at the Headquarters since Leviathan’s attack. Headquarters also had medical staff and the equipment she relied upon to live.
Hebert led her downstairs, showing her the evacuation shelter they’d built underground for the Nine’s attack and the equipment that Morgan had restored to service, which was now a lifeline in the otherwise dark city surrounding them. There were other utility rooms down there, and Taylor explained how Amy Dallon had set up her own pseudo wet tinker workshop. Piggot had yet to see the things the healer-turned-heroine had been making, but the discussion of biotinkering raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Bad, bad memories.
They went up to the ground floor, the large conference room, the office space, and the mechanism bay where Morgan slept. Piggot commented on the enormous beanbag, and Taylor chuckled, explaining the story as it’d been relayed to her. They headed to the lobby of the fire station and stopped to show how they handled division of labor. It appeared to be a kind of ticketing system, and Piggot recognized some of the project management elements woven into it.
From there, they went outside into the extremely well-lit courtyard. Looking up, she saw arrays of what looked like stadium lights on towers attached to the four corners of the station’s outer walls. It was all rigged up securely and would have looked professionally done were it not for the obviously recycled materials. Piggot spotted places where parts of the towers had been cut away and repairs welded into place, likely from where they’d been damaged by falling.
“Is this all just a security measure?” She asked Taylor, gesturing at the towers.
Taylor shook her head. “No, it serves a number of roles. You’ll see that we have heavier lighting arrays on the east side.” She pointed, and Piggot saw that the east-facing arrays were nearly double the size of the others. “We’ve got the big arrays lighting eastward, to the dockyards, and the docks have a matching setup, pointing westward. The entire path between here and the docks is lit up nearly as well as daytime, around the clock. The dockworkers work around the clock, most days two twelve-hour shifts, sometimes they are able to get away with only working eights. They don’t have to worry about people lurking out of sight nearly as much, and there’s no risk of getting turned around or lost.
Taylor pointed at the others. “These are dual-purpose. Having a perimeter, as you said, allows our civilian security team to respond to things earlier. It gives us a chance to know when people are coming, whether it is potential troublemakers or a group of wounded people. The other big reason is so people can easily find us. A lot of people who don’t stay here rely on us for food or other supplies. It’s hard to navigate the city at night with all the lighting out. This helps a lot; people can see us from miles away.
“How many people are you supporting that don’t reside here? Do you have an accurate headcount?” Piggot asked.
“Mm, it’s a bit hard to tell, because some are just single visits, but we estimate about three to five hundred in the immediate area,” Taylor said.
“And how’s that work?”
“We always provide food, clothing, and address any medical needs. We let people volunteer for work we’re doing or always need done, and if they do, they get credits they can use for our ‘luxury’ goods and services.” Taylor used her fingers to make air quotes.
“And what might those be?” Piggot asked, digging a little deeper.
Taylor parted her hair with one thumb and gave Piggot a slight smile. “Foods that aren’t strictly nutritional that we ship in, access to use our bathing facilities, and prior to Shatterbird’s attack, entertainment like movies, music, games, that sort of thing. People are often more than happy to volunteer two hours of time washing laundry, dishes, or working on smaller projects in exchange for a long, hot shower and a good meal. Which, speaking of…”
Taylor and Piggot walked over railed, raised plywood walkways sitting a few inches above the ground toward a large stack of containers inside the wall. Piggot saw walkways leading elsewhere in the courtyard to large barrels with clotheslines, latrines, and the security points. They arrived at a pair of cargo containers with a doorway cut into the sides, connecting the two in two places. It was a large kitchen.
Piggot frowned when she spotted a member of Empire 88 working in the kitchen. “What’s she doing here?” She asked Hebert, nodding in the direction of the person in question.
Taylor chuckled. “Volunteering, if you can believe it. She’s been assisting with treating people who were wounded in the Nine attacks.”
Piggot tongued her cheek. Menja was an outlier, and there were nearly always outliers in any data. The fact that Othala was also here volunteering? That was interesting. Very interesting. She made a mental note of it. By most accounts, Rivera had brutalized her following the attack by the Chosen. What had brought her here?
Taylor lowered her voice. “The lady who runs our kitchen provided her a care package when Apex brought her back and made her apologize to everyone. She’s the tough love sort, and for whatever reason, seems to have made an impression on both her and Menja. They both started there, in the kitchen.”
They headed back inside. Taylor showed the Director their living area, the door, and the surrounding two walls covered in art. Most of it looked like it had been done by children, but not all of it. Piggot’s gray eyes scanned over the other doorways with the names of their respective residents posted. More art was on the other doors as well, with Skitter, Glory Girl, Flashbang, and Menja being other popular subjects.
“I’m a bit surprised to be seeing art of Menja on the walls,” Piggot admitted.
“She helped move people and keep them safe underground during the Shatterbird attacks, and she patrols every day. She’s helped a lot with some of the orphaned kids, too, so that’s probably a good part of the reason why.”
Taylor looked at her own door, which was completely covered at this point. “I can’t explain why I am getting as much art as I have been, considering my costume and power.” She shrugged. “I like it, though. It’s weird to be both feared and loved at the same time.” Piggot followed Taylor back to the staircase and up to their “Operations Center.”
Piggot mentally prepared herself. Eclipse and the parents were here, and all were holding one another and crying. It took them a minute to realize that there were two newcomers, as the rest of the area was deserted. There was a lot of sniffling and wiping of faces, but they waved Taylor over and each of them embraced her. Piggot waited by the staircase for them to finish talking amongst themselves. She heard footsteps on the staircase behind her and turned to look.
Danny Hebert came up wearing dirty jeans, a sweat-stained t-shirt, and a baseball cap. In the time she’d gotten to know Danny, she’d learned that he was shrewd, with a sharp eye for detail, and was very good at being an advocate for his union and representing their interests in their dealings with the PRT and the US Government.
He eyed the tearful exchange between the three Rivera family members and his Daughter, let out a sigh, and pulled his cap off to stuff it in his back pocket. He swallowed and glanced over at Director Piggot.
“Morgan?” He asked quietly. Piggot could tell by the tone of his voice that he was asking who and not what had happened. Piggot looked him up and down. A blue-collar working man, she could tell by the expression on his face that he was no stranger to hardship and grief. Piggot respected working-class laborers. It was hard, and often thankless work, and didn't pay nearly enough. Just like a soldier, in that regard. She gave him a quick nod.
“Aw, hell. The rest of the parents and I– we’ve been worrying ourselves sick with the events of the past couple of months. Some have already lost kids, like the Pelhams. The rest of us, we’ve been holding our breaths and saying our prayers, and it’s a relief each night or each morning they come home. Wondering if it was going to be our child who died that day. Terrorism, Endbringers, villains, serial killer capes. It– it feels like it never ends. We’re just playing a lottery and hoping it’s not our numbers that day.”
Danny pulled a shop towel out of his other back pocket, dabbed at his receding hairline, and took his glasses off, wiping at his eyes. He swallowed loudly. “Was she…?” He cleared his throat. “Were there others?” He asked.
Wetting her lips, Piggot slowly shook her head. “No, Mr. Hebert. There were several other close calls, but Panacea was able to stabilize them and prevent several deaths.”
Danny clenched his jaw. “I don’t know if you know this or not, but do you think the Dallon’s girl would have made a difference if she’d been there?” He made a pained face. “And please, just Danny. We’re… It’s strange, but we’re almost like a large, extended family here. I know you don’t live here, but you’re a big part of the lives of the people here, even if you’re not present.”
Piggot only had to consider for a moment. She’d made the decision that she liked Danny. He was a man who struck her as perhaps excessively honest, but he was passionate about the things that mattered to him, too. She extended her hand to him, and he shook it. “Emily. If you insist on using first names here, it would only be fair. I will admit this sort of structure is very foreign to me, but from what I’ve seen, it’s working quite well.” She gestured around the large room at the different stations standing empty at the late hour.
When they concluded their handshake, she straightened up her jacket. “And no, I doubt that she would have been able to make any difference. She lost her life as a result of some tinkertech that seemed to cause her body to disassemble. It was… not a quick death, but it did not appear to be a painful one, at least.”
Danny nodded slowly and wiped his brow again. “The girl, Amy. She’s going to be devastated. They had just announced their relationship earlier today. It’s a good thing, what you said. I wouldn’t have wanted her to feel like she might have been responsible for it, by not being on the other team.”
Piggot looked back at the family. Something she lacked. At one point, she’d been keen on having one, then Ellisburg had happened, she’d been crippled, and she’d given up on those dreams. Nobody wanted to date a fat cripple, and the people who did often had other, deplorable reasons.
It was an exceptionally rare thing for Emily Piggot to speak without having thought about what she was going to say first, so it came as a surprise when she found herself telling Danny: “It must be difficult to have a child who’s going out and potentially risking their lives to fight criminal elements and villains.”
Danny had been nibbling at his lip, one of several nervous tells she’d picked up on him in the brief time they’d been speaking. “It is, it’s extremely hard. Part of me, a huge part of me, wanted to shout and scream at Taylor when she told me that she had been a villain, and wanted my permission to join the Wards. I would have told her no, absolutely not, had it not been for a very convincing argument made by Carol that by allowing her to join, I’d likely be keeping her out of a prison cell.”
He straightened, stretching his back with a few pops. “After I’d had a bit of time to think about it, I realized that the important thing in life wasn’t trying to keep her safe from everything, but making sure she could be as safe as possible, while enjoying the life she has. I think that for a long time, I was so terrified of losing her that I wound up pushing her away and making her more miserable out of my concern for her.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Piggot glanced down at his hands. He still wore his wedding band. It’d been three years since his wife had passed away. Anette Hebert had been someone who was once on a PRT watchlist in the years before her death, due to her close relation with Lustrum in Brockton Bay. When Lustrum’s followers had started becoming more radicalized and violent, Annette had split off from the group. Piggot had been reminded of her when she’d gone through Taylor’s files extensively.
She looked back at the four. “I think your wife would have been proud of who she’s become, and the things she’s doing, Danny.”
She heard the breath catch in his throat. “Did you…” He let the question linger.
“I never met her, no. I only realized after reading your daughter’s records who she was and why the name was familiar. The PRT had been keeping a close watch over Lustrum, of course, and that involved her close associates, so that’s why I recognized the name.” Piggot explained.
“Yeah, she was a proud feminist, but when that group started getting militant, she left. She’d been one of the last ones who were still urging the others to keep things peaceful, but after that line had been crossed, she didn’t want to be associated with them.”
Piggot’s headset emitted a tone code in her ear, and Miss Militia’s voice came through. “We’re approaching the station now. We’ll be ready to leave after we arrive, ma’am.”
She reached her hand up and pressed the transmit button on the headset. “Copy. We won’t be leaving immediately. There is going to be an announcement made downstairs in the conference room.”
“Copy. Several of us will need to make a brief visit to the facilities, then, as we’re not in a good state to make a public appearance,” Miss Militia radioed back. Piggot could hear the curiosity in Hannah’s voice.
“Understood. Please make it brief. I don’t believe we need to be overly concerned with most appearances here for this announcement; use your best judgment.”
“Can I inquire as to the nature of the announcement?”
Piggot drew a breath, then tapped the button again. “Fatality announcement to the friends and family.”
There was an extended pause. “Copy that. We won’t be long. I’ll inform those who don’t need to clean up to wait there.”
“Thank you, Miss Militia. See you shortly.” Piggot released the button.
Danny had walked closer to stand next to Piggot. He was quite a bit taller than she was, but his voice was soft and quiet when he spoke. “We owe everything to her. Taylor has been slowly opening up to me about things. Without Morgan, she doesn’t think she would have had the heart to leave the Undersiders. She didn’t feel like she had anywhere else to go. Nearly everyone else who lives here, and the entire DWU is in a similar boat. None of us would have work, shelter, or food for our families without Apex.”
His voice grew tight as he spoke. “I shouldn’t say we. I owe her everything. Getting my daughter put back on the right track is something I’ll forever be grateful for, but the other things are just as important for all the other families and people here. I don’t know what we’re going to do without her.”
Piggot looked over and up to him, gray eyes meeting green. “You’ve done a commendable job communicating for and representing the needs of the Dockworkers’ Union. You’ve got Carol Dallon to assist with handling legal affairs, and Erin Rivera has been managing much of the organization here at the station. Apex herself spoke with Taylor before her passing about stepping up and becoming a central figure for people.”
Danny’s eyebrows drew together, and he drew his head back, looking shocked by what he’d heard. “Taylor? As a leader?” He glanced at Taylor. “I don’t know if I can see it myself. She seems to struggle with social interactions, especially with the events of the past year.”
Piggot turned her head, joining Danny in observing the girl. “I’m a firm believer in the concept of trial by fire. Some people have strengths that lie under the surface, and they only come out when they’re pressed to perform, sometimes hard. Others buckle under the pressure when they seem strong.” Piggot glanced at her watch. “I am not her parent, but when it comes to managing the teams under me, I give people the room to fail. Sometimes it’s a stumble, or a trip, or a backstep, but as long as they’re making progress forward, it’s usually a success in the long-term.”
Danny stared at his daughter in silence, then he nodded. Numerous footsteps could be heard in the stairwell. Likely, the team members who needed to get cleaned up. Piggot walked over to the large table the family was standing next to, one covered by a map of the city with many markers and sheets of transparent film with dry-erase lines drawn on them, marking out territories. Her eyebrows rose when she realized that this was a far more comprehensive and up-to-date map than the maps she had in her own operations center.
Erin Rivera noticed her reaction and interest. Clearing her throat, she said, “We get reports from all different groups, all over the city. Some of which aren’t comfortable passing information to the PRT, because of…”
Piggot finished the sentence where she’d let it trail off. “Because they’re villains, or potentially have other criminal charges or records.” She looked up to Erin.
The woman nodded.
Piggot was in regular communication, usually daily, with Erin Rivera, due to her position here coordinating and managing relief efforts all over the city, and the people under her working on reconstruction efforts. They rarely saw one another in person, though.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rivera, I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your daughter tonight. I’m not sure how much Eclipse has been able to tell you about what happened.”
Eclipse sniffled and wiped under her eyes with her thumbs. “I only told them the very basics, the things I knew. I wasn’t sure how much I could say. We fought the Nine; there was a large battle, and Bonesaw used some kind of tinkertech weapon on her that killed her.”
Piggot nodded simply, with her hands clasped in front of her. “I would be happy to tell you more, the extent of what I know, but the other team just arrived and is gathering in the conference room downstairs. I believe Skitter wanted to say some words and asked me to speak as well. Most of what I would tell you, I’ll be announcing to the rest of her teams and friends. Would you like me to tell you now, or hold off for a few minutes and do it downstairs?”
“I know it’s late, and everyone is terribly exhausted and looking forward to sleeping. Please let us know downstairs with the rest, but could you tell us a bit more about what Taylor was telling us regarding a core?” Nat Rivera asked Piggot.
The roar of jet engines built in the background to a fevered pitch, then cut off nearby. Piggot glanced at her watch again. Dragon had made good time; her officers must have been working hard tonight.
“As I believe that is Dragon, I’ll allow her to explain, as she has a better understanding of things than I do,” Piggot said.
A minute or two later, a round drone floated up the staircases carrying a black polymer box below it in a pair of mechanical arms. The drone was between two and three feet at the flat top, and tapered down to a narrower round base. It was about ten inches tall, had cameras and sensors on the front, and hover panels were glowing an electric blue and quietly humming in several places on the sides and bottom of the drone. The arms were curved and looked like they tucked in flush to the sides of the body when not in use.
Dragon's voice came out loud and clear from the drone as it approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Rivera, Melody, I’m very sorry for your loss tonight. I’ve brought Morgan’s core for you, and I have a matter I wish to discuss. I apologize that now is the best time for it as well.
Nathaniel Rivera clutched Erin to his side with his arm around his wife’s shoulder as Piggot watched in silence.
The drone hovered over the table, set down the box, then slid further over, deployed a set of crab-like legs, and settled down on top of the table. The top popped open, and a display screen slid out and bent upwards until vertical, displaying Dragon’s digital likeness. She rotated in place to talk to the Rivera family.
“All that remains of Morgan is in that box. You can open it and look, but please do not touch it.”
Melody reached out, her hands trembling, and unfastened the latches on the box and flipped the lid open. The crystal sphere sat inside, nestled securely in black foam.
Erin covered her mouth, and her shoulders shook as she looked down at the orb. Nat did his best to console her, as did Melody.
“We know that the core reacts when in contact with organic materials, but I’m not sure as to the extent of the reaction, or if it poses any potential hazards to anyone handling it.”
Dragon waved a curved arm at the crystal. “Mr. and Mrs. Rivera, I would like to ask for your permission to retain custody of this core.”
Erin swallowed. “For what purpose?” She asked, and her voice sounded both wounded and exhausted to Piggot’s ear.
“I would like to conduct non-destructive research and testing with it. It would be kept at an extremely secure facility under my care and supervision. I have a hypothesis that it might be possible to essentially revive Morgan, using this core.”
“How… would that work, exactly?” Nat asked Dragon while Erin wiped her face with the sleeves of her shirt.
“So every single parahuman is unique, but the PRT groups parahumans into classifications based on the type of response and tactics needed to neutralize any threat they might present to society. Your daughter, Morgan, was classified as a Changer-type parahuman. You might recall this when you received the results of her testing when she applied for the Wards program?” Dragon’s voice was the same patient tone that Piggot recognized in all the numerous calls she’d had with her over the years. It took a lot to shake her; she was remarkably level-headed, even under stressful situations.
“Yes, I remember that. Changer, with secondary ratings as a Brute and a Mover,” Erin said.
Dragon’s face smiled on the display. “Correct. Changer-type parahumans come in all manner of shapes and sizes; it’s the most diverse category of parahuman. One thing that tends to be consistent among them, though, is that they possess a core, which is what you see here in this box.” Dragon tapped a tiny mechanical claw on the crystal with a soft tink-tink.
She continued, “It is these cores that house the consciousness of the Changer, and not the brain, as it is with most of us. We know shockingly little about these cores. Under most circumstances, removing one from a living Changer would result in their death, and those Changers who die, die usually as a result of this core being damaged or destroyed, and not due to the sorts of bodily trauma that one would normally associate with a fatality. Changers are among the most difficult types of parahumans to stop or terminate, because of this, and the general mutability of their bodies.”
Both of the Riveras looked up from Dragon and the crystal to Piggot, and she gave both a nod in return. “This is true. Hookwolf, who’s long been a problem here in the city, is also a Changer. He has been able to escape numerous engagements where lethal force was deployed, as well as escape containment.”
Dragon gestured with her small robotic arms as she spoke, as if she were a person speaking animatedly, and not a tiny remote drone standing on top of a large table. “It is exceedingly rare to be presented with a situation like the one we have here, with Morgan’s core. It might be unique, at least, within North America. Her body has been destroyed, but not her core.”
“Dragon, can you tell me what happened to her? Or what Bonesaw did to her?” Melody asked hoarsely.
“I’m only operating off of what Morgan and I have discussed in some of our many conversations together, what Amy Dallon told Morgan, and what I witnessed earlier. Morgan’s body–as Apex–was a vastly complex collection of individual pieces that were seamlessly joined and worked harmoniously together. There are other organisms that we can draw parallels to; we call them chimeric organisms, or a single organism with different sets of genetic data.”
The drone Dragon piloted or controlled paced back and forth on the tabletop as she explained the situation.
“There are a lot of different biological processes that tend to prevent these kinds of things from happening. Things like the immune system seek out foreign materials in the body and attack them, for example. What I believe happened is that Bonesaw, using some samples she collected of Apex in an earlier battle, devised a way to trick her body into attacking itself, or perhaps disrupted things so the parts of her weren’t working together anymore. Her cells underwent some kind of advanced apoptosis and self-destructed, destroying her body.”
Dragon stopped and turned back to the parents. “Because of this, I believe that it might be possible to provide the core with a nutrient bath, or materials to reconstruct itself with. Cloning tissue might also suffice. But I won’t know more without testing, and since we only have the one core, I’ll have to be very cautious about how I do things to avoid any potential issues. This is why I am asking your permission to retain custody of the core. I would like to help her, if at all possible.”
Nathaniel scubbed his face with his palms. He started speaking before he finished, his voice partially muffled. “So I’m confused. You’re saying that currently she’s… deceased.” His voice hitched, and he stood with his hands at his side, flexing his jaw. Swallowing, he continued, “But it might be possible to revive her, and she would… be back, as herself?”
The drone waggled its arms. “Yes, that’s why I would like to do the research. I want to be very candid with both of you. I have no idea what the chances of success are, if it is possible, or how long it might take. It could be that I put it in a vat of basic constituent parts that make up a mammal, and it happens instantly. It could also be possible that I work on it for ten years and have nothing to show for it. Nothing like this has ever been attempted before, so I can’t even give you estimates, really. I am simply asking for your permission to attempt these things, as I considered Morgan a friend, and because I think that any possibility of returning your daughter to you would be worth the time and effort, even if it’s ultimately not successful.”
Erin turned and hugged her husband close, and the two shared a short, whispered conversation.
Piggot cleared her throat, and Dragon turned to face the Director. “Where would you be doing these things, and what would the costs be?” She asked Dragon.
“It would be done at one of my research facilities, likely the one deep underground, if you are familiar, Director. And there would be no costs. This isn’t expensive research at all; I’ll be footing the bill myself. It’s not much different than the work I’m doing with Mr. Washbourne currently.”
Mr. Washbourne, referring to Colin and the cybernetics she’s providing him. Sensical.
The two parents split from their embrace and turned to Dragon, who spun around. “We’d like you to proceed with what you’re asking. We’re both organ donors, and this is similar, in a way. Even… Even if you’re not successful, perhaps the information you learn could be used to help someone else someday. And I think that is something Morgan would have wanted,” Erin said. She glanced over at Melody, who nodded in agreement and choked out a laugh.
“Yeah, meathead would have wanted that.”
“If you would be so kind as to reseal the box and secure the latches, I’ll return it to my craft and bring you some paperwork for after the announcement,” Dragon said, and as Melody closed the box up, she retracted the display, took back to the air, and flew out of the room carrying the case.
Director Piggot looked to Skitter. “Are you ready? I believe they should be done and waiting for us downstairs.”
Skitter, who looked to have been lost in her own thoughts, blinked rapidly and picked her helmet up from the table. “Yes, Director. Let’s let everyone know.”
The group made their way downstairs, Taylor leading, and Piggot directly behind her. The briefing room was quite crowded, with all the parahumans present on top of all the major figures and important people from Brockton Strong attending. There was a lectern slid against the wall, and Weld stood up and moved it into place at the front of the room for Taylor. His clothing was torn, frayed, and burnt, as well as damp, but he and several other members of New Wave looked notably cleaner than most of the rest, who were some shade of filthy.
It appeared that Miss Militia hadn’t been joking when she said they’d had a hell of a battle in Coil’s base. Despite appearing healthy and intact, they all looked like they’d walked straight out of a warzone, with soot, ash, dirt, and blood staining their costumes.
Piggot spotted what she assumed was Amy Dallon’s biological exosuit. It was formidable looking, both robustly armored, and a decent bit larger than the girl herself was. The total lack of a face or visible viewport was an interesting choice.
When Taylor stood in front of the lectern and rested her hands on the inner edge, the room immediately quieted down. Piggot found herself rather surprised at the level of respect that the girl commanded, even among people visibly more than twice her age. Heroes, villains, family members, heavily-muscled dockworkers, even an elderly woman in a wheelchair.
Taylor cleared her throat.
“As most of you know, tonight we all joined forces, split up into two groups, and handled two different threats facing the city. My group went out to fight the remaining members of the Slaughterhouse Nine, consisting of Jack Slash, the Siberian, Bonesaw, and Shatterbird. They had also forced two other local capes to fight for them: Hookwolf and Parian, and Bonesaw made a literal army of zombies we had to fight against, as well.”
Murmurs sounded in the crowd, people from the Coil task force whispering among themselves. Taylor waited for the chatter to cut down, and it didn’t take long.
“The Siberian was killed by Dragon, Parian was captured, Shatterbird was disabled, and then surrendered to avoid execution. Hookwolf had been forced into joining, and when he saw they were no longer going to pose a threat, he fled, leaving only Jack and Bonesaw. Jack was subdued and stuck in place with containment foam.”
Someone in the crowd called out, “Please tell me the other two didn’t get away!” Taylor shook her head to more whispering in the crowd.
“Apex was taken hostage by Bonesaw, who tried to ransom her life for the release of Jack Slash. Bonesaw had made some kind of tinker weapon and attached it to one of her robots, and had other security measures in place to prevent tampering. Apex refused to release Jack Slash. Apex then tried to appeal to Bonesaw, to get through to her that while Jack would not be escaping his fate, she didn’t have to suffer the same end.”
Crystal stood up in the front row, looking angry. Her mom reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Why!?” Crystal demanded. “That girl is a monster, just like the rest of them! Why did she bother trying to negotiate?!”
Taylor gripped the sides of the podium, and Piggot saw the girl’s jaw clenching. She was silent for a moment while voices in the crowd picked up. Taylor raised her hand, and people quieted down, but Crystal remained standing, looking livid.
“Apex said that she wasn’t willing to execute someone with a childlike mentality, and that she believed that Bonesaw had been indoctrinated into becoming the villain we know by Jack and the other Nine.”
Crystal clenched her fists, then released them, her hands trembling. “So she felt that Bonesaw was mastered?”
Piggot asked Taylor in a low voice: “May I?”
Taylor looked over and nodded. Piggot stepped forward, up next to Taylor’s side.
“We don’t yet know whether she was mastered; that will take thorough testing. She’s in PRT custody for now. What I can say is that, even if we rule out a Master effect, long-term indoctrination or brainwashing can produce effects that look very similar.”
Crystal sighed and sat down. Sarah reached over, and Crystal took her mom’s hand. “So even if she hadn’t been Mastered, she was still… basically mastered?”
Piggot nodded once and stepped back.
Taylor cleared her throat, and Piggot saw her stiffen behind the podium. Bracing herself to deliver the news.
“Apex was partially successful in talking Bonesaw down, but when Jack was field executed, Bonesaw fired her weapon at Apex. Apex was not visibly injured or affected by the tech and talked to Bonesaw for a few minutes afterwards, getting the girl to fully disarm the weapon and any traps she had on herself. She told Bonesaw that she wished that she would make the effort to turn her life around.”
Melody, who was also sitting in the front row, lost her composure and started sobbing into her palms. Her mother and father put their arms around her and held her tightly.
Taylor gulped. “Apex called her sister, Eclipse, over, and me, and talked with us for a few minutes. During that time, her body started to deteriorate, and she passed away.” Taylor coughed and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry. She passed away while talking to me.” Taylor glanced over at Piggot. “This is Director Piggot, head of the PRT here in Brockton Bay. She has a few things to say as well. Excuse me.”
Piggot nodded to Taylor, who hurried out of the room. The room was almost silent, save for a few members of the team who had attacked the Nine, who were crying. There was a barely audible, muffled sound coming from Panacea’s exosuit. Piggot wasn’t sure if it was screaming, crying, or perhaps both. The suit itself appeared to be rigidly locked in a standing position.
Piggot stepped up to the podium. She hadn’t prepared remarks, but she’d given speeches like this too many times, first as a trooper, and now as a Director. She still hated them, though practice had dulled the edge. Loss was a constant in the PRT; it was why they invested so heavily in care and support for their people.
“Good evening. I know it’s late, and many of you are exhausted after tonight’s fighting. I’ll keep this brief. The news of Apex’s death is hard for all of us, but I want to speak to what we accomplished. Morgan would have wanted us to focus on that.”
The crowd was subdued, but attentive. Piggot continued.
“The Slaughterhouse Nine–like Leviathan before them–are finished. Only two remain alive, both under constant guard in containment cells. Their leader, Jacob Black, is dead. I understand victories bought with friends’ lives feel hollow, but this is a turning point for the United States and Canada, which have suffered and endured their terror for years.
Piggot let that breathe for a moment. She pulled out the small bottle of water she carried with her and took a sip. She was thirsty, nearly always, but with near-total failure of her kidneys, she had to regulate her water intake closely.
“Another local threat, Coil, was also captured tonight. He wasn’t a household name, but our investigation revealed an extensive network: spies, shell corporations, a private army hidden in underground bases. He directed the Undersiders and the Travellers, and most of their actions these past months trace back to him directly.
Piggot gestured to the battered heroes. “Thanks to the combined efforts of New Wave, the Wards, the Protectorate, over a hundred PRT officers, and the BBPD, we ended the Nine and Coil tonight. By cutting off Coil, we’ve also neutralized two other full villain teams here in the city.”
The Director leaned over the Podium to make eye contact with many of the people in the crowd.
“After Apex subdued Bonesaw, she spoke to Bonesaw, Skitter, and Eclipse in my presence. She knew her life might be forfeit if she followed through, but she chose to act anyway. She believed the goal, ending the Nine’s reign, was worth the cost. She even diverted resources to New Wave and the Coil objective, leaving her own team less prepared to face the Nine.
Straightening, Piggot surveyed the room: quiet voices, tear-streaked faces, families holding each other.
“I believe Apex made the right calls tonight, from team assignments to tactics. I did not order her final decision with Bonesaw; it was hers alone, born of courage, focus, and compassion. We will honor that sacrifice, and she will not be forgotten. On behalf of the PRT East-Northeast, I thank everyone who took part in tonight’s actions and all of you working to rebuild Brockton Bay. We will keep striving to protect this city and remember those who fell in that cause.”
Piggot stepped back from the podium and looked over at Taylor, who’d come back in during her speech. They swapped positions.
“What are we supposed to do now?” One of the large dockworkers had stepped off the wall and asked the question with a raised hand.
Taylor didn’t hesitate at all in responding. “We’ll continue doing exactly the same thing we have been. Tomorrow, we’ll wake up, go to work, and progress our plans of restoring the city, and making it a better place to live for everyone. We have a new ship coming in at the end of the week, with fresh supplies, much of which are things we need to replace some of the damage caused by Shatterbird, and to continue draining the city so we can get power restored.”
“Is there going to be a funeral?” The elderly woman in the wheelchair asked.
“We spoke very briefly about this with Apex’s family just a few minutes ago, before we came down. We’ll be holding a vigil later in the week for any who wishes to attend.”
“Does that make you the only boss now, boss?” A man dressed like a country bumpkin asked, covered in grease and dust.
Carol Dallon stood up and turned around. “There was a structure set up for passing of ownership, and an order of succession, should Apex or Skitter wind up losing their lives. Technically, I would be the owner of Brockton Strong until Skitter turns 18, but I see no issue with her continuing to call the shots, as she has been.”
“Thank you, Brandish,” Taylor said. “If there are no other urgent or pressing issues that need attention for this group, I’d like to have everyone get back to their evening.”
The room grew loud with conversation, but nobody yelled or raised hands, so the group started filing out. When it was just the capes left behind, Taylor left the podium and walked over to Panacea. She reached out a hand, and for the first time since Piggot had entered the room, the suit moved, taking Taylor’s hand. Taylor led both of them out of the room, saying a tired goodnight to Piggot.
“Anyone returning to PHQ with me, please come along, we’ll be leaving immediately,” Piggot said in a raised voice to the heroes. The groups hugged, shook hands, exchanged words, and split, with a bit over half the room coming back with Piggot. It was going to be another cramped ride back to the tower.
Piggot checked her watch and stepped out into the hall, gesturing to her security detail without looking up, and headed up the stairs to the helipad. She was looking forward to getting back and being able to rest and filter. Miss Militia was walking at her side, several steps ahead of the rest as they walked out onto the roof of the apparatus bay.
“I hope Dragon finds success, but I’m going to miss her,” Miss Militia said for just the two of them.
Piggot glanced over at Hannah, then nodded. “I will as well. She’s the only hero I’ve ever had that had the balls to call me a princess to my face.”
Miss Militia’s brows drew together, and her voice sounded incredulous. “She did what?”
“Tell you on the flight back, private channel,” Piggot said as she climbed into the chopper.
As people piled in, Piggot realized what it was that had been bothering her since the flight over. She'd always felt an unease around parahumans. As a PRT officer, and then as a specialist trooper, she'd been extensively trained in combating them. She'd watched her friends and coworkers injured, killed, and permanently disabled by parahumans. It had boiled down into a resentment over the years, and then, the night of the Ellisburg incident, when the parahuman support for her special operations strike team had fled the scene, leaving them to die, it had catalyzed. She'd woken up in the hospital, missing her legs and with significant organ damage. More than that, she'd woken up with an ember of hatred burning in her heart.
She didn't dislike parahumans; she hated them. A feeling that lingered through her transfer to desk duty and her rise to regional director. As a director, she'd been tasked with not simply running the PRT division for that area and all its sub-offices, but also babysitting both the Wards and the Protectorate members she was responsible for managing. Emily Piggot hated babysitting the parahumans, especially the grown adult ones that often couldn't keep themselves out of some form of trouble or lurking scandal.
But she was a professional. She didn't allow her personal bigotry against parahumans to bleed into her work or the decisions she made.
Sitting in the uncomfortable folding seat as the chopper lifted off, strobes flashing across the rooftops below, she discovered something within herself. That ember of hatred she'd carried for years was gone. Maybe it was the heroism of those who'd saved the city from not one, but multiple class-S threats. Maybe it was watching the skeleton-crew Protectorate and Wards shoulder the burden left by the Endbringer. Or perhaps it was seeing someone who could have sacrificed a teammate, yet chose to give her own life instead.
It was an uncomfortable realization: she'd been wrong to let the cowardice of a few stain her view of them all. For years, she'd meted out quiet, collective punishment in her mind. She would need time to unpack that, but not here, not now.
Piggot drew a steady breath and looked out over Brockton Bay as the helicopter banked toward headquarters, the two lit areas of the city holding off the surrounding darkness.
