Scattered 5.14

2001, July 13: Washington, DC, United States

After the fiasco at the Kennedy Center, the three members of Stage Crew had been rounded up by our reinforcements. Prestige was then shackled in Petricite, just about the only material he couldn't turn into tissue paper or something. I'd likely have to feed Showbiz a dose of Petricite Elixir down the line, if only to keep his tinkering urges at bay.

While the PRT troopers escorted the villains into their holding cells, Brickhouse, myself, and Agent Preston, the man on comms, had been ushered into the chief director's office. I was surprised by how young the agent looked. He couldn't have been much older than Brickhouse.

I looked around Rebecca's office with open curiosity. It was fascinating to me, not least because I was only one of a handful of people in DC who knew both her identities. As Alexandria, she was an uncompromising figure who bulldozed through red tape like a bull through a china shop. She got immediate results and gave zero fucks about anything beyond the mission. She'd arrive, find the problem in a few minutes of thinker-backed investigation, and punch it into paste before flying off that same afternoon. That directness was what made her so feared among villains.

As Rebecca Costa-Brown, she had a slightly different reputation. She still presented herself as a stern, no-nonsense kind of woman, but she wasn't as unyielding. She was more "human," reserving softer, kinder smiles for those nominally in her confidence. As the chief director, she was seen as the icon, the peak of what a normal human could be, a woman of peerless morals and boundless empathy for the American people.

I found it hilarious that her two personas unofficially loathed each other. The running theory in the organization was that the only way for the PRT to host both type-A women was to station them across the country from each other.

Her office reflected her character, with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with countless tomes that covered everything from parahuman law to marketing and public relations. There wasn't much in the way of personal decorations, but that was on-brand for her. A large picture of her shaking hands with Earth-Bet's Bill Clinton hung on the wall behind her. It was a picture of the official formation of the PRT in 1993. On her desk was a smaller picture of her and the four founders. It spoke volumes that I couldn't tell which of them in the picture, Alexandria or the chief director, was the body double.

"Would you care to tell me why you allowed two Wards to engage a gang of criminals while outnumbered, agent?" Rebecca, Chief Director Costa-Brown at the moment, spoke with an icy fury that made Agent Preston wilt in his seat.

"I… That is…" he stuttered. Strictly speaking, Stage Crew was "safe," a villain team that was permitted to run wild so the Wards could cut their teeth against parahuman opponents. But such was her presence that he couldn't even think to defend himself. That, or he was new.

"I believe your immediate superior is Captain Saunders. The three of us will have a chat about why he left a rookie to oversee console. And you, Brickhouse. What possessed you to permit a junior Ward to take the lead against three villains?"

He gulped audibly. I could see beads of sweat run down his back, but he was made of sterner stuff. "Ma'am, in my defense, Hyunmu's abilities are greatly understated. He consistently defeats myself, Verdeer, and Gold Rush in our spars even in a three on one. I did not believe him to be in any danger."

"I am aware of his abilities. That things turned out well enough is why you will not be reprimanded more severely. Nonetheless, your priority should have been to deescalate and draw civilians from the line of fire. Am I wrong?"

"No, ma'am."

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "It's good that you understand. Still, you performed excellently within the framework of the mistake you made. You allowed your more offensive and versatile teammate to draw their attention while you protected the civilians using your power. Well done."

"Th-Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't thank me yet. As things stand, you lost control of your command. You will join some of my troopers in leadership seminars over the next month. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Hyunmu."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You usurped command and acted on your own. Results aside, you are clearly unfit for patrols. You are being removed from the active roster until further notice. Are we clear?"

I nodded, recognizing it for the prize it was. She was punishing me, nominally, but had in truth given me precisely what I wanted. "Yes, ma'am," I replied dutifully.

"Good. Agent Preston, Brickhouse, you are dismissed."

Agent Preston walked out with his shoulder slumped, all trace of military professionalism forgotten at the thought of his future reaming. I doubted this "Captain Saunders" would be happy with him. Brickhouse on the other hand made to protest what he thought was an additional scolding for me, but thought better of it when he saw the chief director's glare.

The door closed, leaving me with Rebecca alone.

"We're clear," she said. "We can speak freely."

I sighed and shot her a wan smile. "Sorry if today ruined some of your plans for Stage Crew," I said, because I couldn't imagine that she had none.

She waved me off. "Not important. They were supposed to be transferred out eventually anyway so this just accelerates things on our end."

"Lovely. So do you always make new agents piss themselves?"

"One of my few joys in life. But let's talk about you. What brought this about?"

"I don't know what you mean. I saw villains. I engaged."

"You gave all three minor concussions and from what I've gathered, did a lot more to Masquerade. If you hadn't force-fed him a potion immediately after, he'd be in critical condition, correct?"

"I misjudged that last one," I admitted. "Prestige had a lot more armor and turned his suit vest into different materials to absorb the impact."

"You did, but that's not what I'm asking so stop being obtuse. You are not a reckless man, Andy. Nor are you a man who enjoys causing pain or lording your power over others. What brought this on?"

"Hey, if I wanted them dead, they would be," I said defensively.

"And you're moving the goalposts. Stop it. Yes, you held back, but you also revealed far more of your tricks than you normally would have. Now, what happened."

"Leviathan happened," I deflated. "Three million died and I just… I couldn't do anything. All my knowledge, all my tech, and… none of it mattered."

"Do you really need me to tell you that it wasn't your fault?"

"Of course not," I spat bitterly. "I've heard all the platitudes. I guess… I guess I was already in a shitty mood. Being on a meaningless patrol made me feel worse. And then… they had the gall to attack so soon after the truce, acting like it was someone else's tragedy, someone else's problem. When I heard it was because of some personal hate-boner they had for whoever the fuck Halo is, I just… I wanted to make a point."

"Well you've certainly made one," she said dryly. "Congratulations, you're famous now. Videos are already circling the webs, some new website called Parahumans Online. You just might be the first big hit on that site."

That made me pause. As far as I knew, Parahumans Online, PHO, was the side project of Dragon, Richter's pet AI. I knew for a fact that Dragon was made before May 2005, Leviathan's attack on Newfoundland, but I wasn't sure if she was active already. Was she? A "side project" did not mean she had to be the original creator. She could have just picked it up after Richter died and… Richter was known to make a handful of dumber AIs and set them loose on the web to stop cybercrimes and mess with villains… And… Dragon could not fork…

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That certainly was worth thinking about, but later.

I resorted to my tried and true mask of snarky sarcasm to hide my musings. "Joy. Do I get an ice cream flavor named after me?"

"If you want. You're off patrols while we let things ride. Happy?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. Thanks for that, Becky."

"Chief director here."

"Chief director," I acquiesced with a bitter smile.

She let out a small sigh that I wasn't sure was faked. "In a way, I suppose this is partly my fault. I should have expected this. You matter, Andy."

"What?"

"You matter."

"I know I matter. That's not really wha-"

"You matter," she cut me off, "as more than just a Cauldron executive or Contessa's protégé. You matter as Rubedo, as a hero. There are few in this world who have changed the nature of endbringer fights like you. Since your potions, more capes have been willing to stand in the line of fire, even if it's only to perform rescue operations. After the fighting was done, we received volunteers from every corner of the world, twenty-two percent more than last year. Just knowing they have a possible safety net is enough to make people reconsider their stances on entering a disaster zone."

"Why would having more potions make them want to volunteer?"

"Several of our puppet companies offered favorable contracts to those nations who sent relief."

"Figures. You can always trust human greed."

"Quite. But however it was done, the truth is that you matter. I… I do not change," she said, softer, almost as though it was painful to admit. "Under the makeup, I am still the young woman I was when I drank the vial. Every memory is imprinted on my mind as though carved for all time in stone. I am static. And because of it, I find understanding the emotional health of others a challenge."

'Is… Is Rebecca Costa-Brown being… self-aware right now…?' I couldn't believe it. I didn't know she could do that. Then I barked a laugh at the absurdity of my own thought; now really wasn't the time.

"You don't have to look so surprised, Andy. I am not unaware of my own faults, though I cannot correct them so easily."

She brought up something on her computer and swiveled the monitor around. It was an email address, one of dozens of addresses maintained by the PRT for general inquiries, press releases, and announcements. It was an email address dedicated to Rubedo, to me.

"I did not account for your emotional health. Maturity can only carry you so far. A phenomenal power can only make you so great. At the core of it all, there must be a foundation of personal strength, a reason to fight if you wish to be melodramatic. I once asked Eugene why he insists on taking the Wards to Disneyland or funding their videogame nights. Do you know what he told me?"

"No."

"He said, 'It's so I remember why Cauldron exists.' I do not need that reminder, but It seems I've failed to consider that you might." She gestured to the monitor. "Read them. They're all for you."

So I did.

"'Dear Rubedo, I don't know if you read these, but thank you. You're why I still have a dad…' 'Rubedo, thanks for making sure I have a little sister…' 'Dear Rubedo, that new Rejuvenation Elixir regrew my dad's arm…' 'Dear Rubedo…'" I looked up at her after several more, tears stinging my eyes. I knew what she was doing. It was blatant emotional manipulation and she wasn't trying to hide it. But not every manipulation had to be negative.

"You matter," she said simply. "You matter in ways no one in Cauldron ever has before. The last attack felt crushing, didn't it? Every hero felt it. Keith. Eugene. David. Me. Even Fortuna in her own way. It's a heavy burden."

"I know… I thought I knew," I said softly. "I guess it's only now crashing down on me."

"Did you know? Eugene was against you joining Cauldron even after saving his life? This was why. The weight of the world… It's not for such young shoulders to bear. But you chose to bear it anyway. Now stand. Stand and rise above because you don't need to bear it alone."

"Really? Can you sound any cornier? Anyone ever tell you you're shit at pep talks?"

She smirked. "Why do you think I leave the speeches to Keith?"

"Touché."

"Now get out of my office and pretend to be suitably chastised."

I stood and gave her a wan smile, snapping off a sarcastic salute. "Yes, ma'am."

X

"Huh, so that was a thing then," Raquel said, popping a mini pizza roll into her mouth. She, Yasmine, Penelope, David, and I were on a large video call as per our weekly ritual since David and I moved out of Phoenix. I'd gotten through telling them about my shitshow of a day.

"Way to go, brat. You kicked their asses," Jazz grinned.

"Jazz, that's not a good thing," Penelope chided. "He got scolded by the chief director and put off patrols."

"To be fair, that's kind of what I wanted."

"You could at least try to look remorseful."

"I could, but I'm not. I mean, I probably shouldn't have kicked Masquerade that hard, but he took a hostage first. I'm not going to pretend what I did was right, but it was a spur of the moment thing, you know?"

She ran a hand through her blonde locks. "I do, believe it or not. It's hard when the world is made of tissue."

"It's a weird feeling for sure. I need more practice. Anyway, what's up with you guys?"

"Not much," David started. "Nothing crazy happens in Albuquerque. I stopped a carjacking here and there, brought in some drug dealers, but no actual fighting."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Ehh, a bit of both? Don't get me wrong, I'm really happy that Josie gets to live in a safe neighborhood and all, but I'm starting to feel a little antsy. There are only a few gangs here and only MSXIII is big enough to make an issue of anything."

"Must be nice," Penelope sighed. "We still have Dos Caras."

"Wait, still?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I would have thought Royalle or Oathkeeper would have bagged him already."

"He's a trump that can flay people alive on contact, peels off people's faces, then uses said faces as a medium to channel their powers. He's dangerous and unpredictable."

"Yeah, but isn't Royalle's power to be selectively immune or something?"

"He can become immune to and copy any power he sees being used on him, up to three at a time. Eidolon-lite basically. But those are pretty big requirements. He needs to see it coming and survive the first hit."

"Point. That sucks. What happened to all the control wards I sent?"

"They stopped being useful." She saw my expression and said hastily, "Not that they're not useful, but that Dos Caras replaced his faces. He doesn't have La Llorona's mist anymore so he's not a stranger. It turns out that the faces still rot, so he's got a limit to how long he can keep them around."

"Yeah, shit's fucked," Jazz added. "Right now, he's got some indie villain named Chupacabra and Beartrap from the Crips."

"I know Beartrap. Not Chupacabra though."

"He was a changer. Turned into this creepy, pale, bat-thing that can't actually fly but still has webbed fingers for some reason. Pretty good brute power and had a straw-beak-thing that could drain someone's blood like a mosquito. More blood he drinks, the stronger he gets. Now that Caras has the power, he's using Beartrap's snares to hold targets while he feeds and gets stronger."

I considered it. With his current powerset, Dos Caras could likely escape anyone in the Phoenix roster, if not outright kill them. I could make Oathkeeper Yasuo's sword, but without his techniques, it'd be wasted. Something inside recoiled at gifting one of my creations to someone who'd squander it, intentionally or not. "Penny, you're not hunting for him, are you?"

"Nah, there's still Bone Maiden and Parade on the Crips' side and Stampede, Scorpion, and Lockjaw on the Peckerwoods' side. I don't think I can beat him in a fight as I am."

"Good," David said. "I don't want you anywhere near that psycho."

"Love you too, babe."

"Well you guys be careful," I said. I made a note to make something for Penny, just in case she got sent after Caras. "I'll send you a few more potions when I can."

"I still can't believe you cracked mass production."

We shot the breeze for a while longer, catching up on our personal lives. I didn't have much to share on my end, but I was happy to hear that David had decided to study forensics on his off time to prime himself a promotion as more than just cape muscle. Admittedly, I tuned out here and there when Jazz started talking about how upset she was with her boyfriend Poundtown because he forgot their anniversary or somesuch.

"So, movies?" Raquel asked hopefully. I could see her eyes practically sparkling.

"Yeah, sure. Let's watch knockoff Dresden," I snarked.

"Hey, Maggie Holt is nothing like the Dresden Files!"

"A paranormal urban fantasy revolving around a secret society where a young initiate tackles vampires and other supernatural creatures? Maggie Holt is Earth-Bet's Dresden Files."

"Andy, stop trying to rile up Raquel," Penelope said.

"Yeah, jerk."

"And Raq, stop letting him."

"Fine, fine," I smiled. "Let's watch some Maggie Holt."

"Hey guys, do you mind if Josie joins us?" David called. "Mask up and all, but she's a huge Maggie Holt fan too."

"Yes! We can meet your little sister!" Raquel squealed.

"Thanks, start with the first, Penny."

"Coming right up…"

I grabbed a domino mask and leaned back with a smile as David's little sister charmed the girls. Was this the most productive use of my time? No, absolutely not. But then again, as Becky said, perhaps I ought to remember why Cauldron exists.

Perhaps, it was for moments like these…

Author's Note

I… I'm not sure how I feel about his one. I definitely didn't mean for Rebecca Costa-Brown of all people to give Andy a pep talk, but here we are. Sometimes, the scenes really do write themselves. That said, I think it's good overall. It showed Rebecca as a dynamic character beyond just what we saw in Worm so I'm happy with it I guess.

Also, PHO is a thing. Yay…? But no, no dedicated PHO chapter. You're just going to have to know that it happened and that Hyunmu is one of the first "viral" capes for this. I don't think I can add much more to a PHO chapter than, "OMG HYUNMU SO KEWL!3" and those tend to be the worst types of PHO threads. I might include bits and pieces whenever I think it'd be funny.

Maggie Holt is a side character in Pact, Wildbow's other work. Funnily enough, on Earth-Bet, Maggie Holt is a series of movies similar to the Harry Potter franchise, though with more cues from the Dresden Files. The Weaver Dice is a game series Maggie is familiar with in Pact, implying a multiverse of Wildbow. And isn't that a terrifying thought? Grimlord Wildbow is multiversal.

At any rate, this concludes Scattered. If it feels a bit incomplete, that's because it is. Blame the plumbers. I'm not entirely happy with the conclusion of this arc, but it's a bit more acceptable if I think of it as setup for Arc Six, Omen.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.