The ongoing sound of gifts and new subscriptions repeated through the young man’s headset: a series of cheerful chimes and dings that rang out like music to the ears. Each new notification brought a smile to his face, reinforcing his decision to heed chat's suggestion to get his character arrested. Sure, he had vowed to cut back on listening to their often unhinged suggestions, but after roughly calculating his earnings since he started streaming—well, what could he say? The temptation of a steady cash flow was irresistible.
In game, his female avatar stood still as two stern-faced female officers wrestled her into a straitjacket. The NPCs were so dramatic—the fabric rustled and stretched, the buckles snapping together with a loud clack. He sat back, slurping a bowl of spicy instant noodles, the heat prickling his lips and tongue, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
On another monitor, his stream's chat scrolled by quickly, most of the messages racing past too fast for him to read. Thankfully, it seemed to be mainly emotes and cheers that were laughing and joking at the situation he'd found himself in. He did his best to read and respond to a few, with varying success, his responses sometimes lost in the flood.
> ...
>
> DeezNuts69: if this works im going to laugh so hard
>
> ...
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> HorsePower: how are u evn going to convince them to let you speak with the director lolol
>
> Miss Sugar: try talking with the other heroes too! perfect time to make friends!
>
> ...
>
> Cinder-Ella: lmao this is sooo not going to work lol
>
> ...
“W-wow chat, look,” he said, putting his bowl aside. Controller in hand, he flicked through his character's equipped inventory, displaying the small bomb that was now seemingly attached to his necklace slot. “They're not playing around, huh?”
A button press or two later though and the option to remove the item was made available. Same for the straitjacket that had been forced onto his character's slender, female form.
“Do you think this is an oversight, chat? Look, I can just, um, unequip the items.”
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Use the terrain to your advantage in combat. High ground, cover, and choke points can significantly impact the outcome of a battle.
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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily Piggot
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
“The girl can heal too?”
Emily Piggot sat rigidly at her desk, fingers drumming a relentless, staccato beat on the polished wooden surface. Each tap of her manicured nails echoed through the silence like a distant war drum, a steady reminder of her growing frustration. The room was steeped in the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through the half-drawn blinds, casting zebra-striped shadows across the carpet. A meticulously organised stack of papers lay on the left corner of her desk, while a small, silver nameplate that read ‘Director Emily Piggot’ gleamed on the right.
On the monitor before her, the PRT's Chief Director, Rebecca Costa-Brown, in her crisp suit and jacket, stared back with an impassive mask that only deepened Emily's simmering ire.
“...Yes,” Emily replied, her voice slow and deliberate, each word dripping with restrained annoyance. The video conference had been going on for the better part of an hour, and she had a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to like the direction this conversation was heading. “Apparently, she can.” The biting irony in her voice was unmistakable.
Costa-Brown nodded. “In what capacity?”
Emily took a moment to gather her thoughts. She stared at the screen, noting the other woman's keen interest despite her best attempts to remain stoic. It made sense, of course; healers were rare and highly sought after. But she truly did not appreciate the implications of the questions.
“The reports are inconclusive,” she replied finally, choosing her words carefully. “But it seems that the... girl... can cure almost anything. Tissue regeneration, nerve growth, organ replacement—you name it, she can probably do it.”
“And I assume it's safe? No adverse effects?”
“So far.” Emily answered, her lips thinning into a hard line. “But like I said, the reports are inconclusive.”
“I see,” Costa-Brown laced her fingers together on the desk in front of her. “And?”
There was a long, awkward silence, broken only by the soft tapping of Emily's nails as they drummed on her desktop. The two women watched each other carefully, and she could feel the weight of Costa-Brown's scrutiny: the unspoken challenge and the barely restrained hunger. Emily knew this game all too well—she had no intention of playing it.
She held her gaze steady, her expression blank.
“Withholding information isn't going to help anyone, Emily.” Costa-Brown's tone was deceptively mild, but there was an edge to it, sharp and impatient. The Chief Director narrowed her eyes, and her lips twisted into a faint, humourless smile. “What do you want?”
“It’s not about what I want.” Emily's fingers paused mid-tap, curling into a tight fist. “You want to try and recruit her,” she said, the words more accusation than question, her voice a low, dangerous growl. The tension was palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap.
Costa-Brown met her gaze without flinching. “If we can, yes. Her powers—”
“—make her a walking disaster,” Emily interjected, her tone edged with frustration. “Hundreds of confirmed kills, Chief Director,” she spat out the title as if it were a curse. “Hundreds since she first appeared only a few days ago. And those are just the ones we know about. The girl's psychotic, practically a Slaughterhouse Nine member, and you want to put her on a leash?”
“I understand the gravity of the situation, but you know healers are extremely valuable, Director Piggot,” Costa-Brown countered, her voice unnervingly calm. Her brow quirked slightly as she regarded Emily over the video connection. “I thought you'd be more pragmatic about this. We can't afford to discard potential assets. Every Parahuman we can bring under control, under the PRT's guidance, strengthens us. I won't deny that Silver's actions are horrific, but if we can steer her—”
“Steer her?” Emily's laughter was harsh, devoid of any real amusement. “She's a rabid dog. You don't steer a rabid dog; you put it down.”
For a moment, the Chief Director simply stared at her, her expression unreadable. “I'll remind you, Director,” she said evenly, voice flat and cold. “That a true healer is worth the lives of thousands of soldiers, or more. If we can get her on our side, under the PRT's authority and control, that could tip the balance in our favour in any number of conflicts. Endbringer attacks, major threats, natural disasters. Imagine how many people could be saved. She's even unable to be killed, so the PRT could have a truly indestructible asset. That's the kind of advantage we can't afford to pass up.”
Costa-Brown leaned slightly forward, the movement making her appear larger, more imposing. “And from what you've told me, the girl's a fresh Trigger... she even surrendered without a fight. If she's willing to comply, there's no reason not to make use of her. The girl's clearly mentally unstable, and her behaviour is troubling, to be sure. But that's exactly why I want you to consider this carefully. We may have a unique opportunity here, Director Piggot. One we can't afford to let slip by.”
“She's a serial killer, Chief Director. One with no remorse.”
“Yes. I'm well aware of her track record. But you must remember that she's new,” Costa-Brown responded coolly. “New Parahumans are often unpredictable, volatile, and sometimes prone to violent outbursts... We need to make every effort to rehabilitate her, give her some sort of purpose, keep her focused. She needs to understand the value of her life, the value of the lives around her. She's young, impressionable... malleable. The potential is there.”
“Prone to violent outbursts? She's a monster!” Emily snapped, anger rising.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The girl was a murderer, a homicidal butcher. There was no place for someone like her in the PRT, and the mere suggestion of bringing her in, of offering her a chance to join them, made her skin crawl.
“Do you know how many of my men have died because of her, Chief Director? How many of their corpses I had to look at?” Emily slammed her hand down on the table with a loud thud, the sound reverberating through the room. “I lost good officers to that psychopath, and you want me to give her a pass? Just because she's a ‘healer’?”
There was no trace of sympathy or understanding in the other woman's gaze.
Emily scowled, her jaw clenched tightly. “I have a gang war brewing, Chief Director, and a city full of Capes looking for any excuse to tear each other apart. All because of the psychotic little girl who killed several of their members.” She leaned forward, her voice dripping with contempt. “Do you have any idea what kind of hell is being raised over this? Civilians are dying... have died. Police are becoming terrified to show their faces, and now you want me to let her walk? The whole city would turn on the PRT if they even got a whiff of this.”
Costa-Brown didn't bat an eye.
“This is like asking Bonesaw to join the Wards,” Emily continued, her tone scathing. “She's a psychopath, not a teenager on a power trip. The girl has no remorse, no guilt, no empathy. And you think it's wise to bring a mass murderer, one who is likely to have no compunctions against killing more people, into the ranks? We have a responsibility, a duty, to protect people. Not enable and empower monsters. Do you have any idea how bad this could end up if we fuck up? She'd kill us all, Chief Director. And then go on to kill everyone else.”
On the screen, the Chief Director raised a brow, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. “You're acting as if I wouldn't suggest the same for Bonesaw if there was a reliable way to ensure her cooperation,” she said dryly. “Do you know what we could've done if we had her instead of the Nine, Emily? The advances in medical technology alone could've been revolutionary.”
“And you think Silver can be trusted to cooperate?”
Costa-Brown gave a slight nod. “In this instance, yes. She surrendered, didn't she? That speaks to some level of compliance, or at least a willingness to negotiate.” Then she shrugged, the gesture almost careless. “Reliable Thinker assessments show a high probability of success. The girl may be psychotic, but she's also incredibly fragile, vulnerable, and desperate for attention and validation. We can use that to our advantage.”
Emily felt a sharp pang of anger flare in her chest. “This is ridiculous,” she shook her head in disbelief.
“Silver's a fresh Trigger. A young, impressionable, vulnerable girl who is undoubtedly suffering from severe trauma and psychological issues,” the Chief Director continued, her voice measured. “We have the best resources and facilities in the world for rehabilitation and support, and you can't tell me that she wouldn't have the potential to do great things. She's a true healer, Emily. Not an imitation or a side-effect, but a genuine and powerful healer. That kind of power is worth a lot. You should know, Panacea is in your city.”
“She's a murderer,” Emily all but growled.
“A murderer who, in your words, has the ability to cure almost anything,” Costa-Brown shot back just as sharply. Then her words turned softer, smoother, yet no less unyielding. “Look, I'm not asking for her crimes to be pardoned. But you're a practical woman, Director Piggot. Think. You've proven that signing a Kill Order and putting a bullet in her head is worthless. I'm not begrudging you for ordering lethal force without approval either, you did what you had to do. But the fact of the matter is, you have a powerful, near-indestructible Parahuman in your custody. Should we really let that sort of asset waste away in the Birdcage? Throw away an opportunity that could save so many lives?”
Emily didn't reply, her eyes narrowing.
It was true that lethal force had proven ineffective, not when the girl's power could seemingly revive herself over and over. She had ordered it anyway for every engagement, just to limit the collateral damage and keep the casualties down, but it had never been an efficient solution. Still, it had been necessary. Especially when trying to contain the girl had proven near impossible with her Mover abilities. She had hoped there was a solution in another city, but this...
Emily's blood boiled, a fiery wave of anger that threatened to consume her. It took all her willpower not to try and reach through the screen to strangle the other woman. The Chief Director had seen her men's mutilated bodies. How could she possibly be advocating for such a thing?
“I understand your reservations,” Costa-Brown conceded, though the tone of her voice told Emily that she was merely placating her. “But Silver needs to be dealt with one way or another. This is the best way, Director. You should see that. Right now, we have her docile. She's willing to cooperate. She surrendered. Let's take advantage of that before it's too late. You, of all people, know the failure points in taking her to the Birdcage. We have a rare window of opportunity here, and we should seize it while we still can. Before other, more dangerous, villains get a whiff of what happened and start a war over the girl.”
The Chief Director paused, letting her words sink in. Then she sighed, her expression turning solemn, almost pensive. “I'm not advocating for this decision lightly, Emily. The fact of the matter is that we simply don't have much information about the girl. We need time to understand her and determine whether or not she has the potential to do better. And we need time to understand the nature of her powers. We can't risk losing that opportunity, and the best way to achieve that is to keep her close and monitor her.”
Rebecca Costa-Brown had always been the reasonable, pragmatic sort, the type who understood the bigger picture and saw things for what they were, but this was different. It was too callous, too cold, and Emily couldn't help but feel like the Chief Director was making excuses.
“You're making a mistake,” Emily snapped, her tone cold and cutting. “There’s no guarantee that the girl would actually work with us. What happens when she goes rogue and starts killing again? The PRT can't afford the kind of public backlash that would happen. I've already been dealing with the fallout of her actions. I won't let her make things worse.”
“We're not handing her a free pass. She's not being pardoned. The girl will be on a leash, and we'll have an entire team dedicated to monitoring and assessing her. She'll be kept in a secure location and undergo intensive psychological therapy and evaluation. Her every action will be documented and reported. She'll be tracked, and we'll have contingencies in place should she deviate. She'll be given ample opportunity to atone and prove herself, but she'll have no authority, no privileges, and will only ever be allowed to leave if authorised.
“We have nothing to lose, Emily. If we can't rehabilitate the girl, then we can simply send her to the Birdcage later.”
“And the public? They won't stand for it.” Emily knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she couldn't just roll over and give in. There were a thousand things wrong with the proposal, a thousand ways this could end badly. She would never let the monster roam free, let alone allow her to join the Protectorate.
“As far as I'm aware, there's some talk online that Silver's just a misunderstood little girl. They're certainly not the majority, but enough to be a voice. Haven't you seen the posts? You should have someone monitoring them, if you haven't already. They're talking about her being a victim, how the girl was simply looking for help and it was the authorities' fault for failing her. The fact that she entered a hospital to heal people certainly didn't help disprove their claims.”
“That's just a bunch of internet trolls.”
Costa-Brown shrugged, as if she was unconcerned. “Of course. You and I both know the truth. So do many other people, I'm sure. But the fact remains that there are already some sympathisers, and those sympathisers can easily be turned into more. People are fickle. Public opinion can change easily, especially when they see a pretty, innocent face, one that looks so vulnerable. It's a start. We can use this. With some guidance and direction, we can shape it into something more. After all, if a girl with a history of brutality and violence is able to reform, then surely there's hope for others. It sends a good message.”
“And all the families whose loved ones she murdered? Are you expecting them to believe that as well?”
The other woman's eyes were unreadable, her expression unchanging. “They might not agree, but they won't be able to deny the progress the girl would make. You know as well as I do that a small number of vocal supporters can easily turn into a large majority, especially when backed by the Protectorate and the PRT. The girl's power can save lives. It can bring hope. It's not hard to imagine how many would support her, given the opportunity. We don't even need to keep her in Brockton Bay. She'll be sent elsewhere, where her presence wouldn't cause any further problems. Somewhere safer. We can spin this narrative however we want. With the right guidance, the right direction, it can work in our favour. The girl is a blank slate, and we can shape her into a hero.”
Emily shook her head, her face twisted in disgust. “You're out of your mind.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
In a brightly lit conference room, Emily's short, pudgy figure was hunched over a table, engrossed in a stack of reports. The scent of roasted nuts and caramelised sweetness wafted from a nearby cup of coffee, but it didn't help ease the tension in her shoulders. Or the ache in her head. She let out a sigh, her steel-grey eyes darting back and forth across the pages, the paper rustling softly under her fingertips.
“We've found nothing wrong with any of the recovered patients?” she asked, glancing up. The fluorescent lights above buzzed with a persistent hum, casting a harsh, sterile glare on the metal tabletop. “None of them have shown any unusual symptoms or side effects?”
Opposite her, Benjamin Renick, her Deputy Director, was flipping through a folder. A wry smile curled at the corners of his lips, and he shook his head. “Not a one,” he replied, voice smooth and assured. “And believe me, we've been thorough. Panacea and a slew of other doctors have examined everyone we quarantined, and none of them are hiding anything malicious. No hidden plagues, no biological weapons, nothing. They're all clean.”
“So far,” she added, a pang of irritation spiking in her chest.
Renick paused and raised a brow. “Don't tell me you want there to be something wrong with them?”
Emily frowned, then exhaled another weary sigh, sinking back into her chair. The leather creaked under her weight.
“No, of course not,” she replied, her tone clipped. “It's just... this whole thing reeks. If there's nothing wrong with the recovered patients, Costa-Brown will have an even bigger leg to stand on. You don't agree with her proposal, do you?”
Renick, tall and slender with dark, wavy hair, a thin beard, and glasses, shrugged and closed the folder with a soft thud. “Honestly? I don't know what to make of it. It’s a lot to consider,” he said, pushing the folder aside. “Personally... no, I'm not a fan of trying to turn Silver into a... hero.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He spat out the last word, his face twisting into a grimace. Emily understood the feeling: the idea left a sour taste in her mouth as well. They had both lost people they knew to the psychopathic Cape, and that wasn't something that would ever go away.
“But,” Renick continued, “you have to admit the Chief Director has some valid points.”
“Because the little monster's a healer?”
Despite her best efforts, Emily's voice came out in a growl, and she saw her friend's shoulders sag.
She understood, though. Really, she did. From the results, it looked like the girl had an exceptionally potent form of healing. Sure, some of the patients the girl managed to get her hands on were healthier... or more healed than others, but overall, the sheer breadth and scope of what Silver could accomplish was nothing short of—Emily had to admit—remarkable. The only real drawback, if they could even call it that, was the fact that the girl apparently couldn't cure things like cancer. Only seemingly reset the case to its earliest, most easily-treatable stages. Emily knew she'd get laughed at if she even thought of using that as an argument against the proposed plan.
But what was she supposed to tell all the grieving families? That the massacre of their loved ones didn't matter, because the perpetrator was too useful to hold accountable for her crimes? That their lives were worth so little compared to a powerful Parahuman?
The thought made Emily's stomach churn, a nauseating twist of disgust and helplessness.
“That too.” Renick's voice pulled her from her thoughts as he took a sip from his own cup of coffee. He hummed and set the cup down. “But, I was thinking more about what would happen if we don't bring her on board.”
Emily blinked, her brow furrowing as she met his gaze.
“We both know we got lucky with the situation,” Renick continued. “Silver actively surrendering? None of us even entertained that idea because it was just so absurd. We were preparing for a drawn-out conflict. A long, gruelling bloodbath: an all-out war between us and her. Our people would have suffered, a lot more would have died, and who knows what else she would have done during all of that. And then, suddenly, it's over. Just like that. But do you think we could truly hold her? Keep her locked up forever?”
She pursed her lips. Emily didn't like where the conversation was heading, but she couldn't fault his logic.
“You think she could escape the Birdcage.”
It wasn't a question.
Renick nodded. A shadow passed over his face.
“I think she could,” he replied, resignation seeping into his tone. “We don't know how she does her reviving trick... if that's what she's even actually doing. But each time she's killed, she disappears and turns up somewhere else, no worse for wear. All that would need to happen for her to slip past us is one ‘death’, and we'd have to start everything all over again. And I don't think we can count on her being as cooperative the next time around.”
Emily clenched her jaw and looked down, staring at her hands. As much as she hated to admit it, the man was right. It didn't make it any easier to swallow, though.
“So that's it? We roll over, just like that?” she snapped, her frustration bubbling over. “Surely there's a Tinker out there who could create something to hold her. There's that Cape in New York too, Cache, that apparently works with extradimensional space. There has to be something!”
Renick raised a placating hand. He smiled, but the gesture held little humour. “Look, Emily. I think you're looking at this the wrong way. Think about it: we need time. Time to understand her power, figure out exactly how it works, and build something that could hold her. In the meantime, we have her where we can keep an eye on her, and we can even put her to good use.” He grimaced. “It's not ideal, and I agree with you, I don't like it either. But better than her running free doing who knows what.”
With a resigned sigh, Emily rubbed her forehead, the tension throbbing at her temples. She reached for her cup, her fingers closing around its warm, smooth surface, and she brought it to her lips, relishing the rich, bitter taste.
“The families of the dead won't appreciate that explanation,” she muttered, setting the mug down with a soft clink.
Renick shrugged. “Let the Chief Director handle them,” he suggested. “It's her idea, after all. Have her explain it to the families, not you.”
“We need to do what's right,” she whispered, more to herself than to Renick.
Her Deputy leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers. “Sometimes, what's right isn't clear-cut,” he said softly. “We do the best we can with what we have. And right now, this is our best option.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Meetings, paperwork, and more meetings. Emily's day had been an endless blur of bureaucracy.
The sun had long since set; inky blackness cloaked the sky outside the PRT headquarters, broken only by the pale, silver glow of the moon. Unfortunately, her work was far from done. Her shoulders ached, her eyes burned from hours of reading fine print, and her head felt stuffed with cotton, a dull throb pounding at her temple. Tired as she was, however, she couldn't rest. Not yet. One last appointment awaited her, and it was the one she dreaded most.
Her footsteps echoed through the long, dull corridor, the sound bouncing off the cold, sterile walls. Each step seemed to stretch the hallway longer, winding on and on. She took a left, the soles of her shoes squeaking faintly against the polished linoleum, then another left. The white fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, casting jittery shadows that danced and shivered along the walls.
She passed one or two people, and while they offered her smiles and nods, their faces were weary and drawn. The recent events had taken a toll on them all. Other than that, the halls were quiet, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle. The only people who stuck around this late were the unlucky ones, those who had to work.
After what felt like an eternity, she stopped in front of a nondescript door, identical to all the others. The door was heavy, painted in a dull, institutional grey, and it swung open with a creak. Inside, a large oval table dominated the room, surrounded by chairs, and a large, flat-screen television hung on the far wall.
The lights were dimmed, but still on, and a live feed of Silver in her cell played on the screen. The girl was in a straitjacket, jumping up and down on a small bed, conversing with Dragon's voice, which echoed through the cell's speakers. Having the Canadian Tinker's assistance was a boon, and Emily was glad the Chief Director approved of the arrangement.
Emily stepped inside, and the door shut with a muted click. “Apologies for the delay, everyone,” she said, nodding to the small group already present. “I hope you weren't waiting for too long.”
She noticed a few shrinks and a pair of PRT agents monitoring the live feed. They murmured in acknowledgment as she made her way to the table where Renick was already seated. He offered her a small smile, and she returned the gesture, sinking into the chair next to him. Miss Militia was present as well, a few seats down the table. The hero gave her a short nod.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Director,” came the dry, snide voice of Thomas Calvert.
Emily bit back a scowl.
The PRT Consultant looked up from a tablet he was working on and regarded her with his usual air of detached amusement. The dark-skinned man looked as thin and skeletal as always, clad in a button-up shirt and tie. The way his thin lips curved into a slight smile made her feel like she was missing some kind of joke.
“Finally recovered, have you, Calvert?” she spat back, not bothering to hide the ridicule in her tone. She never truly liked the man. Despite his apparent success, there was something about him that just set her off, a dubious quality she couldn't quite place her finger on. “I'm glad we can finally have your... expertise on the table.”
Calvert's smirk widened, but he didn't take the bait, merely leaning back in his chair, his gaze sliding back down to the tablet in front of him. “I'm glad you've missed me, Director,” he quipped.
Emily's eyes narrowed, and she was about to fire back a retort, but a nudge from beside her had her biting her tongue. She shot her Deputy a glare, but Renick simply shook his head, a slight grin tugging at his lips.
“So, what have I missed so far?” she asked instead, turning to face the group.
“Nothing, really,” Miss Militia said as she stood, walking over to pass Emily some papers. “We've just been waiting for you to arrive, Director. This is what we've managed to squeeze out of the girl so far. It's... not a lot. Silver's mostly been sleeping throughout the day or demanding to speak to you. Trying to talk to her is a... challenge.”
“She's a real piece of work,” one of the shrinks said, shaking his head. “She keeps demanding things, refusing to cooperate. I think she's just playing us.”
Emily accepted the documents, flipping through them with a practised eye. Then she paused, looking up at the hero across from her. “Not that I don't appreciate you being here, Miss Militia,” she said, “but wasn't Armsmaster supposed to oversee this? What happened?”
A frown marred the woman's face. “He's been put into Master/Stranger confinement,” Miss Militia replied. “He started showing... erratic behaviour while conversing with Silver.”
“She means that Armsmaster displayed uncharacteristic sympathy and friendliness towards the girl, Director,” Dragon chimed in, her voice coming out of the speakers, loud and clear. A pause. “He even agreed to go on a... date with the girl.”
“Date?” Emily echoed. “That's... not a joke, is it?”
Miss Militia's silence spoke volumes.
She sighed, rubbing her temple. “I thought we were being careful with interactions with the girl,” she said, “especially considering her presumed Master rating.”
The fact that a handful of patients Silver healed had been discovered to be somewhat sympathetic, or at least, cordial with the girl had set off alarm bells. Just another complication they had to deal with—it felt like the girl kept giving them more and more problems. Even this scheduled interview with Silver had to be held under extremely controlled conditions to counteract the potential risks.
“We were,” Miss Militia agreed. “Armsmaster had even worked on what he was calling ‘psychic shielding’ after all those reports of civilians being influenced by her came in. He told me he was confident that it would make him immune to her power.”
“Well, obviously not,” Calvert drawled.
“Actually, about that...” Dragon interjected. “I believe the girl is less of a Master and more of a Thinker—a Social Thinker, to be precise. From everyone's reports and what I've collated, the girl has been described as very... persuasive. Many have even said they found her quite—and I quote—charismatic.”
“Not that it makes much of a difference,” Renick muttered. “Maybe it makes her even more dangerous.”
Emily frowned.
Great, just what they needed. More complications.
“We'll discuss that at a later time, I suppose,” she said. “For now, let's just get this over with. The sooner I get this done, the better. I'm sure everyone's just as eager as I am to get back home.”
The others murmured in agreement.
A PRT agent approached, handing a microphone to Emily. “We're ready, Ma'am.”
She accepted it with a nod, just as Miss Militia also passed over a small remote. It was a tiny, black thing, the size of a credit card, and she flipped it over. The little red button in the middle seemed to stare at her.
“That's the button to detonate the small explosive around Silver's neck, in case things go south,” the dark-haired woman explained. “I have one with me, too,” she said, raising her hand to show a similar device strapped to her wrist. “We're not taking any chances, Director, just like you ordered.”
Emily nodded again, her fingers hovering over the button. It was reassuring, in a sense.
“I didn't think you were that ruthless,” Calvert let out a low whistle as Miss Militia made her way back to her seat. Emily turned to give him a look but said nothing.
“Whenever you're ready, Director,” Dragon said, her voice filling the room.
“Let's just get this over with.”
On the screen, Silver was running against a wall: face pressed against the concrete, her hands bound by the straightjacket, the girl was doing her best to seemingly run through it. It was a failure, obviously, but she didn't seem to care, her legs flailing and kicking, her feet thumping against the ground, over and over again. Emily couldn't help but frown. What in the world was the little psychopath up to?
A look around the room showed that the others were similarly perplexed.
Clearing her throat, Emily pressed the button on the side of the microphone and leaned in. “Good evening, Silver,” she greeted, her voice amplified through the speakers. “This is Emily Piggot, Director of the Brockton Bay PRT. I understand you wanted to speak with me?”
The girl had begun jumping up and down against the wall, and the sudden loud voice from the speakers had her spinning around, stumbling away. “Hello! You're finally here!”
Emily had expected an emotionless, flat voice from the girl, but what she heard was a soft, almost musical tone tinged with childish excitement. She blinked and noticed Renick was smiling. A cold chill ran down her spine as she nudged her Deputy, jerking her head in a silent demand for an explanation.
Renick shrugged, whispering back, “Everyone said she sounded robotic. She doesn't sound like that to me. Sounds... nice. Like what my daughter used to sound like.”
“My name's not Silver though, it's Seraph,” the white-haired girl corrected with a casual air, strolling around the confines of her cell. Her head was tilted slightly upward, probably watching the camera that was fixed on her.
“Well then... Seraph,” Emily said evenly, keeping her tone neutral. “What is it that you want?”
There was a pregnant pause.
They all watched as Seraph continued to move about—walking, pacing, occasionally breaking into short sprints against the cell's walls. Finally, she halted, tilting her head to the side, her piercing blue eyes seeming to bore directly into Emily.
“Do you want to go on a date?” Seraph asked abruptly.
“Wh—” Emily was momentarily stunned, her voice trailing off. Did she hear correctly? Images of what such a bizarre date might entail flashed through her mind: a movie, dinner, perhaps a stroll along the Boardwalk? She blinked, scowling as a shudder wracked her frame. “What?”
The same couldn't be said for one of the PRT agents, however. The man suddenly stood, his chair scraping against the floor. “I'll date you!” he declared, his voice cracking slightly, “I'm a good, honest, upstanding guy! I have a steady, respectable job, and I—”
“Oh my god,” Renick muttered.
Someone thankfully shut the man up, a hand clamping over his mouth before dragging him out of the room. A sinking feeling settled in Emily's stomach.
Silver—Seraph, whatever her name was—was staring at the camera again, a strange expression on her face. Emily had the distinct impression that the girl was looking right at her. The girl was smiling—a smile that seemed almost innocent and friendly, yet it made Emily’s skin crawl, feeling utterly fake.
“I... didn't realise you were such a catch,” Calvert drawled, an amused, lilting tone to his voice. He was staring at the screen, his chin propped up with one hand.
Ignoring Calvert's snide remark and Seraph's unsettling proposition, Emily redirected the conversation to the heart of the matter. The question had been gnawing at her since the moment the girl surrendered: “Why did you choose to heal the patients in the hospital?”
Seraph resumed her pacing. “Someone asked me to.”
What?
Emily sat up.
“What do you mean? Who asked you to?” she pressed.
“Someone,” Seraph repeated vaguely, her gaze drifting around the room.
Emily turned to the people around the room and gave them a flat stare, the unspoken question obvious. None of them answered. They all looked confused, just as she was.
She tried to ask a few more questions but they were all ignored by the girl. No matter what she tried, the white-haired Cape refused to answer.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Seraph eventually posed the question once more, her tone light, as if the gravity of the situation eluded her.
Something about the way she asked that question irked Emily. The way the girl carried herself, the way she spoke, the way she acted: all of it felt like a mockery of the whole situation. All those people that had lost their lives, and here this girl was, making light of everything.
An angry hiss escaped her, fists clenching on top of the table. “Is this some sort of joke to you?” she growled, the words slipping through her teeth. “Do you think this is funny?”
Seraph appeared genuinely perplexed. “So you don't want to go on a date with me?”
Emily snapped as nausea and revulsion bubbled up inside her. “No! No, I'm not going to go on a date with you!”
“Oh. Okay then.”
A heavy silence filled the room, and it was only broken by abrupt gasps as the straitjacket restraining Seraph suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving the girl standing in her underwear. The unease that had been creeping up Emily's spine suddenly spiked, and her breath caught in her throat. Immediately, she found the button to the detonator strapped to the girl and pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Silence.
“I'm free now. I'll be seeing you, Director Piggot.”
She turned to Miss Militia who was also repeatedly pressing her detonator's button, her face growing pale.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Emily was out of her seat, slamming a fist against the table. “I want that girl's cell on lockdown immediately! We can't let her escape! She—”
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted as the white-haired girl reached a hand towards the bed in the cell, causing it to vanish. There was scrambling around the room as the men and women tried to understand what was happening.
“Director, she's—”
A gun appeared in the girl's hand.
Then, without any warning… without hesitation, she pressed it against the side of her head and—
BANG!
—pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening, even over the speakers.
Blood sprayed across the walls, staining the sterile grey concrete a deep, ominous red.
For a frozen moment, time seemed to stand still. No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke. They were all paralysed by shock, unable to process the events that had just occurred.
A breath or two later, Seraph's lifeless body crumpled to the floor, a pool of crimson spreading around her.
“What the fuck?”
Emily didn't know who uttered those words, nor did she care. Her eyes remained fixed on the spot where Seraph's body had been, now dissipating into a cloud of black ash. The cell was left in eerie silence, filled only with the remnants of the rollercoaster that were the past few minutes: the discarded straitjacket, the vanished bed, the gun, an array of inexplicable bottles, and the chilling puddle of blood.
What the fuck indeed.
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“I can't remember who it was, but thank you to whoever pointed out that there's interaction options to unalive yourself with the gun.” The young man couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. “Do you think it's available for other items too? Does it even still work if you're at a higher level?”
> ...
>
> FemBoisRTruLuv: yes lol i think its the respec mechanic lmao
>
> DancingStar: easiest way to reassign lvl up bonuses lol
>
> ...
>
> Sinner6969: theres so many items u can use lolool
>
> ...
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> Masteroid: this one doesnt count!!!!!@ u didnt actually get to talk to the director properly
>
> Sassassin: i knew it wouldnt work lmfao
>
> ...
“Oh? Respec-ing? Err, I didn't think of that,” he said, cocking his head to the side as his female avatar respawned. Having gotten rid of the bed that was his latest assigned respawn location, he was placed somewhere random in the city. “I was, um, thinking that it's a way to make sure you can't ever be stuck somewhere. But, uh, I guess that makes more sense.”
He rotated the camera around to figure out where he was, only to have no idea. Somewhere in the middle of the city, probably, judging by the buildings. With a laugh, he said, “Guess I'll just wander until I find the way back to Lisa to turn that quest in.”
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◢✥◣
CHARACTER UPGRADES LOG
◥✥◤
[LEVEL]: 7 → 6
ATTRIBUTE SCORES
[CON]: 10
[STR]: 10
[DEX]: 10
[INT]: 11 → 10
[WIS]: 10
[CHA]: 15
SKILLS UPGRADES!
SHUKUCHI
RANK: 2 → 1