3.8 Jörð
18th of March, 2011
"So," Emily starts, her back straight as she sits behind her desk with her hands clasped together, her eyes alternatively looking between the local Protectorate leader and his second in command, "What do we have on the situation?"
"From the timeline of events and the testimonies we gathered from the victims and their respective nursing staff, Nightflyer took a circuitous path around the Bay," Armsmaster promptly takes the lead, his own posture right on the edge of the uncanny valley so rigid and robotic it is in his gun-metal and blue power armor, his tone neutral, "She first hit the St. June Clinic, the McAvish Retirement Home, the Brockton Bay General Hospital, the Nazareen's Benevolence Hospice and ended with the Sherman Hospital.
"As you know already," the Director of the PRT ENE can only silently nod in assent at that, "We weren't able to catch her even after managing to predict her last target for the night," a pause, Emily barely catching the man gritting his teeth slightly as he admits it.
"Every victim had in common some manner of brain-related issues, be they caused by an injury, a cancer, an illness, a genetic defect or simply advanced age," Miss Militia explains further as her commander momentarily falls silent, "We're still waiting further confirmation from Panacea, but all preliminary examens confirmed that every one of them seemingly made a perfect recovery."
Despite herself, the Director finds herself blinking.
"Elaborate," she asks, her brows furrowing slightly.
"It is as Miss Militia said, ma'am," the Tinker in the room takes the initiative back, "We still haven't finished the battery of test we're running them through, but all the doctors consulted on the subject in emergency are in accord at the moment; all of Nightflyer's victims are in perfect health for their age."
Emily lets the words sink in for a hot second.
"Even the one suffering from a… genetic defect?" she hazards.
"Patient 04, Mister Davidson, used to have down syndrome. The doctors consulted assure me this is no longer the case as of roughly seven hours ago," Armsmaster explains, his mouth set in a grim line.
A pause.
"Shit," the Director surprises herself when she realizes she swore aloud, before slowly shaking her head as she leans deeper into her seat, "This is… big, really big."
"Quite so," the Tinker confirms, "Nightflyer's patron stumbled upon an immense boon and a potential goldmine both."
"It is confirmed, then?" Emily leans forward once more, "She has tinker support?"
"She openly admitted to it, ma'am," Miss Militia answers, one hand coming to crisply gesture in front of her, "Four out of five testimonies corroborate that fact, Mister Davidson included."
"What about the outlier?" she asks back, one eyebrow raised.
"Patient 03, Mister Johnson, has so far been recalcitrant to communicate the details of his encounter with Nightflyer," Armsmaster answers, a sliver of annoyance slipping through his tone, "He explained to his interviewer that he 'wasn't a snitch' and 'was only waiting for a confirmation from the Bay's miracle healer before leaving'."
"Didn't his interviewer explain to him that he is the victim here?" the Director finds herself asking, her bewilderment clear in her tone.
"His interviewer was Assault, ma'am," Miss Militia explains.
Which… actually explained a lot.
"I want to talk to Assault, now."
"Right away, ma'am."
***
"He won't talk," are the very first words that exit the jokester Brute as soon as Emily's office door closes behind him, the man promptly electing to slouch with his back against the wall, his legs bouncing under him, "Doesn't matter how long we let him stew in M/S containment. He's feeling too indebted, probably doesn't help that he has a girl Nightflyer's age."
Emily blinks and locks eyes with the Tinker on the other side of the desk.
"Do you think–"
"Nah, first thing I asked, which made him openly laugh, a big belly laugh," Assault shakes his head, an amused smile on his face, "Not only his girl had a sleepover at home with her friends the night Puppy and I got our butts kicked, but she's also friends with a certain Missy Biron. Such a little world, amiright?"
"Did you explain to him that he was the victim here?" the Director asks.
"Oh, I did," Assault nods, before pursing his lips in annoyance, "But the doctors didn't exactly use their indoor voices when talking about the patients' conditions. So Johnson already knew that he was almost certainly in the clear. Told me himself that he was only waiting for Panacea to get a closer look at his noggin' before going back home to his daughter and wife, just in case."
A pause.
"We could–," Armsmaster starts.
"No, chief," the ex-criminal's head snaps in the direction of his superior, a very serious frown cutting across his face, "Do not lie to the guy, and don't ask Panacea to do so in your stead. This would be a very slippery slope to tread on and if you try, I won't let you."
"Assault, enough," Emily sharply cuts through the growing argument, prompting the red clad cape to slightly back down from his half-straightened posture, before sighing under her breath, "And Assault is right. We're already thin enough on public trust as is with the recent saber rattling from the Empire, we can't allow ourselves to be anything but pristine in our dealings with a man who, for all intents and purposes, is the victim here."
"Understood, ma'am," the Tinker blessedly backs down.
"Not like Johnson's testimonies is going to tell you much more than the others," Assault interjects, slouching once more against the wall, "I paged through those quickly, and they all tell the same thing. Nightflyer acted on behalf of an unnamed patron to test their product and they were chosen at random. I'd bet my poptarts for the next month that he got the same speech. Our guy's just too much of a straight arrow to stab the girl who woke him up from a coma he had very little chances to ever get out of less than two days after he got jumped by Empire goons."
"But the risks–" Miss Militia voices aloud what the three others think.
"He couldn't care less about those. He's his family's major breadwinner, the wife only works part-time and he has a twelve year old to take care of. All he's concerned about right now is knowing if his head got scrambled more by the cure than the beating that left him on the edge of death and coming back to his family as soon as possible, point. Which, honestly? Puppy and I don't have a crotch-goblin of our own yet, but I get it," Assault shrugs with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Are you absolutely sure we can't sway him?" Emily asks one last time for confirmation.
"One hundred percent, ma'am," the parahuman answers without hesitation.
"Moving on," the Director purses her lips in annoyance, then addresses the elephant in the room, "What do we know about the Tinker behind Nightflyer?"
"They don't care about the girl's safety or well-being," Assault is the first to talk, his leg once more bouncing restlessly under him, "Some people would say our guy is just that confident in her capabilities, but that's sugarcoating it. As it stands, she's the one who earned herself five charges of assault with parahuman power in the same evening, while her 'partner' remains squeaky clean. Doesn't matter how healed our lucky boys and girls down there are, she'll get shafted just the same in front of a judge at the end of the day."
"This wouldn't have happened if she came to the PRT in the first place," the lone female still able to wear military fatigue in the group point out a little coldly.
"Miss M., the girl is at most thirteen," Assault drawls, spearing his superior with a frown his visor does nothing to hide, "And likely younger than that. Kids that age do dumb things, that's a fact. Even more so for one who woke up one day knowing super kung-fu. Put her into the Wards and I guarantee you she'll be scratching at the walls out of boredom and lack of action in less than a week. I'm not saying that it wouldn't be better for her, 'cuz it is, but she was never going to come willingly. Doesn't fit how she behaves. She thinks she's an actor performing on a stage, one where half the lines are spoken with balled fists and she thrives in it."
"I honestly thought you'd be more upset at her," Emily finds herself pointing out, mildly intrigued.
"Eh, I got over it," the man shrugs, his arms dropping alongside his body, "After giving it a good thought. And reading the report of her altercation with Glory Girl."
"You think you found something," Armsmaster presses on, his tone more intense than usual.
"Yeah, I think I did," the Brute smiles, "See, I kept thinking in circles about the manner she handed Puppy and I our butts, but it only hit me once I got my eyes on our Glorious Gal's tale; Nightflyer's response is always proportionate."
"Excuse-me?" Emily blinks, before frowning, "Assault, she sliced both of your achilles heels."
"Yeah, and that was the most expedient way to disable me, unless I started to make Bet's worst impression of a beached whale in her rough direction out of the blue. Which admittedly would've been funny, but not very successful. She only used Puppy's strength against her, choosing to redirect her blows and grapples. She made the youngest Dallon flee after giving her a good scare instead of slugging it when she already proved she could hurt her. And I'm inclined to think that she only put a broadhead in Stalker's knee because the girl tried to shoot her first and she took it a little personally," the man purses his lips, "And I don't think Stalker herself was aiming for something as easily fixable by Panacea as a messed-up kneecap."
"You think she deliberately calculated her response while banking on Panacea's healing to see you through the fight without long-term consequences," Armsmaster voices aloud.
"A-yup," the Brute answers while obnoxiously popping the 'p' out, a sardonic grin on his face, "She's been keeping the kiddie gloves on with us. Which I think is because we're supposed to be the good guys and didn't try to force her hand either. Which tells us two things: one, she's just that good; and two, I have zero doubts that the first gang trying to mess with her is going to regret it, thoroughly."
"You think she's going to escalate?" the Director asks, already dreading the answer.
"As I said, it depends on the gangs," the man shrugs once again with a 'what can you do?' gesture, "Heard through the grapevine that the Empire was looking for a girl a while back. Honestly kinda surprised they're still stuck in a rut over it, but my money is on them screwing the pooch first and underestimating her."
"Perfect," she grumbles acidly, "Just what this city needed."
"As for the Tinker supplying her, lack of morals aside, they're scary and smart. Scary-smart," the red clad parahuman carries on, one hand coming to gesture idly in front of him as if to illustrate his words, "They were already able to come up with Nightflyer's suit and weapon, and now a magic cure-all? Not surprised they're acting through a proxy to hide themselves, cuz' it looks like they won the power lottery. Still messed up to exploit the kid that way though."
"It is too early to take a guess at their capabilities and specialization for the time being," the Protectorate leader points out a little woodenly.
"Never said it wasn't, I'm not an egghead," the Brute defends himself with his two palms raised up, "But that's one for defense, one for offense and one for healing over three different creations. Seems a lot more flexible than your own shtick, like it or not."
Considering how the man's lips thin at the comment, Emily figures he doesn't appreciate the comparison.
"How do we progress from here?" she asks the room at large as a lull settles in the conversation.
"Nightflyer still needs to be apprehended," Miss Militia starts with.
"Obviously," Assault makes a show of rolling his eyes with his whole head to properly convey his sentiment, "But the one who really matters is her supplier. Take the guy out, and the girl's only option will be to come to us. She pissed off almost everyone in the Bay with her antics, bar the ABB and the Palanquin's capes."
"And the Tinker should be easier to catch than the combat Thinker wearing their gear," Emily slowly nods in understanding.
A pause.
"The question is: how do we find them before the gangs do?" she asks.
Another pause.
"If I may, Director," Armsmaster starts, his composure seemingly restored, "I may have thought of something."
[AN: Alright, that's a wrap for tonight since the chapter is already at 2k words.
I hope it'll quell your doubts, fellow readers, because, yes, Jacky didn't go at it without a plan.