The apartment was silent, insulated from the sirens that still wept intermittently across the city. Clean lines, minimalist decor, steel and glass reflecting the muted glow of the skyline beyond the armoured windows. Order. Control. Everything my public life, my other life, strove to impose on the chaos of Brockton Bay. Tonight, that chaos lapped closer to the foundations than it had in a long time.
I stood by the window, swirling the amber liquid in my glass—a fine single malt, a small concession to the tension coiling in my gut. The operation to extract Kayden had been a tactical necessity. If for nothing more than the fact that losing a parahuman of her calibre was unacceptable. And given how quickly my contact within the PRT's local network had provided the intelligence on her capture and transport, the window of opportunity became too valuable to ignore. Retrieving her should have been a clean demonstration of the Empire's reach and resolve.
Instead, it had turned into a catastrophe, thanks to Brad's lack of restraint.
Hookwolf. A force of nature, undeniably valuable on the battlefield. But undisciplined. Volatile. He claimed the Ward, Gallant, had used his emotion-affecting power; that the boy had driven him to madness. A convenient excuse. More likely, Brad simply lost control, indulging his base savagery when precision was required. He hadn't just killed the boy; he'd mutilated him, breaking one of the few remaining, albeit unwritten, rules that kept the perpetual conflict between capes from spiralling into utter annihilation. Killing Wards was bad for business. Bad for stability. Bad for everything.
I had presented the extraction to the men, to Krieg and the others, as a qualified success. Purity was secured, safe for now, hidden until the situation was calm enough to relocate her out of the city. We had bloodied the PRT and demonstrated our willingness to protect our own. Morale, initially, had spiked.
But I wasn't foolish enough to believe my own propaganda. The undercurrents were already palpable. Gallant wasn't just any Ward; he was one of the more likeable ones, nominally a part of New Wave's extended family, photogenic, popular. His brutal death, splashed across PHO thanks to some ghoul in the hospital, had shifted the narrative instantly. The simmering public anger directed at the ABB over Bakuda's bombs hadn't vanished, but now it shared focus, burning hot against the Empire.
And the fear… I could feel it even within our own ranks. Whispers in the barracks, cautious messages exchanged between lieutenants. Brad had gone too far. He'd painted a target not just on himself, but on all of us. Men who had families, businesses, lives outside the mask—they understood the kind of retribution the PRT could bring down when truly provoked. Already, Glory Girl had made her stance on the matter clear. It was only a matter of time until the other heroes did the same. A few, bolder or perhaps more desperate members, had already reached out through backchannels, suggesting they might… reconsider their loyalties, if Hookwolf wasn't leashed.
Leashing Hookwolf now, however, was impossible. To denounce him publicly or discipline him internally after he acted during an operation I sanctioned would expose weakness, fracture the organisation when unity was paramount. He commanded loyalty from a significant, if brutish, faction within the Empire. Alienating them now could lead to civil war, leaving us vulnerable to any scavengers looking to pick at our bones. No. Hookwolf was a rabid dog that had savaged the wrong target, but he was my rabid dog, for the moment.
A different solution was required. Containment. Removal.
I walked over to the secure terminal on my desk, the encrypted interface glowing softly. A few keystrokes brought up a heavily shielded contact list. I selected one, initiating the call sequence. The connection took time, bouncing through relays, layers of obfuscation peeling back until a voice answered, crisp, precise, with a faint accent that spoke of Old World connections.
"Anders?"
"A situation requires expedited extraction," I stated, keeping my voice level, devoid of emotion. "High-profile asset, requires relocation outside domestic jurisdiction. Standard compensation plus hazard premium."
"Profile?"
"Parahuman. High threat rating. Volatile. Details encrypted, package designation 'Wolfsangel'. Priority is immediate removal from the city, then overseas transport. Destination flexible, discretion paramount."
A pause on the other end. Calculations being made. The Gesellschaft moved slowly, deliberately, but they were reliable when the price was right. And they understood the value of discretion and maintaining connections. "Acceptable. Logistics will require twelve hours minimum to mobilize appropriate containment and transport. Provide location coordinates two hours prior to extraction window."
"Understood," I replied. "Funds transfer initiated." I cut the connection. Twelve hours. It would have to be enough. Get Brad out of the city, out of the country, let the Gesellschaft deal with him somewhere far away. It was cleaner this way. A necessary expenditure.
As if on cue, another encrypted alert pinged on the terminal. Not from the Gesellschaft. From my PRT contact. Short, direct.
Kill Order initiated. Target: Hookwolf (Brad, Meadows). Processing.
Fuck.
My jaw tightened. This… changed everything. It wasn't just PRT policy now; it was a green light. Every hero, every bounty hunter, every glory hound from here to Boston would be converging, looking to claim the prestige – and the payout – for taking down a Kill Order target. The Empire would become ground zero. They wouldn't just hunt Brad; they would tear apart anyone and anything associated with him to get to him. My organisation, my structure, everything I had built, would be collateral damage in their righteous fury.
They were forcing my hand, it seemed. Protecting Brad was suicide. Denouncing him was internal rupture. What to do, what to do?
There was only one path left. A distasteful, dangerous path, but the only one that offered a chance of preserving the core structure. Sacrifice the limb to save the body.
I moved to a different terminal, one reserved for even more sensitive communications, activating a line scrambler. The connection established, I spoke to the liaison, my alter persona settling over me like armour.
"Kaiser speaking. Patch me through to Director Piggot."
There was a brief delay, the electronic clicks of rerouting, then a familiar, weary voice answered, devoid of pleasantries. "Piggot."
"Director," I said, adopting a measured tone. "Would you be willing to consider a mutually beneficial arrangement regarding our current situation?"
Silence on the other end. I could almost picture her, sitting in her sterile office, suspicion etched onto her face. "I'm listening, Kaiser. This had better be good."
"Hookwolf has become a liability," I stated flatly. "I am prepared to provide you with actionable intelligence leading directly to his current location. He will be isolated, containment achievable with minimal collateral damage to surrounding areas, provided your forces act swiftly and decisively." I let that hang for a moment. "Furthermore, in the interest of restoring some semblance of order, I am willing to consider exclusively focusing the Empire on the task of eradicating the ABB. Their recent actions, particularly Bakuda's indiscriminate bombing campaign, threaten the city's fundamental stability. Removing the group serves both our interests."
Another pause. Longer this time. I could hear the gears turning in her pragmatic, suspicious mind. Weighing the offer. The chance to neutralise a Kill Order target cleanly, decapitate the ABB further, all handed to her by her sworn enemy. The price?
"And what do you expect in return, Kaiser?" Her voice was dangerously soft.
"Focus," I said. "I suspect you will issue a Kill Order soon. That would mandate action against Hookwolf. Pursue him. Vigorously. But cease broader reprisals against Empire personnel and territory not directly involved in sheltering him or resisting his capture. Allow us to manage our own internal affairs. We both benefit from a reduction in city-wide chaos right now, Director. Let the PRT claim its victory over Hookwolf, let us deal with the ABB remnants, and perhaps we can prevent this city from completely burning down around us."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken calculation. It was a gamble. She could refuse, try to leverage the situation further. But I knew Piggot. She was a pragmatist above all else. She dealt in achievable outcomes, not ideological crusades when the walls were crumbling.
"Provide the location," she said finally, her voice clipped, giving nothing away. "If it proves accurate, and if your forces refrain from interfering with the Hookwolf operation or exploiting the situation, PRT operational focus will remain on the mandated target and the ABB threat. For now."
"Agreed, Director," I said. I transmitted the encrypted location data for the safehouse where Brad was currently laying low. "Good luck."
I cut the connection before she could reply further. Leaning back, I stared at the ceiling, the silence of the apartment settling back in as I contemplated the fact that I had just signed the death warrant for one of my most powerful capes. Wasteful, perhaps. But necessary. Brad should have known better; he had no one to blame for his predicament other than himself.