Amy Dallon POV

  Looking at her like this, Amy could almost believe that Vicky was just sleeping. This scene wasn’t new to her, but it usually involved crumpled sheets on the floor, pillows all over the bed, and a bit of drool.

  Now, her sister was lying on a hospital bed, specialized instruments hooked up to her unmoving form, the sounds of monitoring machinery the only company in the otherwise sterile room.

  As for her?

  Anyone close enough to Amy (or Panacea, in her cape persona), would be shocked at how much worse she could look.

  Eyes red, hair a tangled mess, eyebags more bloated than ever, costume thrown haphazardly on the chair she sat on - suffice it to say, the girl was not doing well. Casting her thoughts to how this all came about, she remembered Dauntless barging through the emergency room doors, screaming for her.

  The events following that were a blur of despair, panic, and anguish. She did all she could for her, but Vicky still ended up in a coma. It’s been two days since then.

  And who was to blame?

  Seraph - Brockton Bay’s newest villain. The criminal responsible for so much tragedy not even a week since his first appearance.

  Just thinking about the winged cape was enough to reignite Amy’s simmering rage.

  First was the swarm of apocalyptic proportions that sent the entire city into hysteria. Next, he went after the Ward, Shadow Stalker. The teen hero had a broken spine and severe electrical burns when she was brought in, along with several fractures and dislocations.

  Much like with Vicky, Amy was able to heal much of the damage in short order. But also like Vicky, she was left comatose.

  Whether in her civilian or cape identity, Amy wasn’t close with the Breaker. She wasn’t close with any of the Wards, for that matter. Still, it was infuriating that she couldn’t do more. Healing her could have also allowed Amy to heal Vicky.

  But, it wasn’t to be.

  Those two were not the end of that day’s casualties, either.

  Aside from the numerous injuries sustained by civilians as a result of the aerial pursuit, several heroes were also hurt to varying degrees. Velocity sported second and third-degree burns all along his left side. Miss Militia’s retinas were damaged by intense heat. And Armsmaster was practically fused with his armor.

  Assault and Battery were either more fortunate or more capable of evasion - they only got scratches, scrapes, shallow cuts, and bruises.

  The worst cases hit much closer to home.

  Amy was brought out of her morbid thoughts by the door opening. It was an exhausted and worried Crystal.

  Speak of the Devil.

  “How are they?”

  Her adoptive cousin gave a tired smile before moving to take another chair by Vicky’s bedside. Once seated (slumped, really), the older girl breathed a deep, tired sigh. Signs of the rough few days were visible: blond hair tired in a sloppy bun, previously rosy cheeks pallid, and shadows under her eyes.

  “Resting now,” she said. “I left Eric with them to check on you and Vicky. Well,” she amended, “mostly you.”

  Amy couldn’t muster up enough energy to feel irritated at the admission. Considering that all of New Wave was in this hospital, though not in the same conditions, it made sense for Crystal to worry.

  She, Amy, and Eric were all that remained functional of the public hero group. Everyone else was laid up.

  Which brought her thoughts back to the person responsible.

  “Any news on him, yet?”

  Amy could almost hear Crystal grinding her teeth, normally soft eyes becoming flinty, and fists clenching tightly. The blond was in just as much of a forgiving mood as she was.

  That is to say, not at all.

  “Still no sightings. The fires were finally put out, but nearly half the docks are gone.”

  Crystal paused, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows in concentration.

  “The trainyards are a wreck - well, more of a wreck. The Boat Graveyard is basically a bed of molten metal, now. And there’s no salvaging any of the warehouses. Not that anyone was trying to do that, anyway.”

  Yeah, it was a shitshow.

  Despite a full 48 hours having passed after the incident, the authorities were still trying to tally the damages wrought. Even without the full accounting, though, people already considered this the worst cape-induced catastrophe to hit Brockton Bay in recent memory.

  Not even Lung’s vaunted defeat of the full Protectorate roster was this disastrous.

  “Is there any good news?” Amy asked, if only to stop her spiraling thoughts.

  At her prompting, Crystal did perk up.

  “Actually, there is!” she replied, voice regaining a bit of its usual cheer. “A lot independents are coming out of the woodwork and helping out. There’s talk of this cape who has been calling in crimes from all over. Someone leaked like dozens of 911 recordings on PHO and it’s all anyone’s talking about, right now.”

  Wait, what?

  Her confusion must have shown on her face since Crystal moved to clarify.

  “No one’s seen her yet, so we don’t know that much about her,” the older girl was becoming more animated now, likely due to the topic being neither macabre nor depressing. “The voice in the recordings sounds young and definitely female. Each call is really short, too. Just the crime, the place, and whoever’s involved. She didn’t even give a name!”

  Huh, that’s interesting. A precog, maybe? Or a thinker with large-scale awareness? When she expressed these thoughts out loud, Crystal hummed in thought.

  “There are a lot of speculations,” she said. “You know how PHO posters get. But a few of the theories did stand out.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Crystal scrunched her nose up before responding.

  “In a lot of the spots reported, the bugs were apparently acting really weird.”

  Taylor POV

  Two days. Two whole days of anger, guilt, shame, and shock have left Taylor Hebert’s psyche frayed and raw.

  She couldn’t sit still. Sleep became a fading luxury. And despite helping to thwart numerous crimes by calling the authorities, she felt no accomplishment or satisfaction.

  From the boardwalk, where she was leaning against the railing overlooking the beach, she could see what remained of the Boat Graveyard. It evoked a complicated mess of feelings in the bug master.

  On the one hand, the wrecks were a frequent haunt of lowlives who dealt in filth. Drugs were brewed, stored, and sold around those parts. At least, that’s what she’d gathered in her research before going out as a hero. On the other, it resulted from a tragedy.

  Her mind turned around and around the same subject.

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  Seraph.

  A name to go with the horrifying figure that nearly left her catatonic in fear. Even now, she found it difficult to recall the face behind the veil of darkness.

  So many heroes fell to his sword. Widespread devastation followed his wake. In a single afternoon, he left Brockton Bay more vulnerable to the predation of criminals and villains than it has been in years.

  In her wanderings, Taylor saw more empty streets, shuffling gaits, hunched shoulders, and fearful whispers. These weren’t necessarily anything new. Brocktonites have lived under the bootheel of villains for decades and caution was taken as gospel.

  Taken all together, though? It was clear that the events of the past several days exceeded what even the city’s hardened residents could tolerate.

  Her swarm caused alarm. Its incineration incited panic. The public defeat of nearly all of the Bay’s heroes in such a brutal fashion, however? That caused despair - one so palpable that it almost covered the city in a tangible shroud.

  Even the Wards weren’t spared, as evidenced by the numerous videos of Shadow Stalker being taken away on a gurney, shot from multiple angles.

  That it happened right across from Winslow High left Taylor feeling oddly grateful that she decided to rest that day.

  Glory Girl apparently suffered the same fate. Clips of her unmoving body in the arms of Dauntless quickly made the rounds on PHO. It was this development, more than anything, that truly set off the cascade of rage and hysteria currently besieging the city.

  If the local Alexandria package could be taken out so easily, what chance did the rest of the heroes have against such a powerful cape? As it turns out, not much of a chance, at all.

  To make matters worse, the news reported that both teens were in a coma.

  So, here Taylor was. After two days of debating with herself and her dad, occasionally interrupted by bouts of reporting criminal activities, she still couldn’t come to a decision.

  In some sick, twisted way, she felt responsible for Seraph’s rampage. She was the first to meet him, not counting Lung. The first to interact with him. And the moment that she could, she chased him away with the largest swarm she could muster.

  Even three days on, that night still left her feeling unsure. Did he attack Lung to save her or was it an opportunistic strike to bring down a rival cape? Was he actually a hero with incredible powers that came with significant drawbacks?

  He did heal Taylor, that much was clear. That was a heroic act, wasn’t it?

  So, why did he end up attacking a Ward and fighting the heroes? Was that her fault, somehow? Could she have done something to prevent it from happening?

  ‘Did I push him down the road of villainy?’ Taylor thought.

  “Deep thoughts?”

  The sudden intrusion caused Taylor to flinch. Quickly turning about, she saw a girl with green eyes, a freckled face, and full lips that were currently upturned in a remarkably smug smirk.

  “I have a lot of those too.”

  Emily Piggot POV

  04:10 AM, two days after the docks burned. Emily Piggot stood at her office window, cane under one hand, the bay a faint smear of gray beyond the glass. Her monitor chimed.

  SECURE LINK – CHIEF DIRECTOR COSTA-BROWN

  She accepted and Rebecca Costa-Brown appeared. Her jacket was immaculate. Her eyes missed nothing.

  “Director Piggot,” Costa-Brown said. “Begin.”

  “The incident start at three-thirteen local, eleventh of April,” Piggot answered. “The Ward, Shadow Stalker, radioed in suspicious activities on the rooftop near Winslow High. Dispatch acknowledged and ordered her to observe. She replied, ‘Checking it out,’ then went silent.”

  “Bodycam?” Costa-Brown asked.

  “It went offline the moment she moved. No footage.”

  Costa-Brown’s jaw tightened a fraction.

  “Outcome?”

  “A ten-storey fall. She hit a dumpster in the alleyway below where she clocked the supposed suspicious activity. Paramedics arrived it at three-thirty-five. She’s breathing, spinal damage was repaired by Panacea, but still in a coma.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Dauntless and Lady Photon arrived inside ninety seconds. They found her, confirmed a pulse. The unknown cape—male, late teens to early twenties, purple armor by their account—was airborne. Dauntless ordered him to remain. He ascended instead.”

  Costa-Brown gave a single nod.

  “Your response?”

  “I was monitoring the channel by then. Issued a directive to ‘Apprehend immediately.’ I wanted to prevent the issue from escalating and drag in outside elements. Obviously, things didn’t go as planned.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Understood. Pursuit details?”

  “The subject led Dauntless and Lady Photon over the warehouse district. Kept to a high altitude and no fire toward civilians. Velocity started ground evacuation on his own initiative.”

  Piggot rubbed the ache above her brow, “Thirty-five civilians treated for minor injuries, all panic-related.”

  “Noted,” Costa-Brown said. “Any sign the subject attacked first responders?”

  “Negative. He dodged, tried to outrun,” Piggot let out a breath. “Pattern suggests avoidance, not aggression.”

  “Glory Girl’s involvement?” Costa-Brown prompted.

  “She intercepted mid-air at three-thirty-nine and attempted a grapple. At contact, the armor reportedly discharged high-voltage electricity. Glory Girl lost consciousness and fell. Dauntless broke pursuit and delivered her to Mercy General where Panacea was able to stabilize her. Like Shadow Stalker, she’s also comatose.”

  Costa-Brown studied Piggot’s face, “Do we know why they’re not waking?”

  “According to medical scans, their Corona Pollentia and Gemma were inflamed and both seemed to have experienced neurological overload. Aside from that, no conclusive data yet.”

  The Chief Director’s eyes narrowed.

  “So, one unregistered cape, two teens in comas, minimal civilian harm. Where do you place priority?”

  “Containment,” Piggot said. “Every hour he’s free is another hour for rumor to turn him into either a folk hero or a devil.”

  Costa-Brown allowed the faintest shrug.

  “Truth rarely gets there first. Status of the search?” Costa-Brown asked.

  “We set a grid to two miles around the last sonar ping. We’re tapping the Coast Guard’s scanners, plus one of Dragon’s drones on loan. No hits in forty-odd hours.”

  “Public line?”

  “We released a brief: ‘Pursuit of unregistered, multi-form parahuman. No civilian fatalities.’ We’ve emphasized the zero-death statistic at every turn.”

  Costa-Brown’s expression softened a shade.

  “That statistic matters.”

  Piggot nodded once.

  “I’ll maintain it.”

  A pause. Costa-Brown leaned back, weighing something, “Director, do you believe this cape intended lethal harm?”

  “From what I have? No. He passed on easier shots, kept the fight over empty roofs.” Piggot tapped her cane. “He only escalated when Armsmster started using some of his more lethal equipment.”

  That was a tidbit that is currently being kept from the public. A necessity that resulted in the tinker getting benched and losing half of his tinkering budget.

  “But Seraph’s unpredictable, and his capacity for destruction is high. Good intentions don’t shield brickwork.”

  “Agreed,” Costa-Brown said quietly.

  Piggot’s screen pinged: five minutes elapsed. She gathered the next folder—casualty sheets, property maps. Costa-Brown noticed the motion.

  “Let’s talk damage and casualties.”

  Piggot switched feeds. A drone shot of the east-dock block filled half the screen: skeletal roofs, one warehouse wall folded outward like a crushed soda can.

  “Fire crews finished mop-up four hours ago,” she said. “Fourteen structures can’t be saved; demolition order is on the mayor’s desk. Rail spur is warped enough to strand three cranes.”

  “Insurance?”

  “Ballpark is seventy to eighty million once the cargo claims land. Eight companies, five of them already screaming at the city solicitor.”

  Costa-Brown made a note.

  “Utilities?”

  “The gas main held and the power grid dropped two circuits. Both have been rerouted. Environmental risk is low—the biggest spill was diesel from an old trawler hull. The Coast Guard boomed it before sunrise the same night.”

  She put the map away and slid a casualty sheet under the camera.

  “Velocity took heat across his left side—second degree, mostly on the arm and ribs. He’s insisting on desk duty and medical cleared him for that. Miss Militia’s retinas were flash-scoured. Bright light still ghosts her vision, but she can shoot again tomorrow if we shade the goggles.”

  The seemed to cause the woman on screen to frown.

  “Even with Panacea’s aid?”

  Piggot sighed, “There were too many injured for full healing, at the time. Panacea was also too emotionally exhausted due to the injuries suffered by members of New Wave. She took Glory Girl’s case the worst.”

  “Armsmaster?” Costa-Brown asked.

  “His armor seized at the elbows when it overheated. Small burns, mostly, despite the outward damage. It was mostly cosmetic. His ego was bruised worse,” Piggot had to work to keep the contempt out of her tone and maintain professionalism.

  She tapped several more names.

  “Triumph, Assault, Battery suffered the lightest injuries. Mostly contusions, smoke inhalation, and minor lacerations.”

  “And New Wave’s adults?”

  “Manpower walked away with a relocated shoulder. Brandish and Flashbang are black-and-blue but functional, mostly. Lady Photon sustained more extensive heat damage caused by proximity to Seraph’s initial transformation.”

  Costa-Brown nodded thoughtfully and set her biro down.

  “So you still have Protectorate members you can field.”

  “Yes. Dauntless is airborne, but he’s one man. I’ve pulled Vista from routine patrols—short-range warps will help with quick response,” Piggot’s jaw flexed.

  “I’ll free up Bastion from Boston,” Costa-Brown offered. “He can fill the optics gap too.”

  “That’ll help the press conference,” Piggot flipped to a civic-impact memo. “Speaking of optics, City Hall has asked for state-level disaster relief. If we stall, they’ll move to federal.”

  Costa-Brown’s eyes narrowed.

  “Do you recommend declaring?”

  “Not yet. We can swing cleanup funds from the regional emergency pot once structural surveys finish tomorrow.”

  She paused, pinching the bridge of her nose, “But we need visible progress or the council will sign whatever FEMA puts in front of them.”

  “Understood,” Costa-Brown said. “What about staffing back-fill? One Ward out and a half-dozen veterans on half-speed will wear thin.”

  “The rest of the Wards can shoulder extra patrols for a week,” Piggot’s frown deepened. “Morale’s the problem. Losing Glory Girl rattled people. The hospital’s got news helicopters parked on the roof garden. We keep pushing the zero-fatality figure, but the city’s used to Glory Girl winning her fights. Or, at least, holding her own.”

  Costa-Brown steepled her fingers.

  “Has New Wave asked to address the media?”

  “Brandish wants a statement, yes. I’ve advised her to hold until we have more on Seraph,” Piggot thumbed a sticky note off her pad. “She’ll toe the line, for now, but she made her grief known–vocally.”

  Costa-Brown made a sound of understanding.

  “Good.” The Chief Director tapped her pen. “Community impact?”

  “Fear’s cooling into anger. Folks want to know why two teen heroes are still in beds and the guy responsible isn’t in a cell,” Piggot’s jaw set. “We get him soon, or the city council will rent a cape mercenary and call it a budget item.”

  “Let’s not give them the chance,” Costa-Brown said. “Any unknown actors?”

  “One.” Piggot pulled a thin file, label blank. “Starting twenty-two hours ago we began getting anonymous 911 calls—female voice, adolescent. She phoned in three gang assaults, one robbery, and an ABB stash house. All tips were good.”

  “Possible tie to Seraph?”

  “No overlap yet. But every scene had odd insect behaviour—ants filing in tight spirals, moth clusters on windows. My gut says there’s a link, but nothing solid.”

  Costa-Brown frowned.

  “Keep it close. If she’s a potential ally, we need a safer approach than we managed with Seraph.”

  “Agreed.”

  A quiet settled—both women weighing holes in the story.

  The Chief Director glanced at her chrono.

  “Anything else before we move to outstanding evidence?”

  Piggot felt the sealed envelope in her upper drawer—the one forensics had hand-delivered at midnight. Two items inside, both half burned, one sketched in neat circles, the other scrawled in jittery pen. Evidence they’d held back from every briefing so far.

  “There is one more package,” she said, tapping the drawer. “Recovered near Shadow Stalker’s landing site. We saved it for last.”

  “Bring it up next,” Costa-Brown replied.

  Piggot nodded once. Her fingers rested on the drawer pull, the thin paper waiting behind it.

  Piggot opened the drawer. A thin evidence envelope slid onto her blotter. She broke the seal and eased two plastic sleeves into camera view.

  “First item.”

  She held up the larger sleeve. Inside lay a half-sheet of scorched notebook paper. Eight circles, each one perfectly round, ringed a small star. Every circle carried a neat, block-printed label: Red-Eyed, Blue-Sea, Jade, Golden, Violet, White-Silver, Darkness, Divine.

  The edges were browned and brittle, but the ink was clear.

  Costa-Brown said nothing, but her eyes sharpened.

  “Found where?”

  “Wedged between the dumpster and a wall. Seraph likely dropped it while trying to flee from Shadow Stalker hit.”

  Piggot flipped the sleeve. Nothing on the back.

  “Interpretation?”

  “Looks like a menu. Three of those labels match armor colors we’ve seen, so far. Five we haven’t.”

  “So, modular,” Costa-Brown murmured, almost to herself. “And planned.”

  “Second item.”

  Piggot raised a smaller fragment, edges half-melted. A heading in hurried pen: Ways This Could Still Be Salvaged. Three bullet points survived.

  Taylor probably didn’t tell anyone

  Lung’s out of commission—counts for something

  No civilian casualties (I think)