Chapter Text
Andrew Foley was the most experienced PRT console operator at the Brig. It wasn't much of a brag since he had earned the title by outlasting everyone. His coworkers would either be promoted or, more often, burnt out of the job. Being a 911 operator was bad enough. You'd sometimes have to hear people on their worst days, screams and cries that would never leave your mind. But those worst days were separated by other more mundane calls. Fires, muggings, robberies, and fights were some of the many other incidents that separated the worst emergencies.
But by being a PRT operator, you would only receive the escalated incident calls from 911. The ones that the police couldn't handle. So what would be the worst calls for 911 operators would be a daily occurrence for PRT operators.
So when Andrew received the first 911 transfer call of the day at 12:18 PM EST, he was prepared. Unfortunately it wasn't enough.
"Dispatch, this is Officer Perez at Winslow High. We have a possible Master effect in progress."
Master effect. Those two words made him straighten in his chair. "Repeat, possible Master?"
At those words everyone in the response center paused and turned their heads towards Andrew. Reports of Master incidents were rare but when they happened they were usually rated high to critical. Ever since the Nilbog nightmare, Masters were treated with the highest priority. Janice Townsend, the PRT ENE response day shift supervisor, pulled up a chair beside Andrew, and listened in with rapt attention.
"Come again, Officer Perez," Andrew repeated, "a possible master?"
There was no response. Static hissed in the background of the call. Just as he was about to ask again, he heard the faint sounds of groaning.
"Try reaching out again," Janice nudged Andrew who had paused at the sound. Everyone else in the gray office room had returned to their work but kept an ear out. It was almost impossible to resist what could possibly be next day's news.
"Officer Perez? Can you hear me?"
And in response the groans became louder and behind them were the sound of shouting. Andrew strained his ears to listen in while Janice was already typing up the report to send to the director. Ever since Director Piggot had taken command of the Brockton Bay PRT it was policy to escalate any Master/Stranger incidents directly to her.
"Off–" Andrew said before he was interrupted.
"I'm trying!" A boy shouted.
Then another voice boomed over the radio, loud enough to distort the microphone.
"Lower! That isn't a pushup. That is sadness with elbows!"
"What?" Andrew asked out loud, his years of professionalism unable to restrain the shock from coming out.
"Dispatch! Highly likely to be a Master effect," Officer Perez came back on the radio. "Suspect is an unmasked teenage female student identified as Taylor Hebert. We are in the cafeteria. There are more than a hundred students. She's issuing commands to them."
"Commands?"
"Exercise commands," Perez said.
Andrew looked to his supervisor. Janice, equally bewildered, mouthed: exercise?
He pressed two fingers to his headset. "Officer, clarify the nature of the commands."
No response. Instead there was heavy breathing. Someone in the background groaned, "I can't feel my arms."
"Good! Now you know where they are!" The same thundering voice answered.
"She's ordering people to do pushups," Perez said, his voice strained, each word spoken with great effort. "She's got me sitting down. I can't move. Send backup."
"Escalate," Janice ordered Andrew. He didn't think twice.
"When did this come in?" Armsmaster asked.
He and Miss Militia had been paged to come to Director Piggot's office as quickly as possible. The office itself was utilitarian and bare. The large desk was neatly organized, stacks of paper to one side, a laptop with two monitors attached on the other. The walls had little to no decoration, just charts of information. One displayed the cape power rating system, the other an organizational chart of the PRT. Even the chairs themselves were standardized, betraying no personality or design of their owner. Though anyone who knew Emily Piggot would imagine her office to be as such.
"12:18 PM EST," Piggot replied, pausing the audio player. "Thoughts?"
"A possible Master incident in progress at Winslow High School," Armsmaster said plainly. "Unmasked minor, most likely a new trigger. She's forcing mass compliance. We're going to need an A-class response."
"A-class? Miss Militia asked. "Is that really necessary? She's just making them do pushups."
"She's making dozens of people do pushups," Armsmaster retorted. "Even if the demonstration of her power is unusual and benign, its area of effect already marks her as an A-class threat. We have more than a hundred hostages including two police officers."
"Still, she recently triggered, it could be the result of panic. We should try deescalating the situation before replying with force."
"Or she may be consciously holding part of the school hostage," Piggot said. "We don't know. We also don't know the radius of the Master effect, if it spreads by sight, sound, proximity, verbal command, emotional state, or some other vector. We don't know to the full extent of who is compromised or if the victims can report accurately."
Right–", Miss Militia hesitated. She had forgotten that if there were anyone who was an expert on dealing with Masters, it'd be the woman who survived Nilbog. "Are there any casualties?"
"Unconscious civilians including a security guard. No confirmed deaths."
"Any parents?" Armsmaster asked.
"Her father's being contacted."
"Wait," Miss Militia said, "Doesn't Shadow Stalker go to Winslow High?"
Piggot's mouth tightened. "Sophia Hess attends Winslow. She may be on site."
"Is Shadow Stalker involved?"
"From police reports, probably not. Someone would've said something if a cape was involved." Piggot turned toward Armsmaster, crossing her arms. "What's your plan of action?"
She, of course, already knew what to do. But Armsmaster was likely to lead the Protectorate one day. This would be good training for him.
"Besides us two, we have Dauntless on shift. We'll take five PRT squads and secure the perimeter. We'll deploy the standard Master/Stranger protocols. No solo entry, constant external relay, and operation through my drones. Challenge-response communications active. All operators will wear helmets with psychic shielding. Miss Militia, can you make sure to grab Dauntless a helmet as well?"
"Sure," Miss Militia said. She paged Dauntless, who was out on patrol, "Shouldn't we mobilize the Wards?"
"No!" Director Piggot almost yelled. "The last thing we need is underage capes mastered by a new trigger. I don't plan on losing anyone to a Master, especially children."
"Understood," Miss Militia said softly.
"Continue Armsmaster."
"No lethal force unless confirmed by clean command. I'm lead on analysis and containment. Miss Militia will be my second. If I'm showing signs of being compromised, authority will shift to Miss Militia, if on-site PRT team or off-site support suspects we're both compromised, command will transfer to remote PRT lead. Boston, New York, and D.C. Protectorates will be notified of the Master incident."
"Good. These drones of yours, what are they armed with?"
"Containment foam, three tranquilizer darts, a tear gas canister, and in case of lethal authorization, ten 9 mm bullets."
"Damn," Miss Militia whistled, "you really managed to fit all that in there?"
"Yes, it took a while," Armsmaster chuckled, "but with Kid Win's help we managed to get the drone flying. It's a prototype but it should serve its purpose here."
"That's good," Piggot said, "how many did you make?"
"Two so far. But with an increase in budget, I should have twent–"
"That's sufficient. Make sure to send in the drones first. No one is to enter without your say so. How soon can you get there?"
"Ten minutes," Armsmaster said, his helmet immediately providing the answer.
"Get going then."
"Yes Director," Armsmaster said. The two gave a salute, closed the door, and left the office leaving Piggot to her thoughts.
This was going to be a media circus, Piggot sighed. A teenage Master that managed to subdue dozens of children at school was a recipe for a Nilbog level disaster. Hell, even another Heartbreaker would be a catastrophe for the city. If the reporters hadn't already assembled at the school it'd be a miracle. Fuck, this was going to be a legal circus.
She opened a line to her deputy director. "Renrick, I'm assuming you're caught up to speed?"
"Winslow incident?" Renrick asked. "I've reviewed the critical alert with the analysts."
"Good," Piggot relaxed a little. Even though their funding was pathetic, at least her staff was competent. "Did you contact legal?"
"Already did. We have a meeting with them and our media liaison."
"When?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Thanks Renrick," Piggot said. "I'll see you at the meeting."
Piggot closed the line. With luck they'd be able to get through this unscathed. Then she realized which city she was in. Brockton Bay never had that sort of luck.
Armsmaster reached Winslow High in nine minutes, one less than what he estimated. He smirked. His upgrades on his motorcycle saved him about twenty seconds. The decrease in the amount of traffic around noon to Winslow High saved the rest. Miss Militia was close behind with the PRT vans. They'd be arriving in 2.55 minutes.
"Hey, you're here," Dauntless greeted Armsmaster, his golden metal armor somehow shining even on a cloudy day.
"Any update on the situation?" Armsmaster asked curtly.
"Nice to see you too," Dauntless grumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing really," he said. "Should we go in?"
"We'll wait until everyone is here."
From the outside the school looked normal. The front sign was missing two letters. The brickwork was stained. The flag hanging from the pole was weathered. Even the sky was the same wintry grey in cloud coverage like any other day.
The atmosphere, however, was anything but normal. Surrounding the school were two capes, six police cruisers, and a SWAT van. Around thirty officers and SWAT agents formed a perimeter around the entrance.
"Form up!" Miss Militia dismounted from her bike. PRT agents flooded the area exiting from the vans.
"Good to have you join us, Dauntless," Miss Militia gave him a small smile. She handed him the psychically shielded helmet.
'Likewise," Dauntless remarked as he put it on.
"Armsmaster, sir," the SWAT commander approached the group of capes. "We evacuated everyone to the track field."
"You what?!" Armsmaster asked in a panic. "Who's everyone?"
"Everyone who wasn't in the lunch room," the commander replied. "Were we not supposed to do that?"
"Oh my God," Miss Militia gasped. Dauntless took a step back from the commander, alert to any strange action the officer might take.
"And let me guess," Armsmaster snarled, "you exposed yourself to the student body."
"Exposed?"
"Really?" Miss Militia grumbled. "You were supposed to wait for us."
"We have an ongoing Master incident," Armsmaster yelled. "Every one of them is a potential vector that needs to be screened before being released. Why didn't you wait?"
"We heard about Nilbog and–"
"I can't believe this," Armsmaster said. "You heard about Nilbog and decided to make it potentially much worse?" While Master incidents were quite rare, BBPD should've been drilled on Master containment protocols and incident response, especially the SWAT team. Armsmaster would've taken the time to marvel at the staggering incompetence but unfortunately there were more than a hundred hostages in the cafeteria.
"Dauntless," Armsmaster ordered, "take two of the PRT squads with you and escort these officers–"
"Hey–" the SWAT commander interrupted.
"Take these officers," Armsmaster continued, his teeth grit in anger, "to the track field. Monitor the students for any signs of anomaly. Alert us on any indication of anything unusual. Ask the PRT for further support. We'll need everyone in the track field to be screened."
"Confirmed," Dauntless replied, a little wary of Colin's anger. He was usually quite calm and collected, but his temper could be quite explosive, especially if there was a good reason.
"Before we talk further," Armsmaster said, opening the tactical channel, "we need to establish secure comms. Master protocol is active. All units confirm the challenge."
The responses came in sequence.
"Miss Militia. Challenge accepted."
"Containment One. Challenge accepted."
"Containment Two. Challenge accepted."
"Dauntless. Challenge accepted."
"Medical. Challenge accepted."
"Perimeter team. Challenge accepted."
Armsmaster looked towards the PRT sergeant. "Take over the perimeter from these fine officers."
"Don't allow any civilian entry, especially reporters," he said with emphasis on the last word. "Don't allow any unscreened exit. Anyone leaving the building is to be separated, medically examined, and questioned by personnel who haven't entered the suspected effect zone."
"Are we affected by the Master?" Dauntless asked.
"With our helmets, probably not," Armsmaster replied. "Most likely it's confined to the cafeteria. Get going."
"Yes sir," Dauntless said as he and two squads corralled the officers away.
Armsmaster took out the large metal box he had brought with him. Inside were two twelve inch drones armed to the teeth with enough weaponry to suppress a crowd. With his command, they rose with a faint whine, their matte-black shells flickering as their cameras activated. Their feeds appeared in Armsmaster's HUD and were mirrored to the command van and Piggot's office.
"Should we be using drones with a Master involved?" Miss Militia asked. "The master effect could spread visually."
"No need to worry," Armsmaster said, "the image is reprocessed through multiple filters, just like in our helmets." The two drones buzzed as they made their way to the school. "Drone One is entering through the main hall. Drone Two is maintaining an exterior angle."
The first image was the hallway and it was a strange sight. Where students should have been chatting or hanging around, there was empty silence. The only sound filling the hallway was the whirring of the drone. Pushing the drone onward he made a right turn, where there was noise coming from the lunch room. There weren't any screams like he expected. Instead they heard counting, groaning, and a loud voice.
"Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! That one does not count! Your knees touched the floor. Again!"
A chorus of exhausted teenage despair answered.
Drone Two rose outside the cafeteria windows and angled inward, stabilizing the video feed. The drone adjusted its camera exposure, mapped exits, tagged head signatures, and began facial recognition. It confirmed the worst parts of the preliminary report. One hundred forty-six civilians were in the cafeteria and almost all of them were doing pushups.
There were students in rows between the lunch tables groaning as sweat poured from their faces. Scattered throughout the crowd were several teachers, equally struggling to complete the exercise, their faces showing varying signs of embarrassment and disbelief. Near the center of the room were three adults.
The adult woman, Diane Blackwell, the facial recognition confirmed, had her suit jacket discarded, hair fallen loose, shaking as she struggled to complete the exercise. Alongside her were two officers, the first responders, uniforms rumpled, red faced and equally struggling to continue the pushups.
At the center of the room, standing on a table, was the suspect, Taylor Hebert. She was barefoot, covered in filth, yet chin lifted and confidently giving a speech.
"Weakness breeds evil! Weakness breeds contempt!" Hebert shouted. "You will not be weak!"
A student collapsed, too exhausted to continue. Hebert used him as an example. "Rest if your body fails! But don't pretend you did enough!"
"That's not normal Master behavior," Miss Militia said.
"No," Armsmaster agreed, "It isn't."
"I'm seeing it," Piggot's voice came over the channel. "Definitely nothing I've seen before."
"Civilians are conscious but distressed," he said. "They're cognitively aware to complain and respond. Compliance doesn't seem to be puppet control or possession like."
"Then why are they doing pushups?"
"Fear?" Miss Militia suggested.
"True strength is not hurting the weak!" Hebert's voice carried through the drone's audio. "Any thug can do that."
The drone panned in the direction of Taylor's sight. Sophia Hess was in the front row.
Armsmaster and Miss Militia went completely still.
Her face was crimson with exertion and fury. Mashed potatoes clung to her shoulder. Her posture, as expected, was better than anyone else's. Sophia's jaws were clenched, eyes locked on Taylor with murderous intensity. Alongside her were two other girls, one who had some sort of dried brown substance in her hair, the other second to Hebert in being covered in trash. Both of them seemed to be actively crying as they attempted to complete their exercise.
"Is that Hess?" Piggot asked, very softly.
"Yes," Armsmaster said.
"Fuck," she replied, summing up everyone's accounting of the situation.
Hebert pointed down at Sophia. "You have strength, child, but bad spirit. Strength protects the weak! The truly strong do not dominate the weak."
"Child?" Miss Militia asked. "Why'd she refer to her as a child?"
Armsmaster shrugged and pushed Drone One closer through the doorway. To the right he noted the large hole in the wall. What had caused that?
Hebert's head snapped toward the drone. The drone froze in the air and, for some reason, he felt an irrational jolt of concern for a machine.
"What's this tiny machine?" Hebert asked, jumping from the table. She walked closer to the drone, her face and body taking up more of the view.
The view from Drone Two didn't really do justice to how filthy the girl was. Armsmaster could see that she was covered head to toe in grime, her hair lined with a crusted gray, her shirt stained by God knows what.
"What happened to her?" Miss Militia asked.
"Whatever triggered her," he responded, turning on the microphone. "Taylor Hebert, this is Armsmaster of the Parahuman Response Team," the drone blurted out. Everyone turned their attention towards the machine. "Remain where you are."
The cafeteria reacted predictably. Many sighed in relief with a few students and even teachers crying at the hope of rescue from their pushup regimen.
"Hello Armsmaster," Hebert grinned, putting her arms to her hips, standing proud. "I am not Taylor Hebert. My name is Monkey D. Garp, Vice Admiral of the Marines. What business do you have?"
Armsmaster paused, muting the outgoing channel. "Did he say…"
"Monkey D. Garp," she completed the sentence. "I heard it too."
"Are there any records of this – Monkey D. Garp?" Piggot's voice came over the line, struggling to acknowledge the absurdity of the name.
"None. No alias by that name," Armsmaster said. He unmuted the drone. "Garp. You are currently in violation of multiple state and federal laws, including assault, unlawful restraint, interference with police response, property destruction, and potential use of parahuman abilities against civilians."
"That's a long list," Garp said mischievously.
"Yes it is," Armsmaster said, his voice softening a bit. "We are aware that you may have recently undergone a trigger event. You may be injured, disoriented, or not fully in control of your power."
"Wrong!" Garp said loudly, causing students near him to flinch. "Everything I have done was deliberate."
"Deliberate? You took hostages deliberately?"
"Hostages? What hostages?"
Before Armsmaster was about to reply, Hebert's posture changed. Her face went from one of confidence to one that was clearly mortified.
"Garp please release them," Taylor said, her voice strained.
"Bwahaha!" Garp laughed, her face changing once again. "You're learning to take control, brat! That's good, develop that spine."
Armsmaster muted the channel again. "Did the trigger result in a self delusion?"
"Possession?" Miss Militia offered. "She could be controlled by some foreign entity. Or maybe it's a Case 70?"
"Speculate later," Piggot said over the line. "Focus on getting the hostages out of there."
"Right," Armsmaster said. "Garp, Taylor, whoever you are. The people around you are in duress and clearly exhausted. Release them."
"Exhausted?" Garp asked. "If these pushups are all it takes for them to be exhausted, then they clearly need more training."
The student with brown crusted hair, Madison Clements, his facial recognition software identified, next to Sophia made a wounded sound from the floor.
"I'm sorry," Taylor said.
Then the posture changed again.
"Do not apologize for training."
"This isn't training!," Taylor snapped back through clenched teeth.
Several students began crying harder.
"Release the hostages," Armsmaster said, ignoring the argument between the two halves.
"They can leave if they choose to," Garp replied.
"Then tell them."
The girl shrugged her shoulders, turned toward the cafeteria, and raised her voice. "Leave if you want."
No one moved from where they were. While a few relaxed their bodies, most, like the principal, remained rigid in the push up position, fear visible on their face. Instead there was now an oppressive silence where no one was sure of what to do.
After what felt like an eternity, a brave student near the far wall tried to shift her weight. Garp's gaze moved toward her. She dropped flat onto her stomach and covered her head.
"Garp, they clearly fear you. If you exit the cafeteria first, the civilians will be able to leave."
"They're the ones that chose not to move," Garp laughed. "If they had the backbone, they'd be able to leave. That's why they need training."
"Oh for fuck's sake," Taylor said, her face contorting into one of annoyance and rage. "Let's just go first. If we go, then they can leave. This day's already a nightmare."
"And leave them weak?" Garp asked indignantly. "Weak characters breed evil. Better to root this evil out than to let it fester."
And so everyone watched, bewildered, as the two halves of a recently triggered and obviously traumatized girl deliberated on what their fate would be.
"She's arguing with herself." Miss Militia said, leaning closer to the monitor. "Taylor might not be the one maintaining the effect."
"Or," Armsmaster said, continuing to monitor the situation through the drone, "the two personalities are part of the effect and it really is just Hebert.
She might've manifested her powers as this other personality."
"As a Vice Admiral of the 'Marines'"? she asked skeptically.
"I am considering all possibilities."
The situation remained unstable but not yet lost. One half of the hostage taker obviously wanted no part in this situation. The other half seemed to not even care. Armsmaster prepared the next negotiation step: move the subject away from the civilians, establish separation, perhaps convince the other personality it could provide "training" to the civilians at a later time.
Before he could speak, Sophia Hess decided to leave his plan in ruins.
Armsmaster hadn't noticed but later review of the drone footage would show Sophia had struggled through the pressure from Garp and slowly stood up behind the girl. And then, out of sheer rage and stupidity, because it couldn't have been anything else, Shadow Stalker decided to sucker punch Hebert while she was debating with herself. It didn't work.
Taylor's black hand glimmering with purple sparks snapped to Sophia's fist, catching it in place with a reflex that seemed supernatural.
The reaction was instantaneous. The atmosphere of the room changed. No sensor registered a force wave. There was no camera distortion or any visible energy that crossed the space between Garp and Hess. But every person in the room reacted as if a weapon had been drawn.
Students flattened to the floor. A male teacher curled around his own head in the fetal position. One police officer jumped in shock backwards from the ground and collided with a table. Hess herself remained frozen, eyes wide, muscles locked in place.
"See brat, this girl isn't afraid," Garp viciously grinned at Sophia whose knees hit the floor hard. Her whole body visibly shook as her face was one of pure unadulterated fear. The two girls beside her didn't fare much better. Both of them were laid out flat, arms and legs spread, like a frog on a dissecting tray. Armsmaster could hear their sobs right through Drone One. "You could all learn a lesson from her!" Garp roared.
"Now girl," Garp said, staring into Sophia's eyes, "what is that thing inside you?"
"What th–thing?" Sophia stuttered.
"The thing that wants to kill me. You don't know?"
"No," she said, confused.
"Garp," Armsmaster's voice practically shouted from the drone. "Stop using your power on her."
"Hold on," the suspect said, a little annoyed. "This girl's got something interesting inside her."
"Cease targeting that civilian immediately."
But Garp ignored him as he continued his inspection of Shadow Stalker. Armsmaster in turn muted the speaker.
He reviewed the drone's nonlethal options: three tranquilizer darts and one low-output containment foam cartridge. Both were short range and had limited spread. The risk to nearby civilians was acceptable if he deployed it from an elevated angle and aimed center mass. There remained the unknown of how Garp would react and the risk of inaction.
"Armsmaster," Piggot's voice came through the comms, "how should we proceed?"
"The suspect has focused her coercive effect on a civilian after verbal provocation. She is incapacitated or unwilling to move. She is ignoring orders to de-escalate. I am authorizing limited nonlethal compliance through the drone platform."
There was a half-second pause.
"Do it," she said. "Minimal force."
"Are you sure we shouldn't wait?" Miss Militia asked.
"No, I'm not sure,' Armsmaster replied, "But she's distracted so this is the best time."
With that final clarification, his thumb moved and in turn the drone fired three compressed air snaps.
Fft. Fft. Fft.
The darts crossed the room toward Hebert's torso. Her blackened hand dropped Hess's fist. Armsmaster slowed the footage automatically in his display and still missed the motion. One dart was caught between the index and middle finger, one between the middle and ring, and the third pinned under her thumb. There was no flinch or visible strain, just a chilling mad grin.
"Tranquilizers?" Garp examined them with mild curiosity. "If you're going to fire, you should use bullets."
Armsmaster keyed the comms. "Tranquilizer darts ineffective. Enhanced reflexes confirmed. Proceeding with foam."
Grey-white material erupted from the lower cartridge of the drone and expanded across Hebert's shoulders, arms, waist, and legs. The sticky foam bound her in place.
For one moment, the room believed it had worked. Unfortunately, their hopes were dashed. Somehow, which Armsmaster still couldn't figure out, the foam hardened faster than possible and started to crack. A thin fracture appeared at the right shoulder, then another at the left elbow. It all culminated in a spreading network of purple stress lines that raced across the hardened mass.
Hebert flexed.
The containment foam shattered off her body, the chunks striking the floor and tables. Civilians screamed and crawled out of the way as Hebert made her way toward the drone.
"Garp," Armsmaster said, quickly recovering from his shock, "further resistance will result in escalation."
Hebert lifted one of the bent darts.
"Do not attack the drone."
She flicked the dart. The projectile punched through the drone's central camera. The feed went black.
The command monitor displayed signal loss and right after the audio was cut off as the drone hit the floor. For a moment, the only sound in the mobile command station was the perimeter radio.
"Report," Piggot said.
"Drone One destroyed," Armsmaster said, keeping his voice level. "The suspect intercepted the tranquilizers, broke the containment foam, and disabled the drone with a thrown dart."
"Yes I saw that," she said, annoyed, "what's the next step?"
"Anything that doesn't escalate while civilians remain in proximity.
Armsmaster switched to Drone Two, still positioned outside the cafeteria windows. Its angle was limited, distorted by glare of the safety glass, but usable. Hebert was inspecting the wreckage of Drone One.
"You broke it!" Taylor yelled. "It was Armsmaster's drone and we broke it. What are we going to do?"
"I don't know," Garp replied, crossing his arms. "Get him a new one?"
"What does that even mean? What do you mean get him a new one?"
"Buy him a new little toy."
"WITH WHAT MONEY?"
"We can earn money hunting pirates."
"What?" Taylor asked, exasperated and tired. "What the fuck? What do you mean, 'hunting pirates'?"
"Brat, do you not know what a pirate is? It's a person who attacks and robs ships at sea."
The argument continued in full view of everyone in the lunch room much to everyone's dismay. The sheer absurdity of the situation didn't help reduce the fear, in fact it only increased it. It was like a chimpanzee with an AK-47, equal parts hilarious and frightening.
Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Director Piggot didn't fare much better as they watched silently, not knowing what to say.
"What do we do now?" Miss Militia asked.
"I…" Armsmaster had fought villains of all shapes and sizes. He had fought Lung to a standstill, beaten Hookwolf soundly, and foiled an ambush from four Empire 88 capes. He was always prepared and had a plan for most situations. But this was one of the few times in his life he uttered the following sentence. "I don't know."
On the feed, Hebert's head turned toward Drone Two. Garp thundered loudly enough for the drone to catch it crisply. "No more toys Tin Spear Boy! You or that woman in a scarf, come face me directly! Let me see you for who you really are." And with those words Hebert took another dart and shot it at the drone. It moved as fast as a bullet pushing right through the plexiglass windows. The drone fell, the feed cut off completely.
"Holy shit! He saw us," Miss Militia swore, something she rarely did. "How did he do that?"
"Maybe he's some sort of breaker?" Armsmaster said. "A brute, a master, a mover, maybe a shaker, and a thinker. Whatever it is, it's a grab bag."
"What are we dealing with here?" Piggot asked.
"I'm not sure but I know my next course of action."
"Which is?" Miss Militia asked.
"I'm going in."
"You watched her destroy containment foam and disable your drones with a dart," Piggot said matter of factly.
"Yes."
"She has mastered over a hundred students including a ward and you want to walk in range."
"Further remote escalation is unlikely to succeed without risk to civilians. She specifically requested direct contact. If we refuse it may reinforce the perception that we want something else besides the hostages."
"Yeah like his arrest," Miss Militia muttered.
"Priority is the hostages."
"Master protocols remain in effect," Piggot reminded. "Miss Militia has tactical command if you show signs of influence. We'll monitor through your helmet and audio feeds. Are they both live?"
"Of course."
"No additional force without command authorization unless civilians are in immediate danger."
"Confirmed."
Armsmaster secured his halberd in a lowered carry and entered the school. The hallway outside the cafeteria smelled of sweat, food, and old cleaning chemicals. He didn't know how but he could feel the fear emanating from the lunch room. He entered through the door, his left hand raised and halberd angled down.
"So you have no pirates?" Hebert asked, stroking her chin.
"Not in three hundred years," the other half replied, tired.
"No villains with bounties?"
"..."
"Tin Spear Boy!" Garp said loudly.
Every eye that had been watching the insane girl turned toward him at once. He could see the fear in their eyes and that desperate hope that they would be able to escape.
"My name is Armsmaster."
"Close enough," Garp laughed.
"Please stop calling him Tin Spear Boy," Taylor sighed.
"He has a spear."
"It's a halberd," Armsmaster corrected.
Taylor looked at the hero with open despair. "Please don't encourage him."
"Garp. Taylor. This incident needs to end. Civilians require medical assistance. If you continue to hold them hostage the legal consequences for Taylor Hebert increase."
"You threaten her?" Garp asked.
"No, I am explaining the consequences."
"Hmm," Garp said, looking at him.
The pressure increased. Armsmaster first felt it in his legs. His armor registered nothing but his body reacted anyway. His heart rate and respiration increased drastically. He could tell his flight-or-fight instinct had been activated without a measurable external cause. Master? Shaker? He thought.
He didn't step back nor did he lower himself even though his body was screaming to fall, pain increasing as he resisted. The pressure held for three seconds but it felt like minutes had passed under its effects.
"Good spine," Garp's smile widened. "You're like that girl over there," he said, his eyes inspecting him. "There's something inside you."
"Release the hostages," Armsmaster said, ignoring him, panting as he tried to catch his breath.
"Why?"
"Because Taylor needs to leave."
That got a reaction, not from Garp, but from Taylor. Her eyes widened and shoulders drew inward.
Armsmaster continued before Garp could answer.
"She needs decontamination, medical evaluation, and an environment away from people. She needs rest and food."
Garp perked up slightly "Food?".
"Yes. Food," Armsmaster groaned internally. Because of course that was what this particular "hostage taker" wanted.
"Meat?"
"There is a cafeteria at headquarters."
"Showers?"
"Yes we have that and much more," Armsmaster said before he remembered. "Taylor, we've contacted your father. He'll meet you at PRT HQ."
Taylor's face changed again. "My dad? He's there?"
"Yes," he nodded, "we'll take you to meet him."
"Garp we're going," Taylor said with a tone that left no room for debate.
"Before we leave, you will release the civilians," Armsmaster said. "Clearly. No more commands or threats of additional training."
"But they're so weak," Garp said.
"Garp, release them," Taylor replied before Armsmaster could get a word in.
"Fine," the man in the girl's body lamented. "Training done!"
The room sagged in response as the omnipresent pressure disappeared. The sound was nearly physical as the civilians exhaled at once. Students lowered themselves onto the floor and the adults stopped pretending they were maintaining dignity.
Garp lifted one finger. "Tomorrow–"
Taylor seized her own wrist and forced the hand down. "There will be no training tomorrow."
"Brat, why do you insist on them being so weak?" Before Taylor could take control again, Garp yelled out his final proclamation. "You all better keep training! I will conduct surprise inspections of all of you. I expect at least fifty pushups from each of you. Except you four over there."
He pointed to Principal Blackwell and the three students behind her, Sophia Hess, Emma Barnes, and Madison Clements. "I want a hundred from each of you."
They in turn whimpered, the red haired one, Emma Barnes, almost collapsing at learning her fate. They're probably going to need therapy, Armsmaster lamented.
"Come Tin Spear Boy," Garp said before he let out a large, open-mouthed yawn that didn't fit the tension in the room. "I need a shower and a bed."
She walked a few steps toward the lunch room entrance but started to stumble. "Hmm, I played around too much. Brat you take over."
"No. No, no. You do not get to just go to sleep now," Taylor said immediately, panicked.
"Face forward brat," Garp laughed as his eyes closed.
Armsmaster shifted his weight forward, ready to catch her if she collapsed but Taylor Hebert remained standing. For three seconds, nothing happened. Then her eyes closed and she began to snore loudly, the sound filling the room.
Everyone from the students, to the teachers, to the police officers, to Sophia Hess and the two girls beside her stared in open, exhausted shock.
Even Armsmaster couldn't help but be gobsmacked that the apparent secondary consciousness in the fifteen year old girl had ended an active hostage situation by falling asleep. Would it have fallen asleep if we had just waited? he thought.
Then Taylor's head jerked as the snoring stopped. She blinked looking around.
"Taylor, is that you?" he asked hesitantly.
She flinched at her own name but then nodded too quickly. "Yes. Yes. I'm Taylor. He's - he's asleep. I think he's asleep."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Please," Taylor said, looking directly at Armsmaster and ignoring everyone in the room. She couldn't look them in the eye after the mess she had caused. "Can we go to the PRT please? A cell or a waiting room, anywhere is fine. I don't care where just get me out of this school."
"Of course," the hero said, taking her hand in his, "All civilians remain seated until cleared. Medical teams will enter soon to provide any aid that's needed. Our PRT offices will come to take statements. Thank you for your cooperation."
The two turned and made their way out of the lunch room and into the hall, Taylor in front and Armsmaster right behind.
"Miss Militia, please come into the cafeteria with the PRT agents five minutes after we've left the school. I'll escort Taylor Hebert to the van."
"Confirmed," she responded.
And so Armsmaster's strangest hostage situation came to an end. He had lost two drones, a foam cartridge, three tranquilizer darts, and a measurable portion of his dignity. In exchange, he had gained one cooperative teenage parahuman, a sleeping second personality, and the certainty that all future reports involving Taylor Hebert would require footnotes.
Armsmaster looked at the girl in front of him and considered the entity calling itself Garp. He decided, with perfect professional seriousness, that he would rather fight Lung naked.