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Summary
Brockton Bay is a cesspool, filled with criminals at every level, each carving their own little niches. Coil and Convolute are a rather uninspired example of the city's scene; a pair of weak parahumans—if they're parahumans at all—making a couple blocks of the Boardwalk their home of protection rackets and drug trade. They were emblematic of the city's problems, but otherwise insignificant, not worth the effort of hunting them down. From Kaiser, Armsmaster, and the PRT bigwigs to the common Empire thug or Merchant druggie, that was who they were: no-name, irrelevant, forgotten. But sometimes, in hole-in-the-wall establishments and the various other depths of Brockton, there would be that tinfoil hat, lips loosened in inebriation, ranting and raving to his friend.
"Those C&C fellas man, I'm tellin' ya, they's the real power o' the city, cheshmasters in th’ shadows!"
Their friend would always quiet them down, and flash sheepish glances at their fellows, in apology for their buddy's obnoxious stupidity.
But, what if, just what if, those obnoxious buddies were the smartest people in the room.