Chapter Text
Emily Piggot hadn't slept well in days. That was hardly unusual; there was always something pulling at her mind, some threat pressing at the gates of Brockton Bay. Empire 88 emboldened by recent wins, the ABB experimenting with new distribution routes, and the Merchants creeping into old Trainyard territory. Nothing ever stayed still long enough to get a proper handle on it.
But now there was this.
She sat stiffly at the head of the conference room table, her back taut and aching, her eyes scanning the preliminary files laid out before her. A manila folder labeled "THE HAMMERS" sat open, its pages already fingerprint-smudged, the topmost paper stamped in urgent red ink: CONFIRMED PARAHUMAN TRAFFICKING.
"Their first confirmed operation was three and a half weeks ago," Armsmaster began. He stood near the projector screen, blue armor glinting under the fluorescents. "Witnesses describe masked assailants snatching individuals from the street. Empire territory mostly. Always minorities. We're certain they're intentionally avoiding Empire hostiles for now."
"Cooperation?" Piggot asked.
"More like a shared understanding," Miss Militia said from her seat across the table. "They don't provoke them. They don't kidnap white civilians. They only abduct people who won't start a war with Empire 88. It's strategic."
Piggot's lips thinned. "Which implies intelligence. Possibly a Thinkerer."
"Yes," Armsmaster agreed. "Their operations are too clean to be improvisational. They either have tactical minds at the top or outside help. Possibly both."
Emily resisted the urge to massage her temples. "Go on."
"They've avoided territorial conflict entirely," he continued. "They don't stake turf. No obvious recruitment push. They operate like a mobile cartel, arms, drugs, and powered assets for rent. Everything's transactional."
"And they're cooperating with the Merchants," Miss Militia added. "They're selling to them instead of pissing them off by selling themselves, and frankly keeping them in check."
Piggot reached for her water bottle and took a long drink, more to pause and refocus than out of thirst. "I assume you have intel on their cape assets?"
"We've only identified one consistently active parahuman," Armsmaster said. "Codenamed Riot. Power is transformation-based. Viscous biology capable of shifting into a dense, highly mobile ooze. High strength, extreme durability, and difficult to contain. Able to disengage at will by dispersing their form. Capable of reverting instantly, mid-combat."
Miss Militia interjected. "He fought us to a draw last week during my and Armsmaster's raid on Hammer deal. I hit him with concussives, electrified netting, and anti-tank rounds. Only the netting had some kind of effect, but it mostly just made him more aggressive. He disengaged only when Glory Girl arrived."
"Called off?" Piggot asked.
Armsmaster nodded. "I believe so. It wasn't a retreat. It was tactical. Like he didn't want the fight to escalate."
"Are we sure he's not the leader?"
"I don't believe so. He speaks like a soldier. Defers to someone else. We haven't seen the leader. No codename. No sightings."
Piggot turned to the Renrick seated at the back. "Summary of criminal activities."
He cleared his throat and read from his notes. "Seventeen abductions confirmed, likely more unreported. Nine known to have resulted in confirmed Trigger Events. Five subjects disappeared post-triggering. Four were confirmed deceased, autopsies show evidence of deliberate trauma aimed at forcing parahuman manifestation."
"They're causing Triggers?" Piggot growled.
"Yes, ma'am. Through torture. Then either they're moved…or disposed of if powers fail to manifest."
The word left a bad taste in her mouth. "Goddamn monsters."
"They're also providing parahuman muscle to other gangs on a per-job basis," the analyst continued. "Confirmed sightings of at least three powered individuals not previously catalogued. Operatives are rotated. Appear to be leased to the ABB, to the Merchants. Not Empire 88 as of now."
There was silence in the room for a moment. The air felt thick.
Piggot clicked her pen once, sharply. "What about tech? Armsmaster?"
"We've confirmed distribution of standard firearms, including some high-end black market imports. But more worrying are the tinkered weapons. We've recovered three devices that clearly weren't made by any known local Tinker. But the designs are reverse-engineered. Converted from something else."
"Something else?"
"I don't know what. The circuitry is foreign. No known designations. None of it matches any Tinker signature in the database."
Piggot leaned back. "So we have foreign tech, parahuman trafficking, combat-capable soldiers, organized structure, and intentional power triggers."
She looked around the room.
"No Wards near them," she said firmly. "That's non-negotiable. Keep all engagements discreet. We do not escalate for now. Not unless we're ready to respond in force."
Everyone nodded. Then her phone rang.
A shrill, sudden tone that cut through the air like a knife. It was her direct line.
She snatched it up. "Piggot."
A voice on the other end. A field agent. Fast, panicked.
"Director, we've got a situation. Shadow Stalker encountered a possible Empire operation downtown. Turned out it was a deal with Hammer. Riot showed up."
Piggot froze.
The room fell silent again.
Then she stood, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape. "Get me visuals, street cams, drones. Right now. I want her extracted immediately."
"They're already en route."
Piggot cursed under her breath, deep and guttural. "Goddamn it, Shadow Stalker…"
She slammed the phone down and turned to the room.
"Meeting adjourned. Contingency protocol seven. Now."
The team scrambled into motion.
Piggot stayed a moment longer, staring down at the manila folder.
"This city never gives me a fucking break."