“And how is the screening proceeding?” Emily asked the PRT agent giving his report.

  “Slowly, ma’am,” he said, standing at attention in the PRT Director’s office. “They’ve already been cleared of potential pathogens by the lab coats and Panacea. Unfortunately, Master/Stranger Protocols haven’t really accounted for processing so many people at once.”

  “Understood,” Emily grunted. “Anything else?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. Dismissed.”

  Once the door closed, Emily allowed herself a tired sigh, closing her eyes in the process. The day had been long, and rest had to be pushed back in favor of trying to put out far too many fires.

  Coming back to the PRT building from the clusterfuck that was the post-Echidna debriefing, she learned that the Ambassadors had given them the slip. So, that’s one more threat she needs to account for. That’s on top of the intense interest that Seraph’s latest screwup is bound to draw.

  Not that she was against having another healer around, even if Emily wouldn’t ever trust one to come near her. She was just dubious about the very concept of bringing people back to life.

  It was a reversal of nature, far beyond what Parahumans were already capable of.

  There was no denying that such an ability would be a boon, not just for the PRT and the Protectorate, but for the world as a whole. It would certainly make Endbringer attacks much less catastrophic.

  Cities can be rebuilt. Homes and infrastructure are the same. Lives lost are gone forever.

  At least, that used to be the case as of exactly four hours ago.

  Now that she was truly thinking about it, this seems to be a pattern with events involving Seraph. Practically all of his feats were unprecedented to varying degrees. Defeating Lung with ease, doing the same to multiple heroes without causing a single death, healing a coma patient (whom he was responsible for putting in that condition, in the first place), and, based on multiple real-world examples, could deal with Endbringer-level threats with seeming ease.

  And now, there’s resurrection to boost his ever-growing notoriety.

  Then he just casually blurts out that he’s potentially under the thrall of a villainous Thinker?

  Emily wasn’t sure why, but she was getting the feeling that Seraph was just screwing with them, at this point. Far too many things about him simply didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t their job to unravel what makes him a mystery, Emily wouldn’t have given it much thought.

  But it was.

  Her computer suddenly lit up with an alert, distracting her from her maudlin thoughts.

  Reading the details, she was surprised: the Chief-Director was calling her, without scheduling it ahead of time. Emily thought that she would at least have had the chance to compile their findings before her boss scheduled a conference. This was quite the break in precedence.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Chief-Director, I wasn’t expecting your call at this early juncture,” she said after answering, prompting the woman’s image to come through.

  “Director Piggot, apologies for the abrupt contact,” Rebecca Costa-Brown responded with her characteristically crisp tone, still immaculately dressed and perfectly poised. “However, recent developments in Brockton Bay have caught international attention, as you know. Even as we speak, my office is being bombarded by messages asking if dead people really are coming back to life in your city.”

  Emily was surprised, yet again. This time, for two reasons. One, this is the chattiest she’s heard Cost-Brown be in the ten years she’s been Director of the PRT ENE. Two, the speed at which information about the revival escaped their net held unpleasant implications.

  Damn it!

  She was really hoping to buy at least a few hours to straighten everything out before she had to deal with this. They simply weren’t ready to present their report. Not without risking misunderstandings or misinformation. There was just too much being compiled, filtered, double-checked, and written in a format that didn’t make everyone in her branch sound like they’ve lost their collective minds.

  “I’m afraid my people are still gathering evidence and facts, Chief-Director,” Emily responded cautiously. “I can’t say anything concrete until we have all our ducks in a row.”

  “Just tell me this, Emily.” The soldier-turned bureaucrat had to stop her eyebrows from going up. Since when did Rebecca Costa-Brown address anyone in such familiar terms? “Has Seraph displayed abilities to resurrect people who were considered long-deceased, or has he not?”

  “As I said, ma’am, we still don’t know enough to say either way,” Piggot bluntly answered. “With all due respect to anyone in high office interested in this case, anything I say now would be gross speculation, and a dangerous one at that. We’re still screening the subjects, and while initial findings are promising, this could change at any point.”

  “I understand, Director, I do.” From the way the woman sounded like she speaking through gritted teeth, Emily could imagine that she’s under a lot of pressure herself. “However, we need to tell them something. Rumors are already spreading, and the prospect of resurrection has some very powerful people who could make our jobs very difficult frothing at the mouth for even a hint of confirmation. We can couch your initial report in as many disclaimers and qualifiers as you believe necessary, but our jobs might just be on the line if we continue to keep silent.”

  God damn politics! The subtext was clear, now. Someone was fucking around in the background, and they have their sights trained on a cape who could change everything. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the world wasn’t doing well, what with Endbringers attacking every three or four months, numerous S-Class threats, and warlords gaining power.

  Someone like Seraph could tip the balance in favor of democratic governments in ways that even the Triumvirate couldn’t.

  Resurrection, if it really was resurrection, would be a potent tool with immense geopolitical implications. Not to mention how it could affect attendance of Endbringer battles. More capes would certainly show up if they knew that they could be brought back in the likely event of their deaths.

  So much was riding on this miraculous ability being exactly as it was, instead of yet another Monkey’s Paw that would bite them in the ass down the line.

  Emily could almost smell the desperation wafting out of Washington. The Trump has just given people in positions of power one of the deadliest afflictions in their circumstances: Hope. Something that most would consider a good thing, until they witness drowning men push others under the water in their bid for personal safety, even when rescue was already underway.

  With this in mind, Emily did something that she would normally consider career suicide.

  “This is stupid, Chief-Director,” she told the other woman on the line bluntly, eliciting a raised eyebrow. Practically a scowl when considering her unshakeable self-possession. “Brockton Bay is in a delicate position. We just resolved a threat that could have escalated to endanger the tri-state area. One where Seraph played an instrumental role; a cape that we have bent over backwards for in the hopes of gaining his cooperation. And now that we have finally made progress on that front, you would have us risk it for political points?”

  “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating here, Director?” came the condescending remark, causing Emily’s blood pressure to spike.

  “No, I am not,” she replied with forced calm. “Based on everything we know about this cape, he will not appreciate government intervention in any way. Tonight’s break in his established mode of operation is likely due to the scale of the threat that Echidna posed. One of the few things in this case that we actually agree on. However, even that is just a guess.” Emily needed Costa-Brown to understand what she was saying here. “We don’t know for sure why he decided to work with us, why he decided to spare The Travelers, why he didn’t simply incinerate the area within a hundred meters before things escalated, or why he was so accommodating during the debriefing.”

  Emily could clearly recall just how Seraph’s posture almost radiated unconcern despite being surrounded by so many capes. How his voice carried authority she couldn’t place while giving his account. How, after dropping the bomb about Tattletale potentially holding his leash, he simply left without a by-your-leave, with almost casual disdain.

  “You can’t understand just how unpredictable he is until you meet him in person,” she went on. “Even a hint of government overreach could set him off, permanently pitting us against him. I don’t like walking eggshells around any Parahuman, Chief-Director. My file should already note that. But mark my words. If we push Seraph, there’s a very good chance that he’ll push back… hard.”

  Costa-Brown was silent for so long that Emily was starting to hope that she actually got through to her.

  “I’m sorry, Emily.” But this hope was immediately shot down. “This is bigger than us. Bigger than Brockton Bay. If the PRT and Protectorate are to weather this storm, we need to make compromises. You have one hour to submit a preliminary report. I’m afraid I can’t give more time than that.”

  Then, without even a word of goodbye, the video call ended.

  Emily was left staring into her own face reflected by the computer screen. It wore an expression of shock, dismay, and resignation.

  “God help us,” she whispered to no one who could hear.