I guess I should’ve expected the reaction from the PRT and Protectorate after I did a whoopsie with the famously cape-hating Director. In my defense… yeah, I got nothing. Experts do say never to make decisions when angry, and boy, was I angry.

  So angry, in fact, that I actually started seeing red. I always thought that this was just a literary device to describe rage. Apparently not.

  Now that I’m calm… well, calm-er, I did feel incredibly guilty. And stupid. Guilty and stupid.

  The rational part of my brain knew that my reaction was incredibly unreasonable. As dumb and incompetent as the PRT is often depicted in fanfiction, I’ve had more than enough proof to judge that this version of the organization isn’t nearly so extreme. Some part of that might be Cauldron’s manipulation, but Piggot certainly didn’t act like the nail-munching, venom-spitting hardass I’d been expecting, either.

  Shaking off preconceptions has been harder than I thought, I suppose. That was the best explanation I could come up with for losing my shit like I did. And because I did lose my shit, I now have to sit in my chair like a naughty boy, being scolded by an irate Emily Piggot.

  We were in a separate, smaller room, where medical professionals were examining her. I got the feeling that she should’ve been in a more appropriate environment – like the PRT’s hospital room, for example – but she was too incensed to give a shit about protocol.

  The woman screamed at just about everyone who tried to talk her down, including Armsmaster, senior PRT agents, Miss Militia, Armsmaster again, Legend, and even the doctors. When even the Leader of the Protectorate couldn’t make her see sense, he finally allowed the private dressing down that she wanted.

  I could have refused, of course, but two things stopped me. First was the uncompromising glare that the woman sent my way, followed by the adamantly delivered “Get your ass over here, you pestilential brat!” command. Second was the betrayal that was Taylor, Lisa, and even Rachel, shoving me forward and effectively throwing me under the bus.

  So, I was marched out of the briefing room, leaving everyone else behind, and bracketed by Miss Militia on one side and Legend on the other. I would’ve been annoyed at the blatant corralling if I weren’t also thinking of ways to get out of this situation.

  Right before getting to our destination, I offhandedly brought up to the blue and white-clad Blaster how we should probably bring in Panacea to look at the Director. Even through the mask, I could feel the ‘absolute done with your shit’ he was sending my way.

  When we finally got there, I was directed to a steel chair while the woman I healed paced like a caged tiger. She said nothing to anyone and made eye contact with no one.

  Now, there were several things going through my head by this point. I technically just assaulted everyone in the previous room with a Parahuman power, though for the life of me, I couldn’t think of how. White-Silver wasn’t supposed to have a Dread Aura (trademark pending), and my passengers were silent on the matter.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Healing Emily Piggot without her permission qualified as a crime, as well, which I remembered too late. Probably shouldn’t make decisions after recovering from a near-meltdown, too.

  So, why wasn’t I clapped in irons, as the old fogeys used to say? Well, I got my answer as soon as a team of labcoats and scrubs came in with medical equipment. It was when she was finally seated that the PRT Director sent a face-melting glare my way.

  “The only reason I’m not calling for your incarceration is the damage you would cause when you inevitably resist.” Those were the first words she said to me in a voice so soft that it sent a shiver through my spine. “Otherwise, you’d have been covered in foam and tased to kingdom come, orders from the top be damned.”

  I said nothing in response. It’s not like I could say anything that would minimize my transgression.

  “You’ve said your piece,” she continued, going up an octave. “So, now, I will say mine. You have been the single, biggest, most painful boil that has ever sprouted on my ass! Never have I had to deal with such an immature, incompetent, and chaotic blister, and I survived fucking Nilbog!”

  Well, she certainly had a way with words.

  “This city has been teetering on a knife’s edge before you came along, but since you were shat out of hell’s asshole, the whole damn place has become a playground for ghouls and monsters of all kinds! You’ve driven my people to their wits’ end, having nervous breakdowns every other day, and you have the audacity to act like a spoiled child who wants to dictate everyone’s actions? How fucking dare you?!”

  One would think that this would be the limit of her spleen, but one would be wrong. It got progressively worse from there. To the point that the doctor monitoring her vitals anxiously advised taking it down a notch. Advice that she so adroitly ignored.

  Suffice it to say, she laid out everything she, the PRT, the Protectorate, and even the city government have had to deal with since I arrived. I had to say, it was quite the list. Millions of dollars in damages, heightened stress among the local populace, elevated military preparedness for all coastal areas in the Atlantic region, exponentially increased scrutiny from virtually all bodies with an interest in Cape matters (both legitimate and criminal), and geopolitical instability, just to name a few.

  She also described, in a breathtakingly thorough fashion, how much I fucked up by healing her without her express permission. The number of articles, subsections, and codes I violated nearly made me cross-eyed.

  By the time she was done tearing me a new asshole, she was breathing like a winded buffalo. Impressively enough, she waved away all offers of assistance. Seeing her stand tall and proud, instead of the hobbling slab of flesh she used to be, I caught a hint of who this woman was before Ellisburg.

  From the way Miss Militia and Legend were staring at her, they shared my thoughts on the matter.

  “Now,” she said after a few lungfuls of air, “I’m going to ask you this only once. Are you capable of working with us like a reliable partner, or should we go our separate ways? Because if you ever assault me or any of my people by throwing a tantrum again, as God is my witness, I will shoot you in the head. I don’t care if it won’t do a damn thing to hurt you or that it’ll cost me my job. It’s the damn principle of the thing.”

  Objectively speaking, I could always tell the woman to go suck a lemon and walk away. It’s not like I really needed anyone else to enact my plan. Heck, I could just fly to where Leviathan’s splashing about now, and challenge him to a duel. Kind of.

  Come to think of it, why do I need to go through all this trouble? Just so Taylor could participate?

  Why would she need to *&$&*^(*&^TR*&^!@$#$!

  …

  …

  …

  …

  …

  …

  …

  …

  Objectively speaking, I could always tell the woman to go suck a lemon and walk away. It’s not like I really needed anyone else to enact my plan. Heck, I could just fly to where Leviathan’s splashing about now, and challenge him to a duel. Kind of.

  Come to think of it, why do I need to go through all this trouble? Just so Taylor could participate?

  “I really am sorry, Director,” I sighed, lowering my head in shame. “I can’t promise that I won’t lose my temper in the future, but I’ll do better to control myself. Imago is just a… delicate topic for me. When you brought her up, I overreacted. It won’t happen again.”

  When I looked up again, it was to see everyone in the room looking at me strangely.

  “What?” I asked blankly.

  “She hasn’t Mastered you, has she?” Piggot demanded.

  Wut?