Great Sage Above Brockton [Worm/Chinese Myth] Sakadagami 2.11

The two head demons were sitting there and drinking wine when the little fiends faced them and knelt down. Pilgrim alighted on the door frame and listened. "Great Kings,” said the little fiends. "Have you returned?" said the second demon, putting down his cup. "Yes," said the little fiends. "Have you caught Pilgrim Sun?" he asked again. 

The little fiends began to kowtow, not daring to make a sound. The old demon asked again, but they did not dare reply; all they did was to kowtow. Questioned again and again, they finally prostrated themselves on the ground and said, "Please pardon your little ones for the crime of ten thousand deaths! Please pardon your little ones for the crime of ten thousand deaths! When we took the treasures and reached the middle of the mountain, we ran into an immortal from Penglai Mountain. He inquired where we were going and we told him that we were going to catch Pilgrim Sun. When the immortal heard this, he said that he, too, was mad at Pilgrim Sun and wanted to give us assistance. We told him that there was no need for his assistance and explained how our treasures could store up humans. That immortal also had a gourd most capable of storing up Heaven. Moved by vain hopes and illicit desires, we thought we should exchange our treasures, which could only store up people, with his, which could store up Heaven. Originally, we wanted to exchange gourd for gourd, but Wily Worm decided to make good the deal by adding the pure vase. We had no idea that his immortal object could not be touched by the hands of the profane. Just as we were experimenting with it, it disappeared completely with the man, too. We beseech you to pardon our mortal offense." 

When the old demon heard this, he was so aroused that he bellowed thunderously, "Undone! Undone! This has to be Pilgrim Sun who masqueraded himself as an immortal to dupe them. That ape has great magic powers and vast acquaintances. I don't know which clumsy deity has let him out, and he has wangled our treasures."

• Journey to the West, chapter 34

-x-

Director Emily Piggot’s experience with pleasant days in Brockton Bay could be counted on two hands. There was always some crisis or bloodletting occurring in the cesspool of a city she’d been assigned to. Not just the latest body count from the gangs or the havoc from the Wards and the Protectorate, but the internal politics and low-key pandemonium festering within the ENE branch. There were calmer days, to be sure. A few small cases landing on her desk before sending them off, with only a phone call for an extra reminder. On rare occasions, the PRT’s bureaucracy engine actually moved a case along without her needing to interfere beyond sending emails: monotonous and boring days, the dream of any director.

Most days were busy ones, usually involving sitting behind a desk, grilling Armsmaster or Miss Militia and being on constant standby in case bodies started dropping. Most men would’ve bailed, but Piggot held firm. Even if no one higher on the totem pole gave a shit, she’d hold down the fort as best she could.

Then there were those days. The sort of days where the metaphorical hammer came battering down the walls, resulting in migraines that not even three bottles of whiskey, two bottles of vodka, and all the liquid tar coffee pots in the Eastern Seaboard could ward off. 

Unfortunately for her, this was one of those days.

“No one should have been recording anything,” she stressed. “We issued warnings to close all windows and remain indoors until we gave the OK -”

“Clearly that failed, Director,” replied the dark-haired Hispanic woman with a cutting edge. Even though not a single feature on her face twitched and she spoke through a webcam, Piggot knew her immediate superior wasn’t happy in the slightest. Next to her, the icon of Dragon hovered, shimmering in green. “Otherwise, my computer’s server wouldn’t be in danger of crashing from the tsunami of emails inquiring about the ENE’s operational status.”

Piggot inhaled and fought hard to maintain her composure. A meeting with Director Costa-Brown was not what she wanted to go through at the moment, but the situation was spiralling out of control so much that she could no longer hide it behind half-baked excuses and ‘mind your own business’.

“I attempted to apprehend a new and rising threat in this city. Using information the PRT had gathered over months of observation, I coordinated with Armsmaster and our Protectorate branch on a surgical strike designed to capture and remove the new threat from his territory. Apparently, our intelligence was…lacking.”

“Severely lacking, if the video posted on every social media site means anything right now. And not some grainy footage we can quickly scrub and dismiss as a hoax, no, this was recorded in 1080p high-definition.” Costa-Brown leaned back and steepled her fingers, causing Piggot to clench her fists briefly. “So tell me, straight from the top, the chain of events that led to Armsmaster being royally humiliated and treated like a boxing dummy.”

Renick straightened his tie and glanced at her worryingly while Ms. Militia stood with her hands behind her back, her posture tightening at the mention of her colleague’s current condition. Thankfully, it was nothing irreparable with Panacea’s help, but Armsmaster would be on medical leave for at least a week. Bones could be repaired, but the trauma of having them almost pounded into fine powder and a chest cavity in danger of sinking in didn’t fade away instantly. 

Pressing some buttons on the small screen beside her, an image of Brockton Bay’s newest migraine-inducer entertaining local children popped into view.

“Sun Wukong is what our latest cape calls himself. He made his debut three months ago by foiling an ABB robbery, although his first recognized appearance came later after calling out the entire gang and Lung with the subtlety of an air horn at a sports game.”

“Which prompted Lung to attempt retaliation, only for Sun Wukong to display a level of strength you didn’t anticipate and essentially oust him from his position over the ABB,” Costa-Brown said. “I’ve read the reports. Do you have no new information on Lung’s current whereabouts?”

“Unfortunately, no, ma’am,” Dragon replied. “We’ve sent underwater probes and cameras into the bay area where Sun Wukong took Lung before his disappearance, but so far he hasn’t been sighted within miles of the coast or the city. We have ears to the ground, but as far as we can tell, he’s gone dark.”

“But not dead?”

“We haven’t ruled out the possibility, but what little evidence we managed to gather points in a different direction,” Miss Militia chimed in. “We keep receiving reports of organized ABB activity, including several retaliatory strikes against the E88, but they’ve gone to ground as well. Our profile of Oni Lee doesn’t indicate a desire for leadership, but he’s the only one who has enough power and influence among the gang’s ranks to corral them effectively. It helps that the gang hasn’t made any overt power grabs or attacks against their rivals since their leader was humbled.”

“So either he suddenly developed a craving for authority-”

“Or he’s still taking orders,” Piggot finished grimly. Personally, she hoped that son of a bitch was dead or permanently cowed. He might not have had a Kill Order slapped on him, but he wouldn’t need much incentive to cross that line. His killing of two fresh Protectorate heroes from a few years back earned him an immediate Birdcage order and the enmity of every PRT branch on the East Coast. If he really was alive, then he wasn’t just alive, but also pissed. And a pissed off Lung who’s had months to stew, combined with the cape who knocked him down a peg openly strutting on his former turf, could only lead to bloody disaster. He even equipped his men (or instructed via Lee) with heavy-duty firearms that he normally couldn’t access or didn’t use, yet the big huzzah hadn’t come. Yet.”

“I’ll alert our branches in Boston and New York, and maybe reach out to the Guild through Dragon. If Lung pokes his head out, we’ll know,” Costa-Brown said. “But we’re getting off track. What else have you gathered on Sun Wukong? From what we’ve seen, your assessment of him is woefully incomplete.”

Piggot pursed her lips and withheld glaring at the image of the monkey on the screen. 

“I went over the leaked footage and sent the it to our analysts in R&D and Watchdog, along with recordings from Armsmaster’s equipment,” Dragon said. “They’ve confirmed he possesses multiple powers, but they don’t seem to have any internal consistency or theme between them. We first thought he was a Grab-Bag Changer, since most outward displays of his power involved pulling strands of his hair and transforming them into objects. His staff might be a more refined example, but then there’s his cloning ability he used against Victor and Crusader, and a display of electrokinesis that wasn’t shown anywhere else. Furthermore, he froze the entire PRT regiment surrounding him before engaging with Armsmaster, similar to Clockblocker but without the need for direct contact. The closest theory we have is that he’s actually a Trump, with his hair strands serving as some kind of catalyst for his powers. There’s also enough evidence to support our earlier theory of him being a Case-53, but there are inconsistencies which we cannot ignore.”

“None of which you have been able to figure out yet.” The Chief Director pointed out, to Piggot’s chagrin. “If you are referring to his lack of an omega symbol and lack of amnesia, our own analysts suggest that his inhuman features are a side effect of his main power, not the primary link itself. Regardless, unless he shows a clear limit, his threat assessment will be increased accordingly.”

Finally, a modicum of sense.

“Have your efforts in tracking him down yielded any new results from this fiasco, or is that another ‘x’ on the list?”

“...I’m afraid not, ma’am.” Renick glanced at her pleadingly, but her narrowed eyes warded him off.

“With all due respect, Director-” the Chief Director started.

What little of it that remained went unsaid.

“How can you not track down a talking monkey? One who regularly gets his picture taken?” 

“He’s avoided all of our surveillance and tracking attempts.” The words tore through Piggot’s teeth. “And he’s shown great aptitude to avoid being seen when he doesn’t want to. Dragon’s been trying to get a bead on him, but her drones can’t lock down his location, and the moment one of them spots him, he just disappears without a trace.”

“We’ve used multiple cameras and detection softwares,” Militia chimed in. “Full electromagnetic spectrum, motion, even a predictive algorithm. We actually got close with that one and managed to trail him for a minute before he destroyed the drone in midair.”

“Destroyed one of Dragon’s drones? How?”

“By throwing his staff at it, ma’am. While sitting next to a nearby tree.”

Costa-Brown turned her head and raised an eyebrow. “And you said he was subtle?”

“When he chooses to be, ma’am. Otherwise, he doesn’t seem to care,” Dragon replied. “I’m working on drones with tinkertech stealth modes and higher maneuverability, but unless you want me to send in proper mech suits, I don’t know how they;ll hold up against his rather uncanny ability to sniff out surveillance.”

She nodded, then turned to Piggot and uncrossed her fingers. The blank look she sent her grated on the ENE director’s nerves far more than she cared to admit. She knew she was being judged, and quite frankly, a small part of Piggot wanted to rub the facts in her face. 

“How’s Shadow Stalker?”

“We’re waiting on the final process of her transfer,” Piggot replied with a clipped tone. “For now, she’s being detained with limited contact with the outside world. Her incident with Taylor Hebert and Sun Wukong renders her a flight risk and potential target for the gangs.”

“And the wronged parties themselves,” Costa-Brown added. “Good. Better we avert a future catastrophe. Alexandria will be disappointed that one of her recruits turned out to be a bad apple, but a posting in Alaska might help her rethink the error of her ways.”

As if. She’s a deranged little psycho all the way through. A useful psycho, but the point still stands.

“Deputy Director Renick, what’s the fallout prediction on your end from Armsmaster’s defeat?”

The bald man straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “We’d normally expect incursions from the gangs and a surge in crime…” his stern visage wavered. “But considering the last two incidents, we’re not sure anymore. Wukong has made power plays on virtually every major gang in the city except Coil, and he’s gone silent as well. We may see spikes in black-market smuggling and other under-the-table crimes, but predictions are up in the air as to whether any gangs will actually attempt to make a power move. In short, we’re prepared for outbursts, but nothing beyond what we’ve already seen.”

“And you would consider that a small mercy?” The Chief Director asked pointedly. “Our Boston branch intercepted scouting parties from the Teeth and the Elite seeking to probe Brockton Bay just an hour after the video was posted. Social media is a wildfire, painting your branch as incompetent thrice over, and the other Directors are considering pushing for an inquiry.”

An inquiry? Oh, those fucking…

“If they have a problem with how we’re running this operation, by all means, I’ll roll out the red carpet!” Piggot exclaimed, her hands tightening. “I’m holding down this sinking ship of a city the best I can with what little I have! It takes a shitstorm like Stalker to actually kick someone out, but all my requests for reinforcements are denied! And the cherry on this manure-covered cake is a monkey who’s done nothing but throw eggs on our faces! He unmasked one of our Wards, for Christ’s sake, even if her conduct was unbecoming! The kind of situation that in any other circumstance would have every member of the Protectorate and the PRT declaring him persona non grata!”

“The situation is not ideal, that much I agree,” Costa-Brown replied without so much as twitching at Piggot’s rant. “Shadow Stalker would normally be protected by the Vikare Act, and many consider this provocation to be a breach of it. There have been talks about approving a joint task force to capture this wayward cape.” A grin almost broke Piggot’s composure, only for it to fall at her next words. “However, both footage from Armsmaster and online was examined, and several directors have rightly pointed out that Shadow Stalker unmasked herself. Wukong had no apparent knowledge that she was a parahuman and acted in the - while excessive - defense of an innocent, particularly in light of the testimonies gathered from Winslow’s student body. Findings you yourself approved, in writing.”

“The gangs don’t care about those semantics!” Piggot countered, her face flush with rage. “Yes, I agreed that Stalker’s unmasking was partially self-inflicted, but the Empire and anyone else who’s looking to undermine us will use the incident as an excuse! The unwritten rules go both ways, and we risk losing out on crucial parahuman manpower for Endbringer fights if we allow this incident to go unresolved. I’d prefer to avoid a repeat of Baltimore of ‘03, especially in this city.”

Miss Militia and Renick startled at the last remark, and for good reason. In 2003, an independent hero called Highlander, who’d grown friendly with the local Wards, decided to publicly unmask and beat up a villain. Unfortunately, said villain was a high-ranking enforcer of the Crips, one of the stronger gangs in the area. When the PRT offered Highlander protection, the Crips and Bloods acted in a rare display of unity and nearly burned the city to the ground, hunting down Wards and managing to cripple one, a young heroine of 15. The incident’s infamy was used as further pressure to abide by the unwritten rules, lest even worse pandemonium occur.

“Wukong’s victory over Armsmaster-” Oh, how it burned her to acknowledge anything that monkey did, least of all humiliating one of their heroes- “Might embolden villains, even ones outside Brockton, to force their way in with more than just probing parties. I wouldn’t be surprised if Accord decided to offer his assistance to any of them.”

The Chief Director’s gaze remained impassive as Piggot heaved. The branch was running overtime to keep up the appearance of control, both on the streets and in the court of public opinion. ‘She and the rest of the brass have to understand, Wukong’s shenanigans were breaking dams that held firm against a flood of problems. Hell, even reckless idiots might decide to try and unmask villains by using Wukong as a standard, and no amount of legalese and status quo could protect those dominos from falling once tipped over.’

“Director Piggot makes a grave point, Rebecca,” Dragon pointed out. “This sort of situation attracts huge vultures. If this is left untreated, it could swell out of control and fast.”

“I see. What do you suggest for a course of action, Director Piggot?”

The heavyset woman straightened herself. “I stand by my view that if Sun Wukong is dealt with, the tensions in this city derived from his actions will disappear with him. We analyze exactly what went wrong with Armsmaster’s tactics and plan a new ambush.” She pressed a button on the screen and a video replaced Wukong’s photo, showing him beset on all sides by PRT-issued containment foam sprayers. “Our troops managed to trap him, even for a moment. Before Lung’s defeat, Armsmaster shared with me he’d been developing a weapon originally meant to subdue Lung within seconds. It’s unfinished, but when he’s released from the hospital, he can finish it. We’ll need additional support from the Protectorate to ensure the plan’s success, so ideally we’ll have several heroes specializing in agile captures on standby. If we can trap him long enough, the weapon can be deployed to apply a high-level paralytic to Wukong, one that even his enhanced physiology can’t shake. Then we can move him to a secure facility where stronger containment measures can be applied.”

This time, Piggot’s stare held an unwavering resolve, as did Renick’s. Miss Militia seemed hesitant at first, but soon joined the two officials in unity. Throughout her speech, Costa-Brown hadn’t moved a muscle, giving the impression of a Renaissance painting.

“...director, I understand that the stress of the situation may have gotten to you, and considering the scope of this debacle, I don’t blame you. Nonetheless, it’s my duty to ask: are you out of your mind?”

A choked noise escaped Piggot as her surprise morphed into indignation.

“Excuse me?”

“No, I won’t. This whole plan seems like nothing more than a high-schooler’s revenge scheme. You are asking me, and by extension, the entire PRT, to risk our already-fragile reputation on an all-or-nothing gambit against a cape who has proven time and time again he is more than capable of facing our best and the villains’ worst. If this fails, and it has a high chance of doing so, that will be the blow we’ll never recover from.”

“Weren’t you listening to a word I said!?” she shrieked. “If we take him down, the rest will follow! I’ve looked over the facts and determined this is the best course of action to move this city’s expiration date away from the doomsday clock! Lung, Stalker, everything major that’s happened in this city for the last three months ties back to Sun Wukong! With him out of the picture, we can regain the trust we lost to the public!”

“And that right there is where I realize you’re utterly blind,” Costa-Brown retorted. “If you go through with this, you’ll do the exact opposite of what’s dancing in your fantasies.” She took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes. “Since we’re on the subject of public trust and goodwill…Miss Militia, you’ve reviewed footage from PRT troopers’ bodycams with the squad captains. How cooperative were the civilians when the troopers asked them about Wukong’s whereabouts?”

“Uncooperative, ma’am,” Miss Militia replied with veiled frustration. “Most of them claimed they had no knowledge of Wukong’s present location, which I believe to be truthful. But when asked about further points of interest, they either responded in the same manner, evaded the question, or became downright hostile.”

“I thought as much. The sweep was conducted in Brockton Bay’s Asian district, correct?” At Militia’s response, she turned to Piggot. “Can you think of any reason for the community’s refractory behavior?”

“We’ve always had friction with the Asian community, even before the ABB assimilated or purged every Asian gang in the city,” Piggot said tightly. “I’d hoped with their diminishment, the populace would prove more accommodating to our efforts, but I was mistaken.”

The Chief Director finally broke her calm facade and sighed. “It appears you lack the insight to understand the landmine you’re stepping on. Fortunately, I anticipated this and asked a specialist in these matters to help you. He was supposed to join us at the start, but he encountered an unexpected delay at work. I’m told he’ll be with us any minute now.”

A specialist? Piggot frowned. But who could even-

Her eyes widened and she felt her teeth gnash together. Oh no, you didn’t.

Another window popped up on the screen, showing an obese man with gelled-back hair holding a can of energy drink. His square glasses and bulbous chin served to highlight his smug little grin as he stared at Piggot with a near-ravenous countenance. 

“Sorry I was late, Chief Director. There was a junior who thought implementing his fantasies into a Ward’s costume design was a valid assistance tactic. He’ll be working at McDonald’s for the foreseeable future, and the Ward has been fitted with a more appropriate costume. Hello to you too, Dragon. The new logo is stunning.” After taking a swig from the can, his eyes flickered to the screen’s corner. “And a good afternoon to you, Emily. Quite the pickle you’re in, if what our Chief Director says is true.”

“Glenn Chambers,” Piggot hissed at the sight of that eyesore of a man. “What a pleasure.”

The PRT’s head of Image and Relations dipped his head. “Likewise. I’ve gotta say, Brockton Bay’s always been a nightmare in the making, but you’re one step closer to actually realizing it by setting off a powder keg we’ve been trying so desperately to put out.”

“If you’re done with the office banter,” Costa-Brown cut in, looking thoroughly unamused and silencing Piggot’s vitriol-infused choice words. “I feel like we all need a refresher on why the Asian community’s reaction to the PRT was unfavorable.”

“It’d be my honor, ma’am. To tell you the truth, I’ve been looking for a good time to slot this in the memo of the day, and now it’s been upgraded to a full presentation. I’ll send the recording of this meeting to the other directors, with your permission. This matter concerns far more than one branch.” He put aside the can and laced his fingers together. 

“What’s the socioeconomic status of the Asian-American community of the United States as of the year 2010?”

Director Piggot’s eyebrows quirked at the question, but she tempered her reaction. “I’m not aware of the specifics. Demographic research was pushed in favor of more immediate and pressing matters.”

“Coming from the city with one of the densest and most volatile of said communities, one would think that it should be a pressing matter,” Glenn retorted. “Fortunately for you and the rest of the brass, that’s why I’m here. Image and PR isn’t just thinking about how to grease the wheels of parahuman acceptance; it’s taking a long, hard look at the people and their habitual milieu, seeing what makes them tick and basing your plans on those findings.” 

“I’ve done plenty of research!” she protested. “Awareness campaigns, cyber counterintelligence, everything short of provoking capes into open warfare! It’s part of the reason why the Empire hasn’t been able to sink its claws as deeply into the city’s white population more than it already has! The only reason the Empire has so much manpower is that it draws neo-Nazis from outside the state through Kaiser!” 

“Yes, and kudos to you for that, I mean it,” he replied, though his chiding tone further grated on her nerves. “Let me expand upon that statement: have you performed similar outreaches with the Asian community, or has Lung and his cronies scared you into considering them a lost cause?”

Piggot opened her mouth to retort, only for her to clamp down hard as she drew up a blank. There weren’t as many outreach programs toward the Asian community, despite being listed as a high-risk population. There were a few PR stunts, including some Wards meetings, but they all faded into the annals of Brockton Bay’s bloody history. The risk of angering Lung and Oni Lee by essentially flaunting themselves in their territory, thus leading them on even bloodier rampages, was deemed too high.

Glenn nodded with mock-sagging, a heavy breath escaping his nostrils. “Enough said. To put it simply, without rattling off numbers and statistics - that’ll be in the report I’m emailing the branch directors - it’s bad. Not Civil Rights Movement bad, but bad enough that if it’s not addressed and treated with the appropriate care, we’ll be dealing with a significant chunk of our populace with an axe to grind.” He typed on his keyboard, and a chart was faintly reflected through his glasses. “The Asian-American community’s been on a downward slope ever since they started emigrating to this country en masse. Every time it appears they’d be accepted, fear, racism and paranoia would rear their ugly heads. There’s the China Exclusion Act, which lasted for more than 60 years, only to be replaced with the Japanese internment camps in WWII. Right as those catastrophes appeared to fade from collective memory, the Vietnam and Korean Wars added new ethnicities to the melting pot of collective distrust, right alongside McCarthyism’s crusade against all things communist, including the up-and-rising People’s Republic of China. Flash-forward to the Parahuman Age, and we have the fall of the Communist Party and the rise of the Chinese Union-Imperial in 1990.”

A flag appeared on the screen, dyeing the room in vivid colors. An eastern dragon encircling a mountain under three yellow stars, atop a blue sea, on a halved field of red and yellow. Even Piggot, who wasn’t versed in Far Eastern symbolism, didn’t miss the blatant signalling. A mountain over sea and under sky. Zoomed out - the world.

“The CUI’s new ruler, the Phoenix Empress, is quick to address the UN over this sudden change of regime, claiming that the sins and repressions of the Maoists could no longer be ignored, and the Mandate of Heaven had decreed they be overthrown and the Imperial lineage reborn to lead China from the ashes of shame. However, rumors spread quickly in this day and age, especially with Deng Xiaoping’s reforms and global outreach, which the newly established CUI chose to maintain, at least initially. Stories of the Yangban, who helped usurp the CCP, and their mass-recruitment of parahumans into their ranks. Whispers of brainwashing, conditioning, and secret takedowns of leading politicians in neighboring countries with no trace of the method or means. Then, the Lima bombings destroyed the city’s financial district, and investigations reveal the culprits were Yangban agents, barinwashed and planted in key locations where the bombings would do the most damage. All of a sudden, the eyes of suspicion are opened in both the government and the general public. If the CUI could send agents as far as South America, what’s stopping them from trying to infiltrate the States? They wouldn’t even need to actually infiltrate the government or the PRT; they could simply ally with the growing parahuman gangs, most notably the Asian ones. Wariness and distrust flood the streets, and alienation soon follows, which leads to violent riots, ergo, more criminals and Triggers. The problem endures for years, and just when the dust begins to settle…Kyushu happens.”

He reaches under his desk and opens another can, drinking down its contents within seconds. 

“An entire island, sunk beneath the waves like a modern-day Atlantis, thanks to Leviathan. Floods of refugees stream from Japan into the rest of the world. And like with any sudden influx of refugees, there’s trouble processing them, and they congregate en masse in urban centres. There’s sympathy at first, but sympathy’s a fleeting coin. The same sneers and nasty whispers the Chinese received when they landed on the shores of San Francisco are now being dealt to the traumatized Japanese. Combined with the CUI and the Yangban’s tales of horror, it leads to marginalization. Shopkeepers hike up shipment prices for Asian businesses, police place calls from Asian districts low on the list, rampant bullying of Asian children, the whole nine yards. The new refugees, not even citizens, desperate for a sense of belonging or to feed their families, turn to crime. New Triggers arise and new gangs are formed, the most prominent being the Yago-Kai of Boston, who have carved themselves a nice, fat chunk of the city. The PRT and the Protectorate react in their usual manner, and the higher echelons, wanting to avoid stirring the pot too much, push away their issues from the cameras. Your ABB is actually a perfect microcosm of this whole tide of events, now that I think about it. Thusly, we end up with our current situation.” Glenn scoffed into his can. “And people say history is a worthless subject to learn in college.”

Piggot had sat down by then, her irritation toward Glenn Chambers now replaced with growing wariness. The Asian district was one of the least-frequented areas of the city by law enforcement, and while she was marginally conscious of the simmering tensions between the two groups, she’d lumped it together with Lung’s presence as the chief deterrent. 

“As enlightening as this lesson is, what does that have to do with Wukong?”

Glenn hummed and tapped a finger on his table. “Rebecca, would you kindly show us that video of Wukong you sent me? The one where he’s sitting with the kids?”

Costa-Brown nodded and a silent video clip soon appeared on the screen. In it, Wukong was sitting in a park, surrounded by children of elementary and middle school age, talking and moving animatedly. He blew into his palm, sending out yellow sparks around his audience, causing them to clap and cheer. In the distance, she spotted a couple of would-be parents watching the little act, with much less fear and suspicion than she expected.

“What do you see here, Emily?”

“...Wukong sitting with kids. He sometimes comes to that park and plays around with them, telling them Chinese folk tales,” Piggot replied. “We know he does that, which is why I ordered the ambush to be staged far away from there to avoid needless casualties.”

“Silver linings, indeed,” Glenn said, to her consternation. “You know what I see? I see perhaps one of the greatest PR masterstrokes in the past ten years.”

Piggot felt her jaw drop as she stared at the obese man incredulously. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I confess, I’m lost too,” said Renick. 

Miss Militia also didn’t appear to catch the joke either. 

Glenn rubbed his hands eagerly and a glint flashed in his eye. “Strap yourselves in, boys and girls, this is a good one. Imagine this: you are an Asian-American living in Brockton Bay. Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, it doesn’t matter. You might have a wife, a kid or two, or even just friendly neighbors. Living under the silent shadow and iron fist of a powerful villain, paying tribute in hopes that his minions, which he regularly recruits from the youth around you, don’t ruin your life any more than it already is. The cops don’t care, the heroes walk on eggshells and treat your problems as a non-issue in fear of stepping on that madman’s toes, all while a gang of neo-Nazis headed by an army of villains live right next door and would like to do nothing more than wipe out you, your friends and family from the face of the Earth. By day and by night, you keep your head down, pay your dues, struggle to eke out a steady living and pray that any of these powers that be don’t decide to rain hell upon you and yours, be it to show off or as collateral. A shitty life in a system that keeps taking and taking, masquerading as pastel comic-book salvation.” 

“Then, one day, a brand-new cape shows himself and proceeds to shatter the hold the villain had on you within a day. No burning half the city, no squads of PRT commandeering every building and street to try and score a point on the eternal villain-hero tallyboard; the cape simply spins his staff and serves him so much humble pie he chokes on it.”

He raises a finger. “It gets better: this cape, who, despite acting like a nutcase and a troll, spends time with the children you feared would end up on a tombstone or in a drug house and entertains them. Not borne from a staged event or a PR ploy so obvious even naked mole rats could look and tell it's fake, but from a simple desire to entertain and bring happiness. Take a look and tell me if any of his performance is staged. I’ve been in the business long enough to know when something is makeup on a sow and when something is genuine.”

The video played again, but this time it was with sound. Laughter and giggles blasted from the speakers as Wukong told his story. His laughter, reminiscent of his mockery of Armsmaster, rose Piggot’s hackles, but even she couldn’t deny that it bore far more passion and excitement than most PR events the Protectorate held and not headed by Assault. 

 “...it seems convincing enough. It could be just an act.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Glenn retorted. “What’s important is that the Asians believe that, finally, a hero is in their camp. He doesn’t just kick the bad guys into orbit and call it a day; he hangs around, brings them joy, and understands them. Literally.” Several images of Wukong hanging around the Asian district popped up on the screen, mostly of him goofing off with the locals reacting with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “And he’s Asian, just like them! Speaks native-level Chinese - multiple dialects, mind you - Japanese and English with a fluency I don’t witness in professors who study these languages for years! To top it all off, he literally could not have chosen a more perfect persona to don.”

“Persona? You mean his cape name?” asked Renick. “Armsmaster debriefed us that Sun Wukong is the name of a Chinese deity and the main character of a famous Chinese novel, both of them anthropomorphic talking monkeys. So what? There are plenty of capes that derive their names from mythological sources.”

Glenn sighed deeply, a touch of irritation leaking into his frazzled visage. “Have you done any research into the name ‘Sun Wukong’ other than reading the first paragraph of a Wikipedia synopsis?”

Silence suffocated the room, and Piggot held her ground against the stares drilling holes into her forehead. When reflecting on it, she had to admit it was a shortsighted move. Researching every aspect of a potential villain was standard operating procedure. But there was too much on her plate, and she’d been so focused on Wukong’s antics and his batshit powers, she pushed to the side every other aspect of him.

“Thought so. Then allow me to elucidate: Sun Wukong is one of the most beloved figures in all of East Asian folklore, and even outside of that sphere. A monkey trickster god, he became prominent in the 16th-century novel Journey to the West and since then, he’s become a household name. Countless media portrayals have been made of him, both here and on Earth-Aleph. You won’t find an East Asian who hasn’t heard of his exploits in one form or another.”

“The same could be said for other mythological figures, like Odin, Ra and Zeus,” Militia pointed out. “Plenty of people have heard of them and outside of misused Nazi propaganda, no one pointed out issues when facing villains who took their likeness or the likeness of any figure related to them.”

“Yes, but the difference in this case is that Sun Wukong isn’t a pop-culture figure from a dead culture we extoll and fantasize about,” Glenn countered. “In many Asian communities, he’s still actively worshipped and revered. It’s like if a cape calling himself an avatar of Shiva, bearing blue skin and a Trishula, appeared in the Hindu-American communities and started basing himself there.”

“If that’s true, won’t that offend the same people he’s surrounding himself with?” Piggot asked. “The PRT’s received a lot of flak for styling capes similarly. If recall, there was an uproar from the right-wing against a Protectorate hero’s debut when he chose an angel motif and his name was revealed to be ‘Raphael’.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at Glenn’s slight bristling. “I admit that was not one of Image’s finer moments, but in our defense, his powers gave us limited wiggle room and he was a devout Christian. But Sun Wukong straddles the line between actual figure of worship and folk hero enough for him to avoid misappropriation, as long as he does it right. And from what I’ve glimpsed? He’s doing a pretty bang-up job. I’ve half a mind to come down there and ask him to give lectures to the men in my department.” He then snorted. “It’s not like he has much competition. There are barely any Asian-American heroes under both the Protectorate and the Wards, so of course the disillusioned populace is going to flock to the first one who doesn’t look like an obvious boondoggle. You’d expect that a city with a prominent Asian gang would have an Asian hero to serve as a proper counterexample, but I’m willing to chalk that up to shitty luck and Lung eliminating or recruiting future threats before they could reach out to you.”

Piggot drummed her fingers on the desk as she processed Glenn’s dissection. The burn of not properly researching Wukong stung even harder. Armsmaster mentioned the figure’s prominence in passing, but she surmised it was limited to some posters and little figurines on desks. Clearly, her presumption was proven wrong in the worst way possible. To hear that Wukong had the moral and spiritual backing of a huge chunk of the city’s population was not optimistic in the slightest.

“So the situation is precarious beyond belief. What do you suggest we do?” Renick asked.

“Simple: absolutely nothing,” said the Chief-Director, fully glaring at her audience.

Piggot’s jaw dropped again, and her blood boiled. “Nothing!?” she yelled. “Our reputation was thrown in the trash and you want us to sit back and take it?”

“I find myself agreeing with the Director, Rebecca,” Dragon said, her voice tighter than usual. “Armsmaster is a central pillar of Brockton Bay’s Protectorate branch. Allowing a villain who trounced him so badly to walk scott-free won’t look good, no matter whose eyes they belong to.”

“As Glenn kindly pointed out, Sun Wukong has maneuvered himself into such a position that another attempt at his capture would backfire horribly. We’d lose what little trust we have with the Asian community and it could escalate to full-on economic strikes and riots, which would inflame the E88 and invite other gangs to partake in the chaos. The best option currently is to gather intelligence and observe from a distance. Barring an actual emergency, direct all PRT and Protectorate efforts away from Wukong and the Asian district. Once the PR landscape has cooled down and we’ve addressed any issues arising from Armsmaster’s defeat, we can reassess our strategy, perhaps even extending an olive branch of cooperation to salvage some cordiality. Until then, handle Sun Wukong with porcelain tweezers.”

“You’re talking about giving up,” Piggot whispered harshly.

“I’m offering you the path of least suffering, and I hope you tread it lightly. It’s not as though I’m asking you to actively collaborate with a hardcore gangster; for all of the headaches he’s caused you, he hasn’t committed any truly serious crimes compared to the ABB. If anything, his presence serves as an active deterrent against them. With such a low crime rate, he could be knocked down on the priority list and you could devote your efforts to curbing the E88’s influence for good.” Costa-Brown leaned forward with hardened eyes. “Am I clear on this matter?”

Piggot squeezed her fist so hard she thought she’d drawn blood. This was spitting in the face of everything she’d sworn to uphold. Not even with the other gangs, past and present, was she told to completely back down. 

This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

But right now, her hands were firmly bound.  

“Crystal,” she spat. Costa-Brown locked gazes with her for a few moments longer before nodding and reclining in her seat. 

“Good. For now, focus on curbing retaliation and expansion efforts from the Empire and Coil. If their response is as uncertain as you claim, your vigilance cannot dawdle.” She turned and dipped her head to the left of the screen. “Thank you for the lecture, Glenn. I’ll ensure your findings on this subject are forwarded to all relevant parties.”

“Always a pleasure, Rebecca,” he replied with faux-modesty before addressing Piggot. “I hope I won’t have to come and help you put out another wildfire, Emily. Also, did you even read the novel starring our simian cape’s namesake?”

“No, I was busy reading up on the latest reports in Casualty Magazine and the Sunday special on Racial Riots,” Piggot deadpanned. 

“Shame. If you or Armsmaster had even bothered to read the first few chapters, that ambush could’ve gone down far more differently and we wouldn’t be having this riveting conversation,” Glenn riposted, then shrugged. “Oh well. I wish you luck for next time, if there is one.”

His feed disconnected and the Chief Director’s glare morphed into a glower. 

“Don’t screw this up, Emily. We can’t afford to lose this city.”

With those words, her feed was cut off. The lights came back on, and the only sound left was Piggot’s controlled breathing.

“Um, ma’am?” Renick asked, edging away lest he be caught in the outburst. “Should I update the orders?”

Piggot’s head swivelled with a venomous edge, but she reigned herself in with a deep breath. “Yes, do that. Update the rules of engagement and hammer down the ‘observe-only’ part to our informants in the district. Redirect all resources as necessary.”

The bald Deputy Director straightened himself before giving a firm nod. With some tension leaving her shoulders, Piggot headed out of the conference room with the two heroes in tow. As they walked down the halls, Miss Militia made another concern known.

“Ma’am? What do we do about Taylor Hebert?”

Piggot froze before cursing inwardly. Neither she nor Costa-Brown addressed that issue in the meeting. Not that there was much she could do, outside of informing her father about their attempt. Toned down, of course, with the standard boilerplate, even though it wouldn’t fool him for long. As long as the girl was with Wukong, she was out of their…reach…

‘Hm…I’d have to consult our Image staff here…but if this could work…’

The gears began whirring in her mind. “Maintain our usual efforts. Locate only. I might have a solution to salvage some of this mess.”

“What solution, ma’am?” Militia asked, keeping up with ease.

“If we can frame this right, we might be ready to welcome a new Ward. A redemption story on our part, eager to help and support a youth jaded by the system by restoring her faith in it,” she rattled off as she marched at a quick pace to her office. “With luck, we’ll be able to glean some information on Wukong from her. I’ll need Legal to whip up a knockout pitch for the father, but if we emphasize her being a prime target for the gangs, including out-of-town ones who’ve watched the leaked video of the Stalker mess, he should prove compliant.”

“Are you sure about this?” the heroine beside her asked as they entered the elevator. “We don’t know anything about Taylor’s disposition outside of her father’s testimony, which is questionable considering how our analysts point out the distance between the two since her mother’s death.”

“It could kill several birds with one stone. We gain a new Ward, either here or to be traded with another city, acquire more intel on Wukong, deny the gangs a cape, pacify and shut down those annoying Youth Guard reps camping at our doors on both sides of the spectrum, and show everyone we aren’t some Saturday-morning government screw-up.”

The elevator stopped and they soon arrived at Piggot’s office. She marched ahead, prepared to draft several emails to the relevant departments and draw up a revised Ward contract. Her secretary perked up as they approached and stood from her chair.

“Director, there’s a package waiting for you inside. It’s from the Chief Director.”

What? Already?

She opened the doors and noticed a cardboard box on her desk. Miss Militia immediately stepped forward and approached the package with careful steps. Once giving it a look-over, she nodded.

“It’s clean. I recognize her handwriting.”

She removed the top and peered inside the box. Piggot watched as Miss Militia blinked before an unreadable expression crossed her scarved face. “You should see this, ma’am.”

Slightly confused, Piggot nonetheless obliged the heroine and approached the box. Militia took out its contents and placed them on the desk: a bundle of four books, wrapped in twine. On each spine, the title read…

Journey to the West, Unabridged English translation. 

In four volumes. Each one is as thick as her arm.

“There’s also a note from her.”

Militia handed her a piece of paper, which she almost ripped from her hands. It was dated just days before she gave Armsmaster the green light for his ambush. As her eyes trailed down its length, she fought the urge to rip it in two.

Director Piggot,

I’ve read your reports regarding this new troublemaking cape in your district, and I thought you should go through this recommended reading material. Glenn Chambers went through those same reports and reinforced my decision. I’m unaware if this book is available in the local library, and it's limited in stock, so I took the liberty of purchasing the full set. You should find some useful information inside. I suggest you read through the entirety of the set before sending me your findings. 

Signed, 

Rebecca Costa-Brown,

PRT Chief Director

She glared at books, willing them to spontaneously combust. Who on earth even had time to read this much!?

“...would you like me to scan the books, ma’am? Send them as a PDF?”

“That…would be highly appreciated.”