[PREVIEW] Great Sage Above Brockton 2.11 (Patreon)

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. “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.