MKRTTBB: Chapter One

You would not believe the number of times I had to rewrite this chapter from scratch...

Chapter One

There was a saying about frogs and boiling liquids. Something about how, if you raised the temperature slowly enough, the creatures never realised they were being cooked alive. Emily Piggot, Director of the PRT’s East-NorthEast division, sometimes wondered if the analogy applied to people as much as it did to amphibians; problems as to hot water.

They had put the three in Interview Two, on one side of a sterile metal table. On the other side sat Miss Militia, calm and kindly as she interrogated Brockton Bay’s newest complications.

Piggot’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the one in the middle. Kobayashi Tamura. Red hair in a practical ponytail, wireframe glasses perched on her nose, the slouched posture of someone who spent too much time at a desk. She wore the uniform of the working class: comfortable pants that had seen better days, a cardigan that was functional rather than fashionable. If Piggot had passed her on the street, she wouldn't have given her a second glance. On paper, she was also nothing. A computer programmer working for one Jigokumeguri System Engineering… 

Civilian. 

But despite Armsmaster’s assurance that the woman was being honest, Piggot was finding it hard to believe her claims. After all, since when did civilians fall out of portals with the casual acceptance these three had displayed? Since when did civilians react to interdimensional displacement with the mild annoyance of someone missing the bus?

The other two were easier to categorise, if no less problematic. The one called ‘Tohru’, the self-proclaimed ‘maid,’ was a clear-cut Case 53. Eyes with vertically slitted pupils, horns, a large reptilian tail that twitched with irritation—these were the overt signs of a parahuman. Her fierce, protective glares directed at Armsmaster whenever a question seemed to press too hard on her ‘mistress’ marked her as a loyal subordinate—so much so that the armour-clad man had to be swapped out when it was obvious his methods were doing more harm than good. The child, ‘Kanna’, was a more subdued presence. She sat in her own chair, currently engrossed in stacking a cup of PRT-issue pens Miss Militia had provided into a precarious tower. But she, too, had the same undercurrent of… otherness. Hannah had authorised a batch of snacks, and the child was absent-mindedly working her way through a bag of pretzels with a detached, methodical calm.

This whole affair was a bureaucratic nightmare. Their public arrival meant PHO was already a cesspit of blurry photos and wild theories. 'Portal Capes', 'New Gang', 'Draconic Case 53s'. The media calls were flooding the switchboard. And Washington... Washington was demanding answers. They wanted threat assessments, classifications, and potential allegiances. They wanted boxes to check.

Piggot just wanted the headache to stop.

Through the speaker, the conversation drifted up to her observation post. Miss Militia’s voice was even, patient. She was good at this, better than Colin at least, at projecting an aura of reasonable authority without seeming confrontational. She was asking about the portal.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk,” she said, setting down the file Armsmaster had handed her on his way out.

“We didn’t have many options,” The bespectacled woman replied in clipped, serviceable English, the words bearing a faint Japanese accent. “I’d rather not start trouble with law enforcement.”

Hannah simply nodded before continuing. “Let’s start at the beginning,” she said, voice even. “The portal. You were having breakfast, yes?”

“Yes.” A small delay. “We were at my apartment. A friend was practising with..." She paused, seeming to search for the right words. "With an orb. A magical artefact. There was… an accident, I suppose. Something went wrong. There was a portal, and we were drawn through… I am not sure if you believe me, but that’s what happened."

Magic? Piggot scoffed. She saw Miss Militia's slight hesitation right before she powered through. 

“It’s alright, I believe you,” Hannah said, assuring the other woman before demonstrating by letting her pistol flicker in a shimmer of green-black energy as it turned into a rifle and back again. “I’ve seen stranger things.”

In response, Kobayashi simply adjusted her glasses, her expression unchanged. "I see."

Stowing away her weapon, Miss Militia continued. "You seem very calm about this. I would have expected a bit more uneasiness given your current situation, but it seems I was being presumptuous. Are you and your... family... accustomed to travelling through portals?"

This time it was the maid—Tohru—who answered. “Sometimes. But only when I make them.” She said it without irony as she gestured dismissively with one hand.

In the observation room, Piggot’s hand instinctively twitched toward the console's panic button. Beside her, Armsmaster moved slightly, his body tensing in response to the change in the other room.

A circle of absolute darkness had torn open in the air to the left of the trio. A swirling vortex of oily black that seemed to drink the light. It hummed, a low, gut-vibrating sound that Piggot felt in her teeth. It looked wrong... unnatural, ancient. Through it, the director could glimpse... something. Another place. Dark buildings, wet streets.

The child, Kanna, glanced up from her pens, registered the hole in reality, and then, with profound disinterest, went back to stacking.

Just as quickly as it opened, Tohru waved her hand again. The vortex snapped shut, imploding on itself with a faint pop.

Silence dominated the interrogation room for three full seconds. Piggot watched Miss Militia, saw the subtle shift as she re-evaluated everything. On this side, Armsmaster had gone very still beside her.

"Spatial manipulation," he said quietly. "Possibly a Shaker/Mover combination. High rating."

Piggot's jaw tightened. A portal creator. That was exceedingly alarming to say the least.

On the other side of the glass, Miss Militia had recovered her composure admirably. "That's... quite impressive. But you said you couldn't get home?"

Tohru scowled, the first genuine expression Piggot had seen from her that wasn't simmering irritation. "I can't find it," she said, frustrated. "This... place... your universe. It's too far from our own. I can sense other paths, other worlds, but none I recognise. The spell sent us further than I can reach."

"...I see." Miss Militia’s gaze returned to the leader, her tone still conversational. "You claimed you were civilians. You, a programmer. Tohru, a maid." She gestured to the empty space where the portal had been. "Regular civilians don't typically create portals."

Kobayashi sighed. It was a weary, put-upon sound, the noise of someone forced to explain a tedious but necessary piece of paperwork. "Ah. That." She adjusted her glasses again. "I am a civilian. I can't do any of that." She waved a hand toward Tohru. "Tohru, while she is my maid, is also a dragon."

Piggot stared. A dragon. A cape name? A gang affiliation?

“...Excuse me?” Miss Militia said, voicing her confusion.

"I'm a dragon," Tohru repeated simply. Then, as if to prove the point, a pair of leathery, bat-like wings emerged in cartoonish puffs of black smoke from her back, unfurling to their full span and brushing the acoustic tiles of the ceiling.

Miss Militia, to her credit, didn't flinch. Her gaze, steady as a rock, shifted from the winged maid to the small child. "And you, Kanna? Do you have any powers?"

Kanna looked up from her pretzel, unfazed by the interruption. "Mmm." She nodded once.

In two small, instantaneous puffs of purplish smoke, a pair of white, two-pairs of horns sprouted from her white and lavender hair. A whip-like, lavender-colored tail, tipped with a furry bauble, materialised and curled on one of the legs of her chair. She then turned her full attention back to her pretzel.

Another ‘dragon.’

Piggot exhaled, slow and careful. She felt her blood pressure rising, and reminded herself not to give in to the frustration. She turned, finally, to Armsmaster. “Thoughts?”

"...The woman, Kobayashi, is the parahuman," he said quietly. “A Master, high rating. The other two are creations… No, projections. Autonomous, high-fidelity, multisensory projections. Her power is likely conceptual, drawing from her psyche. She's manifested 'dragons', as she personally interprets them. That would explain the shared physiological traits—horns, tails, wings—and their ability to be 'dismissed' or 'manifested' at will. It's either that or a form of Changer-state expression, but applied to the Master's creations.”

Piggot considered this. A cape who could create independent entities, complete with their own personalities and abilities. It was rare but not unprecedented. Several other capes had been able to do the same, albeit to varying degrees. And these entities were clearly attached to Kobayashi—the way they looked at her, oriented themselves around her, the child's casual affection and the maid's protective hovering.

"You think she's unaware?" Piggot asked.

"Or in denial. It happens. Especially with powers that manifest in ways that challenge the parahuman's worldview. She creates what she needs—a devoted servant, a child to care for. Classic projection psychology."

It made sense. More sense than dragons, certainly. And it would explain why the three refused to be separated, why the projections showed such deference to Kobayashi's lead.

Piggot rose carefully from her seat. She had enough. Enough for a preliminary report to Washington, at least. ‘A new Master, unaligned, with two companions. Classifications pending.’ That ought to be enough to placate the brass for a few hours. The finer details could be hammered out later.

“Get them processed,” she said as she made for the door. “Joint holding space. Then, a full power testing. I want to know everything they can do, especially Kobayashi. And please, make sure we avoid antagonising them or challenging the cape’s worldview until we have a licensed psychiatrist available. I foresee orders to attempt recruitment in a few hours, so prepare a pitch. Kobayashi seemed responsive to legitimate authority and procedure. Play to that. Make her feel welcome, but make it clear that cooperation comes with benefits. Housing, documentation, resources to 'find their way home.' That ought to at least get them on board.”

“Understood.”

The door hissed shut behind her, leaving the silent, armoured hero to watch the bizarre little play unfold. Another set of capes, another collection of broken people with dangerous abilities, had just fallen into her lap. Alas, for Piggot, it was just another Tuesday in Brockton Bay.