RWD - NO_ROLLBACK: 6.03 

I adjusted my visor again. Third time in five minutes. The workshop's familiar ozone-and-metal smell should have helped, but my nerves weren't having it.

NO_ROLLBACK: 6.03 

(Kid Win)

I adjusted my visor again. Third time in five minutes. The workshop's familiar ozone-and-metal smell should have helped, but my nerves weren't having it.

The message had been simple: briefing with federal representatives, New Wave, and the Peacekeepers. Just me. Not the other Wards. When I'd asked Miss Militia why, she'd given me that look. The one that said stop asking without needing words.

The common area buzzed as I emerged. Same cavernous dome as always, but the movable walls felt closer today. Aegis, Clockblocker, Vista, and Browbeat had claimed the central seating area. To their left, our newest member sat slightly apart, staring at his hands.

Theo Anders. Golem. Kaiser's son.

It was still weird, having the kid of Brockton Bay's neo-Nazi kingpin on the team. But I couldn't blame him for his father's sins. He'd been nothing but pleasant since joining—a massive improvement over Sophia Hess, if I was being honest. Shadow Stalker had vanished from our lives after those bullying videos went viral. Quietly removed, facing a mountain of legal trouble. Former teammate or not, it was hard to feel sorry for her after seeing what she'd done.

"There he is," Aegis said, helmet tilted back. "All dressed up for his mystery meeting."

Everyone turned. That familiar weight of attention settled on my shoulders. "Yeah, I guess."

Vista piped up from where she'd been swallowed by an oversized couch, pillow hugged to her chest. "Is it about them? The Peacekeepers? Dennis wouldn't say."

Her voice was small. Ever since Hookwolf had killed Gallant, she’d been different. Quieter. The news that the Peacekeepers had executed Hookwolf had brought a grim, conflicted satisfaction to the team, but Vista had felt it most keenly. The Kill Order issued by Acting Director Tagg had hit her hard. All of them, really. It had felt wrong, somehow.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. One day, Tagg was on national television declaring the Peacekeepers enemies of the state, the next he was back, looking haggard and worn, rescinding the order, and announcing his resignation in the same breath. The shortest-lived Kill Order in PRT history. The news channels and PHO threads had exploded with theories ranging from political blackmail to a full-blown Master effect, but no one knew anything for sure. The whole thing had been surreal.

I shrugged, aiming for casual. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Not technically a lie. I didn't know what the meeting was about. Just who would be there. But what was I supposed to say? That I was about to sit in a room with whoever had threatened our Acting Director into resignation? That federal agents and military brass were flying in for this?

The elevator hissed open. Miss Militia stood there, expression unreadable behind her flag scarf. "Kid Win, Clockblocker. Time to go."

We followed. The heavy doors slid shut on the others' curious faces. Golem caught my eye as I passed, gave me a small nod that somehow felt reassuring.

"Ground rules," Miss Militia said as the elevator rose. "Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't interrupt. Don't ask questions about anything you hear without clearing it with me first. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," we managed in unison. Clockblocker shot me a look: What the hell have we gotten into?

The elevator dinged, and we stepped out into the main lobby of the PRT building. I'd been here plenty of times, but today it felt different. More guards than usual. Men and women in suits talking in hushed voices. The kind of tension that meant something big was happening.

The conference room had been transformed since the last time I'd seen it. Banks of monitors lined the walls, most dark but humming with standby power. A massive table dominated the centre, surrounded by chairs that were already mostly occupied.

Piggy sat at the head of the table, looking like she hadn't slept in days. Armsmaster was to her right, whilst Assault, Battery, Velocity, and Dauntless were arranged around her to the left, their body language radiating a mix of tension and fatigue.

Miss Militia took her seat and gestured for us to take the ones beside her. We did, trying not to feel completely out of our depth. This was clearly way above Ward level, and I still had no idea why we were here.

Then, the screens flickered to life.

One by one, they populated with faces appearing in a carefully arranged grids. Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown looked exactly like she did on television – professional, composed, absolutely in control. Legend's iconic costume contrasted sharply with the sterile office behind him. A man in a suit, identified by the chyron as the National Security Advisor. A four-star general from NORTHCOM. Director Wilkins from the New York Protectorate. Lady Photon from New Wave. On smaller screens surrounding the main ones were other faces I recognized from news reports or PRT briefings, while still others were complete unknowns. Other Protectorate leaders, federal agents I didn’t recognize, and… me. My own face, broadcast from a camera in the room, stared back at me from a small window on the periphery. Instinctively, I sat up straighter, hyper-aware of how i was sitting, how I was breathing. On the other side from Miss Militia, Clockblocker had gone completely still—a rare state for him.

And there, in the bottom right monitor, flickered in the final participant. A figure in a bespoke suit and trenchcoat, his features hidden by a balaclava. 

Hollowpoint.

“Thank you for joining us.” Chief Director Costa-Brown’s voice was crisp, cutting through the silence. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We are forgoing standard introductions for the sake of expediency. The reason for this briefing is a time-sensitive threat of the highest order.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle.

“At approximately 0300 hours Eastern Standard Time, Leviathan will make landfall in New York City.”

The room paused.

My blood went cold. New York. That was… less than twelve hours. I felt a jolt, a physical shock, as if I’d touched a live wire. Around the room, I saw the same reaction mirrored in the subtle flinches and widened eyes of seasoned heroes. Armsmaster’s jaw tightened. Piggot didn’t move a muscle, but a new depth of exhaustion seemed to settle into the lines on her face.

New York. An Endbringer. Fuck…

“Our intelligence comes from two sources,” Costa-Brown continued, her tone unchanging. “Hollowpoint provided the initial warning four days ago and a final confirmation about an hour ago. This information was subsequently verified by an independent predictive model developed by Dragon and Armsmaster.”

She looked directly at the camera, her gaze seeming to pin every person in the virtual room. “This model, while less precise than whatever method Hollowpoint is employing, has confirmed the high probability of an attack on the Eastern Seaboard within the next twenty-four hours, with New York as the most likely target. The convergence of data is undeniable.”

My eyes flicked to the screen showing Hollowpoint. He sat unchanged, unmoved by the gravity of what he'd just revealed. How did someone predict an Endbringer attack? Even the best Thinkers could only give warnings minutes or hours in advance, not enough time for real preparation.

"The fact that we have advance warning provides us with an unprecedented opportunity," Costa-Brown continued. "We can position assets, coordinate responses, and potentially inflict meaningful damage on the target. This briefing will cover operational parameters for what we're calling Operation Hammerdown. Before that, however, some things must be clarified…"

“Participation in the coming defence is voluntary,” the Chief Director stated, her voice like steel. “If you wish to withdraw, do so now. However, I must be clear. All information discussed in this briefing is now classified at the highest level. Unauthorized disclosure will be treated as an act of treason. Maintaining the status quo for as long as possible is our single greatest advantage. If Leviathan deems the city unviable due to a sudden change in its state, it will change its target to a less-prepared city. The blood of millions would be on your hands.”

The threat was absolute, leaving no room for argument. I  instinctively looked to Miss Militia. As a Ward, the decision wasn’t particularly mine to make. She leaned over, her voice a bare whisper.

“Your father was briefed on a hypothetical high-threat scenario. He gave consent for you to provide remote support services so long as you remain removed from the front lines.”

I nodded, a knot of fear and a strange, nervous excitement tightening in my stomach. I looked back at the screens. Not a single person had disconnected. No one was backing down.

“Very well,” Costa-Brown said, a flicker of something—maybe approval—in her eyes. “I appreciate your courage. Dragon, you have the floor. Brief us on the operational plan.”

Dragon's voice came through the speakers, calm and professional despite the circumstances. "We'll be organising Cape response into four primary groups. Frontline combatants will include myself, the Triumvirate, Armsmaster, Chevalier, and Genesis. Our role will be to engage Leviathan directly and create openings for follow-up strikes.”

Images and data scrolled across the main screen.

“Eidolon has been assigned a secondary role to counter the Endbringer’s Macro-Hydrokinesis, in order to blunt the monster’s most destructive and indiscriminate ability."

“Second, the artillery team.” Dragon’s voice continued, and a new list of names appeared. “Grumman, Astrologer, Ballistic, Flechette, Laserdream, Shielder, Myrddin, Exalt, Rime, Lady Photon, Miss Militia and Kid Win.”

I blinked. My name. On the artillery list. It didn’t compute. My pistols were good for close-to-mid-range, but artillery? I wasn’t a blaster on that scale. Then, a ghost of a memory surfaced. Schematics, calculations…

The Alternator Cannon.

It was a laser weapon with a range that was, theoretically, line-of-sight. The beam held its cohesion for miles. The only problem… the only reason I’d never tried it at that distance… was targeting. I couldn’t hit a barn door at that range, not without the sophisticated targeting system I’d never had the time or focus to finish…

But then again, this was an Endbringer-sized target, and I had a couple of hours to make some final modifications.

“This team will engage from their individual maximum effective range,” Dragon stated, as if reading my mind. “Lacking the required mobility and durability, it would be too much of a risk to engage the Endbringer in close quarters. As a result, their objective is sustained, long-range fire.”

She moved on. "Third, critical support. Panacea, Ambrosia, Strider, and Clockblocker will handle medical and logistics. Panacea and Ambrosia will provide immediate healing. Strider will manage extraction and rapid deployment. Clockblocker will preserve critically injured personnel in temporal stasis until medical attention can be provided. The survival of this group is paramount, hence they are to remain clear of the primary combat zone unless absolutely necessary.”

Ambrosia. I memorised the details on the screen. A Peacekeeper. So they had a healer. A good one, if she was being put on the same level as Panacea.

“Fourth, the scouts. Leonid, Horizon, and Skitter will provide real-time tracking and targeting solutions for the artillery team. Everyone else would be assigned to their dedicated support roles.”

Skitter. Another Peacekeeper. The bug controller was previously part of the Undersiders before the group was subsumed into this new one. I remember her being a real problem during that bank heist a few weeks ago. 

"All of these elements are designed to create an opening for our primary strike assets," Dragon continued. "The Peacekeepers have provided advanced tinkertech warheads with exotic properties, as well as delivery systems that we've been able to reverse-engineer and produce in limited quantities."

The screen changed, showing technical schematics that made my tinker instincts sit up and pay attention. Gravity manipulation warheads, anti-gravity bombs, Ice bombs, transmutation, Space-Warping Bombs, and something called stasis bombs that could apparently stop time in localised areas… is that a hypersonic cruise missile?

Holy shit. No wonder the government had decided to work with them. 

"Military assets will deploy these weapons from cargo aircraft, with the PRT and the Peacekeepers providing terminal guidance and coordination via our high-altitude autonomous aircrafts and their RapidSat system," Dragon explained. "However, the Peacekeepers have also indicated they possess additional capabilities beyond what we've been briefed on."

All eyes turned to the monitor showing Hollowpoint. He sat forward slightly, the first movement I'd seen him make since the briefing began.

"We have prepared for this contingency for several weeks," he said, his voice calm and measured through the speakers. "Our stockpile includes warheads designed specifically to counter Endbringer physiology. While I cannot reveal our full capabilities for operational security reasons, I can confirm that we believe we have a credible chance of killing Leviathan."

Killing. Not driving off, not forcing a retreat. Killing an Endbringer.

The silence that followed was profound. In all the years since the Endbringers had appeared, the best anyone had managed was to make them leave. The idea that someone might actually kill one...

Dragon continued the briefing, going into specific tactical details. Positioning, communication protocols, fallback plans. I took notes, trying to absorb information that was almost certainly above my clearance level.

The artillery team would be positioned on high-rise buildings in Manhattan, with clear lines of sight to the harbour and East River. My job would be to provide long-range suppressive fire, using targeting data provided to me to engage Leviathan when he was distracted by frontline combatants.

It sounded simple when she put it like that. In practice, I'd be trying to hit a target moving at superhuman speeds through a city that would be rapidly turning into a war zone. With weapons that weren't designed for Endbringer-level threats.

"Questions?" Dragon asked as she wrapped up the tactical overview.

I had about a million of them, but Miss Militia's earlier warning kept me quiet. This wasn't the time for a Ward to start asking about technical specifications or questioning the plan.

"Timeline?" Lady Photon asked from one of the screens.

"We begin positioning assets in six hours," Costa-Brown replied. "Evacuation would begin in seven. Final staging will be complete in ten hours, with engagement beginning as soon as Leviathan enters the combat zone."

Six hours. That was barely enough time to get to New York, let alone prepare for an Endbringer fight. But if they'd been planning this in advance, maybe they'd already moved the major assets into position.

"Collateral damage estimates?" someone asked.

The pause before Costa-Brown answered told me everything I needed to know. "Minor to relatively severe. We're working with local authorities and cape groups to minimise civilian casualties, but Leviathan's presence in a major metropolitan area will inevitably result in substantial infrastructure damage and loss of life, especially if something goes wrong."

Translation: people were going to die. Lots of people, possibly. Even with advance warning, even with the best capes in the world working together, an Endbringer attack on New York City was going to be a catastrophe.

"One final point," Costa-Brown said, her voice taking on a harder edge. "Information security is paramount. The effectiveness of our advance planning depends on maintaining the status quo until the last possible moment. Any unauthorised disclosure of this operation before it begins will be treated as an act of treason."

She wasn't just talking about the media. She was talking about other capes, other organisations, anyone who might interfere with their carefully laid plans.

"Are we clear?"

A chorus of acknowledgements came from around the room and through the speakers.

"Then may God help us all," Costa-Brown said quietly. "We'll reconvene in four hours for final coordination. Dismissed."