Chapter Text
Danny had heard all the jokes about scary mothers-in-law, but he’d stopped laughing at them from the moment he’d met his own. When Annette had introduced them, it had taken a lot of his nerve to stand straight as she’d given him a look that pierced him to the very marrow.
Even now, Sharon Carter was the most intense person he’d ever met.
Case in point- he’d called her in a moment of desperation, not knowing who else to turn to, telling her that Taylor was in the hospital being treated for a severe case of blood poisoning after she’d tried to claw her way out of a locker full of filth. He’d babbled about how the doctors had been grim with her prognosis, and said that they’d ‘do what they could’ and hope that Panacea could get around to her.
Despite having not spoken more than a few sentences over the last two years, within four hours of her ending that call, she’d made it down from New York to Brockton Bay and strode into the hospital with the air of a conquering general.
Danny had barely looked up from Taylor’s still, pale form before Sharon had plucked the chart of its hook at the foot of Taylor’s bed and begun studying it. “Sharon-”
“Bugger.” Sharon dropped the chart back onto the hook. “Not good.”
“I know we haven’t-”
“Daniel, when Taylor’s out of danger, I promise you we’ll sit down and hash out how we both should have acted better after Annette died.” Sharon’s mouth twisted. “I spent the whole drive down here lambasting myself for pulling away. But right now, the last bit of her still on this earth is lying there, and she’s not going to get better unless we do something drastic.”
“Drastic?” Danny asked dumbly. A thought occurred to him- Sharon had never elaborated on what her government job actually entailed. He’d always suspected it was something shadowy- did she have connections to capes or something?
Sharon swung her handbag around, reached deep, and fiddled around. There was a surprisingly heavy click- more of a clunk- and then she pulled out a small metal cylinder, along with a pair of gloves that she slipped on.
“I know there’s that Panacea girl in town,” Sharon said, unscrewing the top of the cylinder, “The miracle healer. Well, I checked, and she’s occupied with several members of a gang brawl, so I doubt we can expect her. Besides, I’ve never put much stock in miracles.”
“Sharon, what the hell is that?”
“Well, this is an insulated cylinder meant for long-term storage of biological samples.” Sharon finally got the top off, and a wisp of vapour escaped from the top. She reached two fingers in and extracted a long glass vial filled with red blood. “And it’s good enough that a 68 year old sample should still be fresh and ready.”
“Hold on a damn minute,” Danny demanded, feeling anger rise in him, “You’re going to inject Taylor with some random blood? What good will that do? And what if it’s the wrong blood type- you could kill her!”
“In reverse order,” Sharon said crisply, “Taylor’s type AB, a universal receiver, and this is type O, universal donor, so there’s no need to worry about a blood type match. Secondly, I’m hoping that it will strengthen her body enough to survive. And lastly, this is not ‘some random blood’. My mother wouldn’t have held onto it if it weren’t.”
Danny blinked. “Your mother?” He’d met Sharon’s mother a few times- almost as intense as Sharon, but more approachable. She’d approved of him when they met, although she’d made some joke about Annette having similar taste in ‘skinny, determined men’ that he hadn’t understood at the time.
“She called this the last resort. I thought about using it on myself once or twice, back in the day- but there never seemed to be a moment drastic enough. Annette refused to even consider it. But if there’s anything that can give Taylor a fighting chance, it’s this.” Sharon produced a wrapped syringe from her bag and tore the packet open.
“Hold on,” Danny said, waving his hands. “Are you saying this is-” he hesitated to even say the name, “-his blood?”
“Precisely.”
“How the hell did you get hold of that?”
“He gave it to Mother, to keep as a back-up in case anything happened to all those other samples the government took. She kept it safely squirreled away, passed it down.”
Danny stared at the little vial of blood, and then looked at Taylor, laying there on the hospital bed. She hadn’t stirred beyond the twitch of an eyelid or two since he’d come to her. She was pale and sickly, a drip in her arm and a monitor clamped to her finger. She looked so fragile…
All at once, his mind was made up. “Alright,” he said, turning back to Sharon. “Let’s do it.”
Actually injecting Taylor was the easy part. Sitting around and waiting for any effect was the hard part. Sharon managed to make stilted conversation with Daniel through the evening, and well into the night, before she gently pushed him to go home and get some sleep.
With him gone, Sharon was left to stare at her granddaughter and think. Mostly about how much she looked like Annette with her glasses off. Also about how she’d made a huge mistake in drifting away after Annette’s death. Also about how she was going to call in some favours and find whoever did this to Taylor and string them up by their toenails.
At some point she dozed off, snapping awake at the sound of an orderly changing Taylor’s IV and emptying her catheter. It wasn’t like the old days, when she’d been able to power through a 24-hour stakeout on coffee and pastries.
Still, she managed to stay awake after that, watching Taylor’s chest rise and fall while the sun came up. After some time she gave in and started reading the book she’d brought in her handbag, even if she could barely focus on the damn thing.
Some time after that, she pressed the call button with a sense of dawning hope. The nurse who answered was a polite young man who seemed ready to help.
“The man who was in earlier said Taylor wouldn’t need her IV changed for another 8 hours.” She pointed at the clear bag connected to Taylor’s drip. “That one’s nearly empty.”
The nurse frowned. “Odd. Maybe he got the math wrong?” He made a show of checking the bag, the tube, the valve and everything else. “I’ll get a replacement.”
It was about an hour after that when Taylor began to stir. Sharon hastily slipped a bookmark in and leaned in. “Taylor? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” She picked Taylor’s glasses off the bedside table and held them ready.
Taylor groaned a little, tossing her head from side to side. “Too much…” she mumbled. “’s too much…”
“Taylor, it’s your grandmother.” She hesitated a moment, then swallowed her pride. “It’s Gram.”
Taylor stirred a bit more, and then slowly opened her eyes. Sharon gently slipped her glasses on, and after a few blinks, Taylor focused on her. “Gram? I feel weird…”
“I know, sweetheart, but it’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright.”
Taylor laid a hand on her stomach. “I’m so hungry. And my head- there’s all these lights and sounds…” She clutched at her temples with a whimper.
Sharon tried not to let the fear show on her face. Had Taylor been mentally affected by her ordeal? Maybe she’d banged her head? She’d have to see about getting her a scan or something.
Taylor suddenly grabbed Sharon’s wrist with surprising force. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s at home, I’ll call him. He’ll be happy to see you’re better. Don’t worry,” Sharon said, laying a hand on Taylor’s. “Everything’s going to be nice and easy now.”
Piggot cherished the days when things were nice and easy. She got so few of them.
This was definitely not one of them. Sitting in front of her were three people. On the right, Sharon Carter, a woman in her 60s with the bearing of someone who’d seen action. On the left, Daniel Hebert, a tall thin man who looked somewhat lost at sea.
Sandwiched between them, meekly munching on a small pile of protein bars in her lap, was Piggot’s latest headache- Taylor Anne Hebert, 15 years old, and a confirmed parahuman. The brain scan during her hospital visit had detected no concussions or brain damage, but had detected a fully formed and active Corona Pollentia and Gemma.
A new cape- an opportunity. A cape who, from a brush with Panacea, had been very loudly and emphatically confirmed to have severely altered cellular biology, resulting in a metabolism functioning at something like four times the human norm- a complication. The discovery of a vial and syringe in Ms Carter’s effects had confirmed who was responsible.
“So,” Director Piggot began, “We’ve confirmed that Miss Hebert here is a parahuman with powers of,” she glanced at the report, “Insect control. What I’d like to clear up is what exactly you dosed her with.”
Taylor glanced at her grandmother with alarm. Ms Carter herself looked cool as ice. “I’m sure you’ve already got some clever people running tests. I’m also sure that lab results still take days if not weeks to get back to you, so I’m willing to save you some time and fill you in, on the condition that this is kept a secret of the highest order.”
Piggot snorted. “And what makes you think you can demand that?”
Ms Carter produced a slim wallet and unfolded it to show an ID card. MI6. “I’m semi-retired these days. Mostly a consultant. I still have some pull though.”
Taylor leaned forward, gawking at the badge. “Gram, are you a secret agent?”
“I did a few bits and pieces in my time,” Ms Carter said evasively. “Mostly I acted as a liaison between the UK and the States.”
Piggot’s frown deepened. “Alright, I’ll bite. If this secret is important enough, I’ll have it classified. But if it’s not,” she added warningly, “Then there’s a range of options for people dealing with parahuman-derived substances.”
“Actually, there was nothing parahuman about it,” Ms Carter- Agent Carter, Piggot supposed- replied crisply. “In short, it was a blood transfusion. As for whose blood, well,” she glanced at Taylor, “I suppose we’ll have to fill you in on the family history a little earlier than we had planned.”
Mr Hebert leaned forward. “Your mom and I thought we should wait until you were old enough to hear the truth. When she found out, she got a little… spirited.”
Agent Carter snorted. “Joined three separate protest groups within a month. Although I suppose I can’t be too critical; I decided to go into intelligence once my mother told me. The truth, Taylor, is that according to history, I don’t exist. The US government couldn’t exactly admit that their greatest propaganda piece had accidentally sired a child out of wedlock, could they? Not that he knew, or that Mother ever regretted it.” She glanced at Taylor. “You probably don’t remember her, do you?”
Taylor frowned a little. “No, I don’t think so. I remember hearing about Great-Grandma Peggy, but I don’t remember her myself.”
“Well, she passed away when you were three,” Mr Hebert said. “We took you up to visit her just after you were born though- she held you for a while, and you were perfectly well behaved.”
“Mm.” Agent Carter shook herself. “Where was I? Yes, Mother got pregnant, the government didn’t want the scandal getting out; so they hushed it up, set her up with a widow’s pension that had a few details fudged; and when I was old enough she told me who my father really was.”
Agent Carter took a breath. “The truth, Taylor, is that your great-grandmother, Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter, had a romance while she was in the war. And like a lot of romances back then, her love didn’t make it back to her. Only his final mission was a bit more well known than most.
“My father, your great-grandfather, was one Captain Steven Grant Rogers. And he gave my mother a secret sample of his blood for safekeeping, which we injected you with in hopes that it would save your life.”
Piggot stared at the woman for a moment. “What.”
“Wha- Huh?” Taylor managed. “You mean you’re- I’m- what?!”
“This is why we wanted to wait,” Mr Hebert said wryly.
“Captain America?” Taylor blurted. “I’m, I’m, I’m Captain America’s… descendant? What, and you’ve got the shield in your handbag, is that next?”
“Sadly, no. But it’s the truth. I heard rumours that the government was trying to reverse-engineer my father’s enhancements, up until their stockpile was destroyed when Behemoth hit New York. They never had any success anyway. The only reason I believed it would work on you is because you’re a direct relative.”
Taylor stared down at her hands in her lap, flexing the fingers slowly. “So I’m… I’m going to be like him?”
“It certainly seems that way. Your sudden recovery and your new appetite would seem to support that.” Agent Carter glanced pointedly at the empty protein bar wrappers on Taylor’s lap.
Piggot groaned and massaged her forehead. “A teenage super soldier- with powers on top. As if this city wasn’t chaotic enough.”
“No red or blue,” Glenn commanded. “It wouldn’t fit with the general theme anyway, but god knows we want to avoid too direct a link.”
“Is it a problem?” Glenn’s latest challenge asked nervously from the little podium they’d set up, while his assistants hovered around her, taking measurements for her costume and making little sketches and estimates of fabric and reinforcements. “If I look too much like… him?”
“Too much, yes. You’re not the next Captain America, God knows we’re not pushing that. But a little homage is fine- people have been aping the Star Spangled Man since the 40s. Just look at Miss Militia- less patriotic fervour and more military chic, but the comparison is obvious. And the fact that we’re in Brockton Bay helps. This city’s proverbially something of a proving ground for heroes trying to pattern themselves after Captain America.”
“Wait, really? Why?”
“The villains, of course,” Glenn scoffed. “Whenever some hero puts a star on their chest and calls themselves Liberty Belle or whatever, they’ll usually try to start off by punching a few Nazis. And since this city is well-known for the white supremacist gang that refuses to leave, it’s the place most of them start.”
Not that the Empire took it laying down, he had to admit. Although the death of Kaiser back in the 90s had cost them a fair bit of power, Allfather had kept the enterprise going, weathering the irregular stream of heroes eager to remind them that the Nazis had lost the war.
Glenn pulled himself out of his thoughts and back into the fitting room. “Plenty of capes have tried going into battle with some sort of shield too. I recall Aegis around here took a swing at it for a few months. The problem is that so few of them can actually pull them off or wield them effectively, much like wearing an actual cape. You though- you might have a shot.”
One of the assistants presented the latest sketch to him. He took it, scanned it, and gave a grunt of approval. “Have a look,” he said, flipping it around so Miss Hebert could look.
Hebert peered at the page. He could see the gears turning in her head as she took in the helmet and goggles that covered her upper face, eyes and nose, while letting her admittedly excellent hair stream out behind her; the lightly armoured bodysuit in muted greens and browns with a sensible yet stylish utility belt and a beetle insignia on the upper chest; and the round shield stylised to look like a beetle’s shell- tastefully, of course, not creepy. Hard to make giant insects seem palatable unless you rounded them off.
“It looks… good,” Hebert said with poorly concealed surprise. “It kind of looks like… him, like Captain America, but bug-themed.”
“That’s the entire point. You,” Glenn said, pointing a finger, “are a Brockton Bay girl, raised on stories of heroes, including the first and most beloved, Captain America. So when you got your powers, which included a combination of strength, speed and agility that lets you fight in a similar manner to the good captain, of course you wanted to pattern your costume after his.”
“I mean, that’s kind of the truth,” Hebert pointed out, raising an arm for an assistant with a tape measure to encircle one bicep. They’d have to re-do all the measurements anyway- Miss Hebert was in the throes of an incredible growth spurt, rapidly packing on muscle. The old photos of her had her as naturally thin, in a way obviously not achieved through time at the gym. The girl before him was lean like a dancer, or a gymnast; corded muscle lining her limbs. In another month, the researchers estimated her growth would begin to plateau, by which point she’d probably look like an Olympian.
“The best kinds of lies are mostly truth,” Glenn said. “And it’s the sort of lie that people will want to believe, because deep in their hearts people still crave a paragon like Captain America was.”
Hebert’s reaction to that statement was transparent- her posture drew up, from awkward teenager slouching and curling into herself at the attention from a room full of strangers, to a girl who earnestly believed that she had the opportunity, nay, the responsibility, to Make A Difference.
“Right,” Hebert said, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll see what I can do.”
So damn earnest. Glenn hoped the girl would be able to hang on to at least some of it once she got a taste of real hero work. “I’m pleased to hear it. Now, I understand you can use spiders to produce large quantities of silk?”
Blades rained down upon them, clattering onto the ground. Miss Militia fired another rubber bullet off as Carapace helped her limp backwards in retreat, taking most of her weight with one arm, the other holding her shield up to cover them both.
Of all the damn rotten luck, that they had to run into the Empire’s attack dog on the new Ward’s second night out. Now Militia had a knife in her foot and a serious cut on her thigh, and Carapace was stuck protecting them both and directing bugs to try and block the enemy’s line of sight. Meanwhile their opponent was sitting pretty behind a line of planted blades in a sealed suit of armour, jagged edges running along her arms and legs, and a serrated sword in one hand. More for show than anything else- she didn’t need to fight up close.
Iron Rain cackled loudly, flicking her hand to create another distortion in the air that burst open and poured steel blades down on them the size of kitchen knives, that bounced off Carapace’s shield and made every step a hazard as they layered the ground around them. The worst part was that Militia knew she still wasn’t going all out- she’d seen Iron Rain create blades 10 feet long in serious battles, though they were slower to emerge; and with enough force to bury themselves deep in concrete.
“You should have known the Empire would not stand by and accept your insult! Look at you two- you think yourselves soldiers? Heroes?! You’re a symbol of the rot at America’s heart!” Iron Rain jabbed her sword at them, ignoring the insects that fruitlessly crawled over her costume. She must have had it altered to counter Carapace- even PRT trooper armour wasn’t that effective against her bugs. “I’ve killed plenty like you, girl- you’re just another in a long line of fools aping Captain America’s proud legacy while you poison this city by allowing the lesser races to rise!”
“Shut your filthy fucking mouth!” Carapace roared with sudden fury. “Did you never read a fucking history book!? Captain America went to war to keep the likes of you from hurting innocent people! The Howling Commandos were the first mixed unit in US history! If Captain America were here, he’d be beating the crap out of you!”
“You insolent filth!” Iron Rain screeched, flicking her hand again. The distortion was larger this time, and higher up. Carapace ducked and spun, flinging Miss Militia over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and sprinting for cover, the carpet of knives clattering beneath her armoured boots. Militia managed to fire another rubber bullet at Iron Rain before Carapace rounded a corner and ducked under the porch of an apartment building.
Blades fell out of the sky all around- straight or jagged, all at least two feet long. Carapace dropped to one knee and pulled Militia off her shoulder, holding the shield to cover both of them.
It was a good shield- not the legendary vibranium of Captain America’s shield, that had been lost at sea along with him; and there’d likely never be another, not since the Simurgh’s attack on Wakanda had left their vibranium mine in a timelocked bubble, preventing them from ever finding more. Now Wakanda was too busy keeping a large chunk of Africa stable and fending off various parahumans warlords to spare any more of the most valuable metal on the planet. Carapace simply had a hefty slab of layered polymer and ceramics that could weather anything up to a high-calibre bullet, which her strength let her wield with ease.
“I probably shouldn’t have antagonised her,” Carapace said over the rattle of blades as they clattered over the pavement and bounced off each other.
Miss Militia shrugged, shifting her power into a combat shotgun. “We’ve all wanted to say it at some point.”
Carapace nodded, yanking a protein bar out of her belt and demolishing it in a few bites. “I think I’ve got an idea.”
“We need to retreat,” Militia countered, shifting her weapon into a spear to use as a walking stick. She lifted her foot with a grunt to pull the knife out of it- a shallow wound, at least- and tossed the knife aside. “We can’t hold out much longer against her, and she’s got more firepower than both of us put together.”
“We don’t need overwhelming firepower, we just need one good hit,” Carapace argued, now pulling silk cord from a reel at her waist and cutting it into lengths. “I can get you a shot.”
“Carapace-”
The rain of knives came to a stop, and Carapace burst from cover, insects wrapping around her like a cloak, obscuring her before she’d taken two steps.
Militia swore furiously, leaning out of cover to check. Insects formed themselves into arrows, pointing in the opposite way that the Master had ran.
“Teenagers,” Miss Militia growled, limping forward. Now she had to go with the plan, if only so that Carapace wouldn’t get herself killed.
The sound of rattling blades came from the street they’d fled- when Militia turned her power into a Cornershot and looked through the scope, she saw clouds of bugs circling Iron Rain, decoys a little bigger than Carapace, shield and all. Iron Rain spun back and forth, jabbing at them with her sword, snarling angrily.
For a second, Militia couldn’t understand why Iron Rain was so on edge- then she noticed that the decoys were somehow leaving tracks in the carpet of discarded knives that littered the ground around the villain. Iron Rain couldn’t know which was the real one, if any.
“Enough of this!” Iron Rain shouted, raising a hand up. A ring of shimmering distortion formed high up in the air, centred on her.
Four massive blades slammed down out of the sky, each six feet long. They slammed into the ground around Iron Rain like compass points, skewering half of the decoys and scattering the blades around. The decoys that were hit simply broke apart and formed a ring around Iron Rain and her four blades, obscuring Miss Militia’s view
“No more tricks!” Iron Rain bawled from inside the swarm. “Fight me, Captain Cockroach!” She slashed at a decoy, which simply slid to one side bonelessly. “Or should that be Sergeant Silverfish?” she sneered mockingly.
A fly suddenly landed on Miss Militia’s scope for a second- she flinched and pulled her eye away, only to notice a line of ants crawling across her boot. And further away, a long, thin line of insects pointing from her into the heart of the swarm ring, where Iron Rain was still ranting.
“You think you’re impressive, but it takes more than a shield to be powerful! That is why the sword is always a symbol of might!” Another distortion formed above, spreading rapidly. Militia didn’t waste breath on cursing as she ducked back into cover. Her power became a riot shield, much lighter than Carapace’s, to protect her side from any bouncing blades.
As the blades rained down, even louder than before as they clanged and bashed against the remains of Iron Rain’s last attack, Miss Militia could still make out the villain’s shouting. “True power is being able to destroy your enemies! All you can do is hide, deceive, and cower in fear of our might!”
A pattern of insects formed on the opposite wall of the porch Militia sheltered in- three dots, with a lit firefly at the centre of each. They flashed together several times; then two fireflies; then just one.
Iron Rain’s rant was suddenly cut off by a choked shout. A second later, the rain of blades stopped as well. Miss Militia switched to a spear again and moved as fast as she could, gritting her teeth against the pain.
When she rounded the corner, she was greeted by the sight of a swarm so thick it was pitch black, writhing and churning as the sounds of metal on metal rang from within.
Iron Rain came tumbling out of the swarm, breastplate dented and insects clinging to every limb, sword falling from her hand. Carapace charged out after her with a roar, her shield scraped and scarred. Iron Rain had barely rolled to her feet when Carapace hit her like a rhino, smashing the villain to the ground before hooking her shield onto her back and tackling Iron Rain around the shoulders and forcing her into a headlock.
“Funny thing!” Carapace snarled as Iron Rain thrashed and screamed. “You never dropped blades anywhere close to yourself! Maybe that’s your power’s weakness, maybe it’s self-preservation, but it means you suck at close range!”
Iron Rain roared furiously- her knees folded, and the two of them fell to the ground. Iron Rain’s free hand snatched up a blade and stabbed blindly over her shoulder. The point scraped off Carapace’s shield, barely missing her neck.
Militia switched from spear to a launcher loaded with rubber bullets and advanced, aiming for Iron Rain. Rings of insects assembled in the air between them, forming a straight path for her.
“Take the shot!” Carapace shouted, locking her hands behind Iron Rain’s head in a full nelson.
Miss Militia opened fire, a riot round the size of a soda can slamming into Iron Rain’s armour- and then another, and another as Militia marched grimly forward. They were normally as accurate as a wet sponge, but a restrained target at close range made it easy- and that armour couldn’t stop Iron Rain from being rung like a bell. By the third round, she’d gone limp. The fourth round was just to be sure.
Carapace released the villain, and she collapsed forward, unconscious. Militia pulled a set of cuffs from her belt and wearily tossed them to Carapace. “Cuff her,” she ordered, too sore to kneel and do it herself.
Carapace quickly cinched the villain’s wrists together behind her back, and then hoisted her up across her shoulders. “I wrapped silk cords around some blades, pulled them along inside the decoys to make it look like they had someone inside. None of them did- I was just waiting in an alley for her to get distracted.”
Miss Militia sighed. “You realise you’ll be in trouble for this.”
Carapace nodded. “I’ll take the consequences.”
The door to Wards HQ cycled open, and Taylor stepped through, pulling her helmet off. Her shield was back in the armoury, being repaired for surface damage.
Clockblocker turned away from the console. “So? What’d Piggy give you?” Beside him, Kid Win perked up, and Vista over in the kitchen area turned from the fridge with a wince.
“I have to write 3000 words of report on what I did wrong, and attend a course on street tactics and holding actions.”
“That’s it?” Clock asked incredulously. “I thought for sure you were going to get suspended!”
Taylor shrugged with a small smile. “I guess hauling in the Empire’s nastiest lieutenant gives some wiggle room.”
“Some? Try a lot,” Vista snorted, tossing Taylor a can of soda and a protein bar. “I get report assignments like that when I swear in front of kids.”
“Well, maybe it helps that the first thing I did was salute and say I’d accept punishment without argument,” Taylor noted, cracking the can and opening the bar wrapper simultaneously in a single motion perfected through long practice. She was constantly hungry these days- the analysts said she was on track to gain another 20 pounds before her growth spurt finally slowed. She was on medical orders to carry snacks with her everywhere she went, and Gram took an ironic delight in playing up the ‘pressing treats on the grandchild’ stereotype.
“Classy move,” Kid Win noted. “Seriously though, Iron Rain! I think that’s the biggest capture any of us have been close to.”
“Yet,” Vista noted, sipping her own can of cola.
“Oh what, you gonna drag Lung in all by yourself?” Clockblocker teased, swivelling in his chair to face Vista.
“Suck shit, Clock.”
“Language,” Taylor said mildly. “You just said you had to work on swearing in front of kids.” She was about to say more, but a buzz from her work phone caught her attention. She pulled it out and frowned.
“What’s up?” Clockblocker asked, swivelling back to her.
“Director Piggot wants to see me right away.”
“Oh shit, you think she’s changed her mind about letting you off easy?” Kid Win asked as Taylor chugged the rest of her drink and wolfed down the power bar.
Taylor shrugged expansively as she slipped her helmet back on, adjusting the eyeholes so they slotted over her goggles, and clipped the chinstrap closed. “No idea.”
It only took a few minutes to get to Director Piggot’s office, and only that slowly because almost everyone she passed wanted to congratulate her for bringing in Iron Rain. Taylor made an effort to be polite but quick, insisting Miss Militia made the official arrest, but only a few seemed to pay attention.
When she made it to the waiting room for the Director’s office, the secretary waved her through at once. “She’s waiting for you,” he said, “Go right on in.”
He was proven right when Taylor’s knock was answered by “Carapace, if that’s you, get in here at once.” She hastily stepped through and shut the door behind her.
Director Piggot wasn’t looking angry, which was a positive sign. On the other hand, she looked shaken- which was disturbing, because Taylor had always thought of her as cut from the same cloth as Gram; hard as nails and not afraid to show it. Armsmaster was stood next to her, and his bearing was equally off- not unsteady, but certainly surprised.
“Take a seat,” Director Piggot said, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. Another weird thing- apparently if you were getting dressed down in the Director’s office, you stood.
“May I ask what this is about, ma’am?” Taylor asked cautiously, settling herself into the chair.
Director Piggot took a deep breath. “I’ve only just received word myself, and only because Chief Director Costa-Brown feels you should be brought in on this.”
Taylor’s hands slowly bunched into fists in her lap. “I see.”
“An expedition in Greenland discovered a massive plane buried in an ice-pack. When they explored it, they discovered it was in fact the Valkyrie, the super-bomber that Johannes Schmidt used to attempt to attack the United States at the end of World War 2.”
Taylor very carefully did not point out that she already knew about the Valkyrie and its creator, since she’d researched that several times over at this point. Her mind was racing ahead with the implications of that discovery.
“And further inside, they found something frozen in the ice. Or,” Piggot cleared her throat, “Someone.”
“They found Captain America’s body,” Taylor said, fingernails digging into her palms even as she fought to keep her voice level.
“That was the assumption. However, when a Protectorate team was brought in to scan the plane and its contents, they made a discovery.”
Taylor blinked, feeling wrong-footed. “It’s not him?”
“It is him,” Armsmaster confirmed. “However, Dragon contacted me personally to pass the message on to you as soon as possible. It appears that the sudden immersion in ice, combined with his altered physiology, somehow perfectly preserved Captain Rogers in a state of suspended animation.”
Taylor’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying…”
“Captain Rogers is currently being held in a specialised medical facility in New York,” Director Piggot said. “They estimate he’ll wake up in a few days, and they think you should be there for it.”