CHAPTER SEVEN - PIGGOT

Director Emily Piggot sat behind her desk, her hands folded tightly over a set of reports that had been compiled in the chaos following Leviathan’s attack. Though her headquarters had survived Leviathan's attack remarkably well due to force fields and other safety measures, there were still parts of the building that needed repairs—both the mundane and Tinker variety. These days, her office felt more like a war room than a place of administration, the air carrying the tang of disinfectant and machinery.

Not that it bothered her. She had more important things to deal with. 

Her chair squeaked faintly as she leaned back, letting out a heavy breath.

“A god in my city,” she muttered, the words half a curse and half an incredulous statement.

The footage replayed on the screen before her, courtesy of Dragon’s body camera recording: a figure in red and blue streaking through the air, slamming into Leviathan with enough force to send a shockwave across the ruined city. The Endbringer’s movements were precise, calculated—but this cape, this thing, moved faster, hitting harder, anticipating each strike. He was not just powerful; he was surgical. Every hit pushed Leviathan away from civilians and downed heroes, giving the evacuation teams precious moments to act. Every block of debris flung by the Endbringer was intercepted, either caught midair or deflected into empty streets. Every casualty avoided felt like a miracle.

Piggot hated miracles.

The directors’ meeting earlier that day had done little to alleviate her concerns. Costa-Brown’s uncharacteristic optimism, while supported by the evidence, only added to her unease. If someone like that had decided to show up in Brockton Bay, what did it mean? And why now? It didn't seem to bode well for her or her city. 

She leaned forward, scrubbing a hand across her face. Another footage showed Superman flying through the air, somehow catching a collapsing building mid-fall, and holding it aloft long enough for civilians to escape. It wasn’t just strength—no, there was something more, something unnatural about how he made it look effortless.

The building didn’t bend or crack; there was no grinding of metal or splintering of stone—it should have still crumbled no matter the strength of anyone holding it. Instead, it simply hung suspended in mid-air, as if Superman had found some invisible thread that tethered it safely. 

That much control—it was obvious he wasn't a recent trigger. Nor was his actions, his altruism, something Piggot was used to seeing from Parahumans. Even Brockton Bay’s best—Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Aegis—operated within human limits and knowledge. But this cape? He was something else entirely.

The knock at her door startled her. She sat upright, her shoulders snapping back into the rigid posture of command.

“Come in.”

Deputy Director Renick entered, his face grim as always, though there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Director. Weld has arrived in the city.”

“Good.” Piggot nodded, gesturing for him to sit. “Have we established any contact with the man of the hour yet?”

“Not directly,” Renick admitted, taking a seat. “He’s… not exactly easy to pin down. He’s always active across the city, clearing debris, shoring up buildings, and coordinating supply deliveries.”

“What do we know about his capabilities?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. She just needed to hear it again—needed to ground herself in the facts.

Renick’s face tightened. “Strength, durability, flight, laser vision, and… honestly, Director, we don’t have a full list. Every time we think we’ve nailed down the limits of what he can do, he shows us something else. And that’s not even touching the sheer scale of it. The raw power alone…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Do Watchdogs have any theories?”

“They’re as stumped as the rest of us. No known trigger event. No records in any database, parahuman or otherwise. Dragon hasn’t been able to find any trace of him online, not even a passing mention. It’s as if he just appeared out of thin air.”

Piggot stared at the screen, where yet another video played on loop. This one showed Superman—an absurd, almost childish name—flying into the storm to rescue stranded people from a sinking ship, carrying them to safety while shielding them with his own body. 

“What do we even call this?” she asked, half to herself.

Renick hesitated. “The Chief Director believes he’s an ally.”

“And you?”

Renick didn’t answer immediately. “I think he’s dangerous. Not intentionally, maybe, but someone with that kind of power? Even a single misstep could cost us everything. And if he changes his mind about cooperating with us…”

Piggot nodded grimly. It was the conclusion she had come to herself. “What’s his angle? Why here, why now?”

“We might get some answers soon,” Renick said. “Armsmaster might be a better fit for directly engaging with Superman due to his technological expertise and tactical acumen. He’s confident he can gauge Superman’s threat level, and come up with counters for his abilities, if need be. Until then…”

“Until then, we will watch him,” Piggot said firmly. “Every move, every action. I want updates on his activities every hour, and I want contingencies drawn up quickly. If things go south, we need to be ready.”

The sheer power this newcomer wielded, combined with his clear control and resources, made him an unpredictable factor. If he ever decided to turn against them, Brockton Bay—hell, the PRT as a whole—wouldn’t stand a chance.

Renick gave her a sharp nod. “Understood.” He stood, hesitating for a moment before adding, “Director, if I may…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Speak freely.”

“I don’t think he’s here to hurt us. Everything he’s done so far points to him being genuine. Maybe it’s naive, but… I think he really does just want to help.”

Piggot didn’t respond immediately. She let his words hang in the air as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Turning back to the screen, she replayed the footage of Superman catching a collapsing building. For all her doubts, she couldn’t deny the evidence before her. But she had seen too many would-be saviors fall from grace. Too many heroes turn into threats.

And Superman? If he fell, only God could save them.