Published at 12th of August 2022 9:14 pm

Book 2: Chapter 74: …Truth and Lies

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Anastasia’s proclamation was met with some confusion from the APD, but Gregoir grasped her meaning rather quickly. Echo, a lieutenant of the People, who served beside Champion for many years. The man was said to be able to copy the powers of any Natural, though the exact mechanics were unknown. Gregoir himself was perfectly aware of how a power could evolve over time, or even simply be misunderstood as something else entirely.

Few of his fellow officers would have taken the time to study historic Naturals. It wasn’t needed in this day and age. Naturals were a fraction of what an APD officer faced, or at least that had been the case in the past decade or so. Gregoir suspected that paradigm was rapidly shifting. With any luck, this whole affair would be ended quickly, and none of his allies would suffer from their ignorance.

He could see that few recognized Anastasia Summers. That was unsurprising. She’d never been one for the spotlight. Her time as a special forces operative was an open secret among those in the know, but pretty much only SPEAR Team members would have access to that kind of information, and they were all hospitalized. Connor, Gregoir thought idly, would be sad he missed this.

Gregoir considered this, and reached into his pocket. His wallet had a conveniently installed accordion photo insert. Most pocket sized photos were too small to make things out, but Gregoir had a wallet that matched his size. He unfolded the insert and pulled out a photo, taking his time while officers asked Anastasia questions about her presence and the broadcast. The older woman was dressed in practical boots, jeans and a button-up shirt, all done in dark colors. She was a civilian, but clearly ready for combat. Captain Gable was nearby, but seemed content to let her speak. It was a confusing image for those who didn’t recognize the woman.

After a pause in the conversation, Gregoir made his move.

“Would you sign this?” he asked politely, producing a photo and a sharpie from his front pocket.

Anastasia stared blankly at the pen, her mouth hanging half open, as if he’d stopped her mid-thought. Gregoir was pleased that he could catch someone so skilled off-guard, though it was hardly an optimal moment. They were getting stares. Gregoir didn’t mind—it was nothing new—but Anastasia might not be so accommodating. He cleared his throat, and wiggled the pen slightly in the older woman’s direction.

She glanced from it, to him. “And you are?” Her voice was challenging in a way that only the strong could manage.

“Gregoir Pierre-Louise, ma’am!” He flashed her a winning grin, then blinked, and added, “Though, if you could make it out to Connor Graham?”

Anastasia, once again, seemed unsure how to respond. She glanced from his face, to the name badge stenciled on his shirt. “Pierre-Louise…?” Her lips pursed, then her eyes lit up in recognition. She poked him in the sternum, none too gently. “You’re the one who fought Cannibal.”

Gregoir nodded. “I am. Sadly, I was unable to overcome the beast.”

“Yes, well that was a common issue with the man, once upon a time,” Anastasia agreed. She glanced back down at the photo, finally seeming to register it. She plucked it out of his hand, examined it, then her lips curled gently upwards. “You know my granddaughter.”

The picture had been taken at Daniel’s home, in his back yard after a sparring session. There were six faces present, all smiling into the camera. Connor and Freya, Abigail and Daniel, Gregoir and Cornelius. It was a happy moment, and Gregoir kept it close. Connor would be delighted.

“I have that privilege,” Gregoir replied solemnly. “She is a wonderful young woman.”

“Yes,” Anastasia replied simply. “She is.”

She took the pen from, scrawled a brief note across the bottom corner, and signed it with a flourish. She passed it back to him, and Gregoir politely thanked her.

“And what did you think of the broadcast, Officer Pierre-Louise?” the Summers’ matron asked.

Gregoir considered the question. What came to mind most immediately was obvious. “He didn’t mention Cannibal. Nor his apparent alliance with Coldeyes.” Gregoir quickly ran the video back through his mind. After a moment he added, “He didn’t even mention Austin at all. He was very vague.”

Anastasia nodded approvingly. “Champion’s image can’t be tainted by association with those elements,” she said. “The People won’t admit their ties out loud, but some people will obviously find out. Once that happens, some very unfortunate questions will be asked. Questions with obvious answers that idiots will overlook in favor of stupidity. Why is he working with Cannibal and Coldeyes? They must be innocent, or somehow less complicit in the many crimes they’ve been accused of. Champion would never work with them, otherwise.”

“It’s a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream,” Gable summarized, surprising Gregoir with his crass words. The captain seemed frustrated. “Champion’s face lends everything else credence. The claims don’t even matter. Champion’s reputation for honesty hasn’t been forgotten. In any other circumstances, the video could be dismissed as a hoax. Even Bastion being there isn’t enough. The problem is Cannibal, and the battle you’ve had with him. It lends the story credence.”

“If one person can come back from the dead, why not two? Or three?” Gregoir asked. He turned to Anastasia. “How much havoc will this video cause?”

She shrugged. “Your fight with Cannibal is still making its round on the internet. Unfortunately, the government’s inability to regulate online activity is going to bite us in the ass. No telling how many people recorded the livestream. Even now, it’s being distributed across the web, and there’s little that we can do about it. Some will certainly buy into it, though I couldn’t say how many.”

“But you have a guess,” Gregoir stated like it was a fact.

“I’d expect some small-scale riots across the country at the least,” Anastasia offered. “This was clearly meant to be some sort of major blow to federal credibility, so most of those riots, I suspect, will be spurred by the People or their agents. Others will be individuals looking for an excuse to cause trouble. Many still will be people who are genuinely outraged, or believe themselves in some sort of vague danger from on high. That the words came from what appeared to be Champion’s lips will weigh heavily on some.”

An officer hidden in the crowd called out, “How are you so sure that wasn’t Champion?”

Anastasia Summers glanced at the crowd of faces. Her eyes seemed to easily pick out the speaker. She considered her answer, tapping a finger against her chin, before shrugging.

“The Fridge had only just started construction when Champion died,” she said, finally. “We could’ve stuck his corpse in there, I suppose, but there was no reason to. His power is entirely too dangerous, even if it were repurposed. Absolute control of others?” She shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. His death was a gift to society.”

The silence after that statement was absolute.

Gable frowned at Anastasia. “You realize you’ve just validated some of the things he said?”

Anastasia rolled her eyes. “There’s no point keeping it secret now. Better to correct the record than deny the inevitable.”

She turned back to the officers. A few of the feds behind her looked discomforted by her candidness, but seemed afraid to interrupt her.

“Yes,” Anastasia said, raising her voice, “the Fridge is a real installation. It only housed criminals, and they were kept in cryogenic stasis in the hopes that their unique abilities could one day be researched and directed to the good of society. The key phrase here is ‘one day’. There’s no point sticking someone in cryo if you have to unfreeze them every few weeks to experiment on them. This was a long-term thing, sustained entirely by the hope that technology would keep advancing forward. Even then, the installation would never have come into being without a Genius obsessed with cryogenics. Nothing about the Fridge is malicious. It’s little more than a prison for lifetime convicts. The man on the screen was feeding you a wholly fabricated tale.”

“What about Cannibal?” the same brave officer asked. “We were told he was dead! What could possibly be gained from that murderous monster that justified keeping him alive all this time?”

“Yes, the public was told he was dead,” Anastasia repeated patiently. “It was decided that claiming the man had died in battle was infinitely preferable to the truth.”

“Which was what?” the officer demanded challengingly.

“That we couldn’t figure out how to kill him,” Anastasia replied simply. “He could survive the heat of a volcano and the pressure of the ocean. Most powers washed off of him and the strongest projectiles at the time wouldn’t even mark his skin. Oh, we figured it out eventually. Once spaceflight was mastered, it became clear that we could simply maroon him out there. But by that time, the Fridge had been in operation for a decade without issue. There was no reason to kill him, when the key to his immense durability might one day be discovered, and distributed among the civilian population. The risks were deemed acceptable.”

The frank explanation took some wind out of the speaker’s sales. He quieted, slinking back into the crowd. Anastasia’s gaze pulled back to face the entire assembly, which had grown to encompass a significant portion of the remaining APD members. Disturbed mutterings were growing among the gathered officers. State secrets were rarely spilled so casually, especially those of such a disturbing nature.

“The Fridge is no more,” she told them, speaking well above the murmuring crowd. “The People raided it on the same day that the Crew went to war with your city. We believe that Coldeyes partnered with them for the raid. The man himself practically confirmed it.”

That seemed to be news to Gable. He frowned at Anastasia, and asked, “How so?”

“I’ve watched the footage of your raid, and of the rescue mission in the aftermath,” Anastasia said. “Those pods that your people were placed in? Near-exact replicas of the ones used in the Fridge. Coldeyes was mocking you, and us.”

The crowd’s worried mutterings quickly turned furious as Anastasia reminded them of their fallen brethren. She was really quite good at this, Gregoir realized. She’d admitted to being part of what was effectively a government conspiracy, yet had directed their frustrated emotions towards her enemy. Quite a dangerous woman.

“It’s clear that the People and Coldeyes’ Crew are working in close concert,” Anastasia continued. “But none of you will have to worry about that.”

Her voice raised high, addressing the room.

“Listen up! Both the FATs and the National Guard are here for Coldeyes and his Crew. They are the target, and no other. Cannibal, Champion, and anyone else not directly related to the Crew are not to be approached, nor engaged, regardless of the circumstances. Until your SPEAR teams have recovered, your entire departments is woefully outgunned.

“At this time, we believe that Coldeyes is allied with the People.” She didn’t need to explain who the People were, or how dangerous they could be. That was more than apparent by this point, even for those who weren’t students of history. “It has been confirmed they have a Natural or mutate capable of teleporting multiple people. We do not know his range, nor how often he can perform this act, but at this time we believe the majority of the People’s leadership, Champion, Bastion, and Cannibal included, may no longer be in Austin. But if you see any of them, call it in, and stay away!”

There were more words said, more explanations given, but the overarching command did not change: Stay out of our way. This was not acceptable to Gregoir. He knew who he was, and what he was capable of. He knew that the faster this was over, the less lives it would cost. He stepped forward once more, to speak to Anastasia Summers.

“I believe I have more to offer than my eyes,” he told her.

She looked at him speculatively, dismissing the federal agent to whom she was speaking with. Her eyes seemed to bore into him, their presence undiminished by the years. He felt his fighting spirit stir slightly, but he quelled it. Something pressed against his soul, something large and powerful. But Gregoir was already both of these things, and he brushed it away.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “I do.”

She examined him for a moment longer, then nodded her approval. “I agree. Anyone who has survived Cannibal can be useful as a meat shield at the very minimum. Congratulations, Gregoir Pierre-Louise, you’re being drafted.”

He blinked at the comment. “Ma’am?”

“You’re part of my team,” she said. “I’m not here for Coldeyes. We’re hunting larger game.”

His big brow furrowed. “You said that the People had left Austin.”

“I said we think that they have. But I’ve brought an updated model of that old scanner you clever APD fellows used to ferret out Coldeyes. I’ve got people running flights across the city, to see if we get lucky again. You’ll be pursuing any leads that come up with me and my team.”

She knocked the back of her hand against his chest. It was forceful enough that Gregoir had to take a single step backwards. If he were any less durable, it might have left a bruise. Anastasia Summers grinned up at him.

“Welcome to the major leagues.”

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