Chapter Text
"Hebert, Taylor. Captain, United States 1st Marine Regiment. 2304178."
"She's just been repeating that since she woke up, sir." An armoured trooper said to Armsmaster, as the two of them stood in the cells observation room. A young woman in green camouflage lay cuffed to a cot, not moving and simply repeating her name, rank, and a string of numbers. Taylor Hebert, codenamed 'Siege', was picked up earlier today by PRT troopers when they foamed her during a battle with the Empire, unfortunately the gangsters escaped capture; but, they got another dangerous parahuman off the streets. And, with the way her case is looking, they were looking at a new Ward.
"Where did you get the weapons from?" The interviewer demanded through the speakers.
"Hebert, Taylor. Captain, United States 1st Marine Regiment. 2304178." Was her only response, as she had repeated for the past hour.
"I ask again. What was your plan with the Empire 88?"
"Hebert, Taylor. Captain, United States 1st Marine Regiment. 2304178."
"Stop answering with that!" The interviewer yelled, starting to lose his temper at the repeated answer. "Where did you get the weapons! Who did you get them from!"
"Hebert, Taylor. Captain, United States 1st Marine Regiment. 1-800-EAT-SHIT."
"Do you know what you're looking at here? You're looking at over Fifty years for the stunts you pulled, in a Federal jail. We can pull some strings, get you twenty-five years with thirty years as a probationary member of the Protectorate, or you can get induced into the Wards with forty years service with the Protectorate as a probationary member." The interviewer gave his ultimatum.
"I am still awaiting my attorney."
"You don't get an attorney!" The man yelled, slamming his hands on his desk. "Not after what you did."
"I have the right to an attorney, and you are not allowed to question me until one arrives, as per the Sixth Amen-"
"Those rights are for proper, law-abiding citizens. They do not apply to you." He interrupted her.
That gave the girl pause, as she lay quiet on her cot for a few seconds before responding. "Are… Are you a Nazi, Mr. Interrogator?"
The man's scream of rage could be heard down the block. "That's it, I tried being nice. Maybe the probationary program will straighten you out."
"Will I finally get that attorney I requested?"
PRT case file: ENE 3872001052-W02100425
Name: Taylor Hebert
Alesis(es): Siege
Age: 15
Height, Weight: 5'8", 175 lbs
Affiliation: Wards (Probationary), Protectorate (Future, Court-ordered)
Criminal record: Murder (All-degrees), Grand Theft, Grand Theft Auto, Assault (Multiple types), Arson, Murder of Law Enforcement, Assault on Law Enforcement, Treason.
Power(s) and Rating(s):
Master/Blaster: 7+
Siege possesses the ability to summon various projections based on world war US Marines. These projections have the tentative rating of Brute 2 minimum, and all possess varying high level Blaster ratings. They are to not be engaged without heavy anti-tank/anti-air weapons and 2:1 numbers minimum.
Siege also possesses a sole Blaster/Shaker 8 power, raining explosives, napalm, or white phosphorus in a large area around her. It is unknown at this time if it affects her or her projections, though given her liberal usage of white phosphorus in close quarters does lean towards her being unaffected; or at least less affected.
Thinker: 2+
Siege is capable of controlling up to an observed twenty-five projections, and can possibly see/hear through them as well; including aircraft projections. Caution is advised when engaging.
Stranger: 1
Siege's camouflage uniform and body paint give her the ability to blend into environments, though minimally, her camouflage can be seen through by a semi-attentive guard. Although it will disrupt digital surveillance and facial recognition.
Overall, Siege is considered a low level threat outside of her projections, which can be mitigated with minimal preparations.
"...And I am proud to call myself a member of the East-NorthEastern Wards. Now we have time for some questions." Taylor, now self-declared DevilDog, spoke in a calm voice with clearly fake enthusiasm. Hands clasped in front of her, flexing her fingers as she finished.
Standing up from the crowd, the first reporter chosen by her handler spoke. "Thompson, Brockton Channel 9. DevilDog, what made you pick the name?"
"I am afraid I cannot speak on events that compromise my identity or the PRT's image."
Another reporter stood. "Lisa Watkins, New York Times. Can you tell us about your powers?"
"Unfortunately the PRT's PR department has deemed my powers 'un-marketable' and have forbidden me from using the majority of them." Taylor responded calmly, completely ignoring PR's frantic comments in her ear.
Standing up, a third opened her mouth to speak. Though was cut off as her handlers decided that was enough.
"Alright, that's enough questions for today. Please clear out, further press releases will be announced soon." With that said they hurried her off the stage, Taylor knew she was not going to be seeing anything but her cell or desk for a while.
Was worth it though.
She didn't even get to her cell before PHO blew up, they had found her code quicker than she thought they would. One of her Marines was using a phone he stole from some Empire mook to read the comments, and they were picking up on things she hadn't even done intentionally. Like her cuff marks, or a barely visible bruise on her face.
"What the Hell made you think that was a good idea?" One of her guards demanded, as he read some of the comments.
Smirking, she had but one thing to say. "Hebert, Taylor. Captain, United States 1st Marine Regiment. 2304178."
"For Fuck's Sake! You aren't a POW." He exploded, throwing his phone across the truck. "Why the Hell did you make POW signs on live tv? Do you even know the shitshow you just caused?"
"Fuck you. I'm still waiting for my attorney."
That only seemed to piss her captor off even more. "You aren't getting an attorney! You have been charged and sentenced to Probationary service. Deal with it, you brought this on yourself."
"Hebert, Taylor. Captain, United States 1st Marine Regiment. 2304178."
The man's angered scream put a smile on her face as she rode the iron horse to her prison, her Freedom Bird unfortunately still weeks away.