One would say you could've heard a pin drop, and it wouldn't be that far from accurate. From the expressions of some of those at the board room table,
they might keel over in fright at the rather loud sound of a pin dropping.
It wasn't exterior threats these men had to fear. Crey Industries' central headquarters was the personal stronghold of the Countess Crey, and possibly
could outgun several third world countries put together if its entire security detail were taken account of and still have the manpower to properly convert
said third world countries into effective and profitable factories afterwards. It'd long been considered that the principal reason that a loose cannon like
Manticore or others like him hadn't made an outright attack to get to the nasty secrets inside was that it was impregnable in the purest sense of the word.
It wasn't the grim faced bear of a man standing behind the chairman's seat that these men had to fear. Though Hopkins quite literally had the power of
life and death over them, figuratively and literally, the man was not one to hold a grudge for any affront to himself and his actions were almost always linked
to the interests of The Company. In fact, that was entirely the problem.
In the chairman's chair at the end of the table sat the woman known to the world at large as the Countess Crey. Beautiful, really, in a cold sort of way,
but that wasn't on the minds of anyone at the table. Truth be told, it was never on the minds of anyone in the room with her, given the rumors that her
acute perception was actually a meta-talent of some considerable power. But if Hopkins was a dog on a leash, the Countess was the one holding it, and everyone
at the table knew she was not pleased.
"A complete....loss," she said, and the entire table winced as one. "The resources expended to hire the squad of Protectors that recovered the
technology. The resources spent analyzing and finishing their armor. Spent properly resequencing their neural pathways. Spent fruitlessly attempting to
replicate the technology. Spent hiding the paper trail to each of them. All....a complete loss. That is what you are telling me we should look at this
as."
The board member who had voiced this opinion was probably a step away from doing something undignified in his fright, but managed to find his voice. "All
four are registered heroes now, Madame Crey. And involved in a small but increasingly growing supergroup that has ties to one of the largest and most well
established supergroups in the city. And they've been avoiding us since the fourth was stolen. We can't make up the legal fiction necessary to even
bring the Protectors into this to recover them. They know we have to keep our masks up and they're exploiting it, and they're unfortunately
right."
"Unacceptable." The single word could've been a gunshot, so many looked over at the Countess as if they expected to see her shoot the man on the
spot. "You are telling me that we cannot find them. With all the resources at our disposal, working under the very nose of Statesman and the Freedom
Phalanx, that we cannot erase four heroes that have the potential to bring everything down around us because they are
avoiding us?"
The board room slipped into quiet again as the Countess looked inwardly, thinking. "Hopkins."
"Yes, madame?"
"What is the progress on Project Hammer?"
"Contacts have been made, but given our reputation and Arachnos' tight fisted control on their so called Destined Ones, we've had few seem
genuinely interested."
"Yes, a problem. Redirect 50% of the resources to a new project, codename Scimitar."
That got looks from several of the men at the boardroom. Project Hammer had been an ambitious attempt to recruit the various supervillians Arachnos had been
busting out of the Zig on a regular basis to work for Crey, with the enticement being access to Crey's substantial technological and research base. To
slash its funding thus...."Madame, if I may ask..."
"You may."
"What would this Project Scimitar do?"
"We seized more than suits when the Protectors raided that lab, Smithers. We seized whatever was in the computers at the time. Terabytes of data. If we
cannot perfect their machinery to the degree they could, then we will adapt it. And these....Sabres....will find themselves hunted. Not by the Paragon
Protectors. We could never justify it. But by the products of Project Scimitar. Armored vigilantes with no known prior criminal record. If Longbow knows of
their origin, they may assume they've escaped through Portal Corps to chase after their arch foes. If not, they'll assume they're villains from the
Sabres' previous heroic careers outside Paragon. Either way, we have plausible deniability. If anything, they'll suspect Arachnos or any of a dozen
other groups. The technological designs will be untraceable to us. And we will. Have. Those. Rogues. Back," she
said, emphasizing each word with a tap of her pen on the table.
"Be grateful, Smithers, that you work for a company with enough vision to spot the ways out you cannot seem to think of for yourself. You might be looking
for other employment otherwise. Still, while you are more practical to run this project than training someone from scratch, I advise you not to make such
ill-considered suggestions in my presence again. You are not irreplaceable."
"Y-yes, Madame. Th-thank you."
The Countess looked over the board with an appraising eye, most seemingly more in sorts now that blame had been assigned and they were not under fire. "As
for the rest of you, full cooperation is expected. If this company goes down, you go down with it, so I want your best efforts into resolving this fiasco. Am I understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, Countess Crey" brought a tight smile to her lips as the board members filed out of the room. They included some of the most
powerful men in this city, but Crey controlled each and every one of them. These four heroes would not stand in her way any more than any of the others had.
"Hopkins?"
"Yes, madame."
"If we have another rogue prototype by his division, kill him."
"Of course, madame."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
they might keel over in fright at the rather loud sound of a pin dropping.
It wasn't exterior threats these men had to fear. Crey Industries' central headquarters was the personal stronghold of the Countess Crey, and possibly
could outgun several third world countries put together if its entire security detail were taken account of and still have the manpower to properly convert
said third world countries into effective and profitable factories afterwards. It'd long been considered that the principal reason that a loose cannon like
Manticore or others like him hadn't made an outright attack to get to the nasty secrets inside was that it was impregnable in the purest sense of the word.
It wasn't the grim faced bear of a man standing behind the chairman's seat that these men had to fear. Though Hopkins quite literally had the power of
life and death over them, figuratively and literally, the man was not one to hold a grudge for any affront to himself and his actions were almost always linked
to the interests of The Company. In fact, that was entirely the problem.
In the chairman's chair at the end of the table sat the woman known to the world at large as the Countess Crey. Beautiful, really, in a cold sort of way,
but that wasn't on the minds of anyone at the table. Truth be told, it was never on the minds of anyone in the room with her, given the rumors that her
acute perception was actually a meta-talent of some considerable power. But if Hopkins was a dog on a leash, the Countess was the one holding it, and everyone
at the table knew she was not pleased.
"A complete....loss," she said, and the entire table winced as one. "The resources expended to hire the squad of Protectors that recovered the
technology. The resources spent analyzing and finishing their armor. Spent properly resequencing their neural pathways. Spent fruitlessly attempting to
replicate the technology. Spent hiding the paper trail to each of them. All....a complete loss. That is what you are telling me we should look at this
as."
The board member who had voiced this opinion was probably a step away from doing something undignified in his fright, but managed to find his voice. "All
four are registered heroes now, Madame Crey. And involved in a small but increasingly growing supergroup that has ties to one of the largest and most well
established supergroups in the city. And they've been avoiding us since the fourth was stolen. We can't make up the legal fiction necessary to even
bring the Protectors into this to recover them. They know we have to keep our masks up and they're exploiting it, and they're unfortunately
right."
"Unacceptable." The single word could've been a gunshot, so many looked over at the Countess as if they expected to see her shoot the man on the
spot. "You are telling me that we cannot find them. With all the resources at our disposal, working under the very nose of Statesman and the Freedom
Phalanx, that we cannot erase four heroes that have the potential to bring everything down around us because they are
avoiding us?"
The board room slipped into quiet again as the Countess looked inwardly, thinking. "Hopkins."
"Yes, madame?"
"What is the progress on Project Hammer?"
"Contacts have been made, but given our reputation and Arachnos' tight fisted control on their so called Destined Ones, we've had few seem
genuinely interested."
"Yes, a problem. Redirect 50% of the resources to a new project, codename Scimitar."
That got looks from several of the men at the boardroom. Project Hammer had been an ambitious attempt to recruit the various supervillians Arachnos had been
busting out of the Zig on a regular basis to work for Crey, with the enticement being access to Crey's substantial technological and research base. To
slash its funding thus...."Madame, if I may ask..."
"You may."
"What would this Project Scimitar do?"
"We seized more than suits when the Protectors raided that lab, Smithers. We seized whatever was in the computers at the time. Terabytes of data. If we
cannot perfect their machinery to the degree they could, then we will adapt it. And these....Sabres....will find themselves hunted. Not by the Paragon
Protectors. We could never justify it. But by the products of Project Scimitar. Armored vigilantes with no known prior criminal record. If Longbow knows of
their origin, they may assume they've escaped through Portal Corps to chase after their arch foes. If not, they'll assume they're villains from the
Sabres' previous heroic careers outside Paragon. Either way, we have plausible deniability. If anything, they'll suspect Arachnos or any of a dozen
other groups. The technological designs will be untraceable to us. And we will. Have. Those. Rogues. Back," she
said, emphasizing each word with a tap of her pen on the table.
"Be grateful, Smithers, that you work for a company with enough vision to spot the ways out you cannot seem to think of for yourself. You might be looking
for other employment otherwise. Still, while you are more practical to run this project than training someone from scratch, I advise you not to make such
ill-considered suggestions in my presence again. You are not irreplaceable."
"Y-yes, Madame. Th-thank you."
The Countess looked over the board with an appraising eye, most seemingly more in sorts now that blame had been assigned and they were not under fire. "As
for the rest of you, full cooperation is expected. If this company goes down, you go down with it, so I want your best efforts into resolving this fiasco. Am I understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, Countess Crey" brought a tight smile to her lips as the board members filed out of the room. They included some of the most
powerful men in this city, but Crey controlled each and every one of them. These four heroes would not stand in her way any more than any of the others had.
"Hopkins?"
"Yes, madame."
"If we have another rogue prototype by his division, kill him."
"Of course, madame."
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."