(THE BLUE BEETLE OF BROCKTON BAY) CHAPTER FIVE

The Chief Director of the PRT did not appear in person.

Jaime noticed that first, almost immediately, and not because anyone bothered to warn him in advance. 

The next thing he noticed was Director Piggot’s office, which was exactly what he had expected from someone who ran a city like Brockton Bay under permanent crisis conditions. There was nothing here that could be mistaken for comfort. The walls were bare except for a framed copy of the PRT charter and a large map of Brockton Bay, its surface marked with colored pins and grease-pencil lines that traced evacuation routes and territorial boundaries. The desk was heavy and utilitarian, its surface scarred by years of use, and the faint scent of disinfectant hung in the air, doing little to fully mask the lingering smell of dried sweat and ammonia.

Piggot herself remained seated behind the desk, hands folded atop it. She looked tired, but not in a way that suggested weakness. It was the look of someone who never allowed herself the luxury of rest.

“There won’t be a handshake,” she said evenly. “And you won’t be sitting.”

Jaime nodded once, accepting the terms without comment.

The room’s main screen lit up a moment later.

Static filled it briefly, then resolved into the image of a woman seated behind a polished desk in an office that was much more expansive than the one Jaime was currently in. She wore a tailored suit, her body perfectly still, her expression composed to the point of severity. It was difficult to tell where the person ended and the authority she represented began.

Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown.

Even without Khaji-Da’s immediate identification and silent threat analysis running in the background of his mind, Jaime would have known exactly who she was. Power had a presence of its own, and she carried it effortlessly, even through a screen.

“Director Piggot,” Costa-Brown said, her voice smooth and unhurried as it carried through the speakers. “Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice.”

Piggot inclined her head slightly. “I wouldn’t dare delay you, Chief Director.”

Costa-Brown’s gaze shifted then, settling on Jaime with an intensity that made him feel less like a person and more like a problem that needed careful categorization, distance rendered meaningless by the weight of that attention.

“So,” she said, folding her hands atop her desk, “you are Jaime Reyes. The Blue Beetle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaime replied, keeping his tone polite without sounding deferential.

She studied him in silence for several long seconds, and Jaime resisted the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. He had faced gods, warlords, and creatures that barely qualified as alive, but there was something distinctly unsettling about being examined by someone who radiated authority so effortlessly. 

Still, experience had taught him that composure unsettled people like her far more than nervous movement ever could.

“You have placed my organization in a difficult position,” Costa-Brown said at last, not unkindly, though without any attempt to soften the statement either. “You arrived without warning, without documentation, and without a clear point of origin. Within hours of your arrival, you engaged Leviathan directly. Within minutes of that engagement, the Endbringer was neutralized permanently.”

“Killed,” Piggot corrected flatly.

Costa-Brown did not look away from Jaime. “Killed,” she agreed.

The word hung in the air between them.

“You understand,” Costa-Brown went on, “that in nearly two decades of Endbringer engagements, no parahuman force on this Earth has ever achieved that outcome.”

“Yes,” Jaime said. “I do.”

“And yet you accomplished it alone.”

Jaime hesitated, just slightly. “I had help. The other heroes kept it occupied long enough for me to act.”

“False modesty, Mr. Reyes,” Costa-Brown replied, her expression unchanged, “can be worse than arrogance.”

Piggot shifted behind the desk, her jaw tightening, but she remained silent.

“Let us dispense with formalities,” Costa-Brown said, leaning back in her chair. “You are not here because we are grateful, though we are. You are also not here because you wish to serve, though your willingness has been noted. You are here because you represent an unprecedented variable.”

Jaime nodded to himself. “I figured.”

“Good,” she said. “Then we can speak plainly.”

Her fingers tapped once against the desk, a small, intentional motion. “Do you have any idea what your actions mean?”

Jaime considered his response carefully. “A lot of people are alive who wouldn’t be otherwise.”

For the briefest moment, something flickered behind her eyes. Approval, perhaps, or calculation. It vanished before he could be certain.

“Yes,” she said. “They are. Your actions also represent a fundamental disruption to our understanding of power hierarchies in this universe.”

Khaji-Da murmured at the back of Jaime’s mind, running fight projections at a speed that made Jaime’s temples ache. He ignored it and focused on the screen.

“I didn’t come here to destabilize anything,” he said. “I didn’t even mean to stay. I was trying to go home.”

Piggot’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but once again it was Costa-Brown who responded.

“And yet you are here,” she said. “Stranded, as far as we can determine, with access to technology that operates far beyond anything this world has developed, bonded to a sentient alien construct that you yourself admit you do not fully control.”

Jaime stiffened. “I do control it.”

Costa-Brown sent him a look. “You cooperate with it.”

The distinction struck harder than he liked.

She continued smoothly, her lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it had carried any warmth. “Tell me, Mr. Reyes, if you had arrived in this world with hostile intent, how long do you believe it would have taken you to destroy the Protectorate?”

Piggot went rigid.

Khaji-Da’s systems flared in response, a reflexive surge that urged transformation. Jaime forced it down and answered honestly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And I don't want to find out.”

Costa-Brown regarded him for a long moment. “That answer is reassuring,” she said. “It is also insufficient.”

Jaime swallowed. “So what happens now?”

“Chief Director,” Piggot began sharply.

Costa-Brown raised a hand without looking away. Piggot fell silent.

“Now,” Costa-Brown said, “we determine whether you are a miracle or a catastrophe waiting to happen.”

She leaned forward slightly. “You have demonstrated enough restraint to earn provisional trust. Joining the Wards voluntarily was the correct decision. Cooperating with our testing protocols was also the correct decision. That said, understand this clearly: it places you under constant scrutiny.”

“I expected that,” Jaime replied.

“I doubt you understand the full extent of it,” she retorted calmly. “Your autonomy will be respected within limits, and your secrets will be tolerated so long as they do not pose an immediate threat. But if your presence endangers this world, the Triumvirate will act.”

The implication required no further elaboration.

Jaime nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

Her eyebrows rose, just slightly. “Most people argue that we are strong-arming them.”

“I’ve dealt with a similar situation before,” Jaime said.

That earned him a thoughtful look.

“Very well,” Costa-Brown said after a moment. “In addition, your technology will be observed, insofar as you allow it, and you will not leave the city without authorization.”

Jaime almost laughed at that, but stopped himself in time. “That last part isn’t exactly optional.”

Again, her lips curved into something that might have been a smile. “Nevertheless, transparency is preferred.”

She studied him once more, and when she spoke again, her tone had shifted slightly.

“You are young,” she said. “And despite everything you are capable of, you are still human. That matters to us. It matters to me.”

Jaime was not sure he believed that, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Piggot rose from her chair. “You will operate as a Ward under supervision, assisting in stabilization efforts, supporting remaining Protectorate assets, and helping deter opportunistic escalation by local villain groups. In return, you will be provided with resources, shelter, and protection.”

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze hard. “Do not give us a reason to regret this decision.”

“We will speak again, Jaime Reyes,” Costa-Brown said. “Soon. Until then, remember this.”

Her voice softened, just a fraction.

“You have given this world hope at a time when it desperately needed it. Do not become the reason we learn to fear that hope.”

The screen went dark.

The silence that followed felt heavier than the conversation itself.

Piggot exhaled slowly and rubbed at her temple. “You are free to go.”

At that, Jaime released a breath he had not realized he was holding. “That was intimidating,” he muttered to himself.

Piggot studied him for a moment. “For what it’s worth, if you had been less cooperative, that conversation would have gone very differently.”

Jaime glanced once at the blank screen, then straightened his shoulders, managing a small, tired smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gestured toward the door. “Orientation’s waiting. Welcome to Brockton Bay PRT, Blue Beetle.”

As Jaime stepped into the corridor beyond, he could not shake the feeling that killing Leviathan had been the easy part.

The real test had only just begun.