Web of the Weaver: Sidestory, Mysterious Death in a Gray Boy Zone! The Investigator is called in! 1

Note, this occurs during the investigations arc, but it's a "one off" story, like a lot of the old pulp issues that were a short story separated out from any larger plot threads. The first chapter goes up on both Patreon and here at the same time.

*****

Going through my fan mail (!) was both intimidating and... odd. Me? An object of adoration? The PRT screened out the... odder letters, including one Image had told me about: the Church of the Superior Human wanting to pay me 50,000 dollars for my... ova?

First, Ick, secondly, I shouldn't be surprised. The Church had been around a while, promising ways to trigger, or become well, "a Superior Human" and surrogate parenthood was one of their ideas, a claim that a parent could enjoy the blessings of parahumans, even at one remove.

To no real success.

Then there were other letters, thanking me for my work in Texas. Most of those got form letters that I'd gone over before authorizing them. Non-committal, so that someone who was distraught wouldn't create a bond that only existed in their mind. It was, honestly, amazing how much work the PRT image department put into crafting an image. The cheesy PR events were deliberately cheesy to reinforce that the heroes were also human.

But some required my or Dad's input. Requests for political endorsements. (Denied. Not until I was old enough that the people would feel in debt to me.) Suggestions that I endorse a product, complete with mock-ups. I declined those. My thought was that the world could get along without genuine branded Investigator Boogie Boards. Requests for interviews... Those went into the maybe pile. Perhaps showing up in person would help me rebuild the image of an inoffensive and relatively minor cape, at least in the public mind, and one...

From Director Armstrong? Boston PRT? It was a request that I contact him.

Why didn't he go through the PRT ENE. They know about the letters, so it's not secrecy... Or maybe he didn't want to make me feel pressured or imply an emergency.

I called him on the phone The Investigator used.

"Director Armstrong?" I said when he answered the phone number on the letter.

"An Investigator." he said. "I was wondering if you could assist us with a small problem... but an unpleasant one."

"I am... at your disposal," I replied. "Though I'm surprised you didn't contact me via the PRT-ENE."

"Emily would have my guts for garters, and normally I'd agree with her, but this situation has the potential to blow up and an investigator who isn't part of the PRT or Protectorate..."

I cautiously spoke. "And it would be?"

"Boston has several Gray Boy containment zones and we... well a local high school student committed suicide. Broke in and killed himself. Why, we aren't yet certain yet, and our authority is limited since he wasn't a parahuman. But his family believes there's a conspiracy on the part of the PRT... and that we know more than we do."

"You want me to take your case and clear the PRT?"

"No. I want you to take their case and follow the trail. I don't think there was any malfeasance on the PRT's part. But his parents are very distraught, and I'm hoping that an outside confirmation of the nature of this tragedy... Well, will give them some closure."

"And if I find out that there was malfeasance?"

"I'm told that watching someone who richly deserves it get skinned alive can also help with getting closure," Armstrong's voice was grim. "I trust my people, but so does everyone who runs into corruption, and I'd like this to be rectified."

School had an in-service day on Monday. "I can spare three days without any issues."

"Hopefully, that'll be enough. I can pay you regular independent contractor wages, travel and food included."

"Very well," I said. I didn't really need them, but well, not making certain your employer paid everything they owed? We were a union family, after all.

I made my arrangements and said farewell, before I called up an image on the screen. A boy, colors washed out. A monster. A long dead monster.

And you still reach out from the grave to kill someone else...