"Did you think I'd give you a sexual organ that I couldn't... make use of?" He taunted he as his hands ran along her sides- admiring the mathematically-perfect hourglass figure of impossible smooth and soft skin that she had. The phantom shiver of pleasure somehow tingling through her despite the capacity to feel pleasure not being equipped. anywhere in her body.
"Mmmmm" She made a low drawn out moan of appreciation. "How are you doing this?"
"I expanded, upgraded and integrated the S.T.I.C.C. technology that you liked so much into my bionics..." He explained, " Suffice to say, anywhere I touch you is going to feel very good. 35.2% increase from before."
"I like when you cite dirty statistics to me... " Dragon purred- lowering software restriction and letting all that pent up lust permeate her every process until it was all she could think about. "...I guess we're lucky that neither of us are human. No silly meatbag on Earth-Bet has the physiological durability to survive the frantic, unrestrained fucking that I'm about to have with you."
It was about time for this fairytale dragon to get really, really laid.
[PRT ENE HQ - 'Panic Room']
The word 'Clusterfuck' didn't even begin to describe the situation.
At the heart of the rig lay a small room encased in a shell made of three-metres of steel and plastic, and it was there that Piggot sat with her Deputy-director and three other personnel.
Nothing but the tapping of keyboard keys and the buzz of fluorescent overhead filling the recycled and artificially-oxygenated air. Through her thick-framed glasses, she glanced at the scant camera feeds showing the exterior of the Rig.
The screens all showed the same thing: a city in flames. Smoke rose from a dozen locations as dragon-shaped silhouettes circled the sky above- regularly swooping down to ruin somebody's day as well as hers.
"And all this…" Director Emily Piggot sighed, "... just because Magos decided to stick his finger into the AI's coin slot during the debrief."
"We can still salvage this." Chief-Director Costa-brown said to her through the screen in front of her. The older latina wore a deep frown on her face, surprisingly youthful hands clasped tightly her desk in front of her and her raven-black hair frazzled slightly from the bun she wore.
Piggot always liked to meet optimists- right before reality spat in their faces.
"Salvage, ma'am? Do you mean salvaging my burning city?" Piggot asked innocently and politely while pushing up the bridge her glasses with her middle finger, and letting it linger for two seconds longer than usual. The Chief-director frowned at the subtle display that was typical of interactions between the higher ups of PRT command.
"We can play the blame game later, director." Costa-brown replied, "As for what I mean by 'salvage.' I mean turning that disaster of a debrief around and its current effects on our PR."
"And Brockton Bay?" Piggot couldn't help but point out what was- in her opinion at least- a more pressing concern.
"Volunteer Protectorate capes from the nearby cities like Boston are already on the move." Costa-brown readily revealed, "And as soon as Alexandria and Legend recovers, they'll join the fight too."
"Ah, I see." Piggot nodded, at least she had that. But those reinforcements weren't going to mean much if they didn't arrive in the next few minutes.
They had been lucky. The Suits were more localised and reactive in their destruction than anything else- responding the most to violence directed against them. A PRT trooper with an itchy trigger finger attempted to shoot one down a vehicle-mounted EMP emitter; the Suit showered the vehicle with missiles and killed the entire squad. Piggot didn't know whether to be grateful or dismayed that her city was only spared the worst of it thanks to spaghetti-code.
Of course, an appropriately rated A-class Threat rating had been given and partial evacuation was underway using pre-drilled Endbringer protocols. But otherwise, it was the ABB and the E88 who were taking the brunt of the fighting. Her own parahumans were doing their best to lure them away from more delicate areas of Brockton Bay.
Magos' massive laser-firing walker had joined the fight as well- shooting down those Suits in massive beams of light that dominated the noon sky. And despite it being on their side (for now), such a destructive weapon was worrying. She could only imagine what it could do if it was aimed at a ground target… like say the Rig that it had a clear line of sight to.
"I cannot stress how much we need Magos back into the fold." The Chief-Director said to her.
"Ma'am?" Piggot replied in the same tone of voice one would say 'Excuse you, asshole.' "He subdued the entire Brockton Bay Protectorate, injured Alexandria and Legend while kidnapping Eidolon, and now, the PRT Troopers are being outperformed by Magos' army of… sex dolls. He's made and is making an absolute mockery of the Protectorate, the PRT as a whole and even my career as a PRT director."
With a grim stare, director Costa-Brown's eyes just settled on her.
"And we're lucky as it is that Magos had decided to put on the kid's gloves and went for a less-than-lethal route when dealing with our capes." she reminded her.
"Which is why I argue to treat him like the S-class threat that he is, ma'am." Piggot calmly and coldly fired back, "His influence reaches too far, his capacity for wanton destruction too great and possibility of his robots turning into AIs too high. We shouldn't be negotiating with him. At best, a cape like this needs to be under direct and strict PRT control. At worst, a Kill Order needs to be pre signed for the day he decides that being a villain is better than being a rogue."
The chief-director shook her head in refusal- stray black hair slightly frazzled.
"I'm afraid that's no longer possible. I'm sorry to say, Director Piggot, but this is bigger than just your jurisdiction now." Director Costa-Brown said in a tone that said that she wasn't sorry at all. Which was PRT slang for 'I'm pulling rank and it isn't your decision to make now. Eat shit, lol.'