Limited Press Conference

[Ban Bean]

Spoiler

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Beatrice didn’t feel like herself, but she didn’t mind. That was the point. What she was doing was a little personal, and it would certainly be controversial. She wanted to distance herself from it, even if it had to be done. Besides, she could hardly make a professional appearance looking how she normally did. She was eighteen, certainly too young to look like a CEO. Looking normal would garner some level of respect.

Bea had taken off the nose ring and left off the black lipstick, and foregone her usual combat boots. Instead, she was wearing a modest blouse, a knee-length houndstooth skirt and flats. Solid tights covered the ugly scar in her calf. Her arm, still practically useless, rested in a sling. A lot of the bruising had faded, but she still utilized concealer on what remained.

“We’re ready for you, Ms. Waters.” An assistant said. “If you’re sure…”

“Thank you.” Beatrice said ignoring his concern, and took a deep breath, curling her fingers around the folder in her hands, before stepping outside onto the steps to face the cameras, reporters and crowd. As much as she’d like to keep this under wraps, the public deserved to know. Her project demanded accountability. She approached the podium and spoke into the microphone.

“First of all, let me thank you all for coming…My name is Beatrice Waters. I’m CEO of Waters Pharmaceuticals.”
Beatrice paused for a moment, and continued. “I’ve resided in Pittsburgh a short while, and unfortunately in this short time it has come to my attention that this city faces a pressing issue, namely Metahumans…It is not my desire to generalize a population, and I will not do so. I’m sure there are outstanding and fine metas out there…in the same vein it cannot be denied that many of Pittsburgh's citizens who do not have powers, find themselves at the mercy of a metahuman who wishes them harm. I’ve met people who have lost property, life and limb because the police are unequipped to deal with such threats.”

It was strange, commanding this much attention. Having people listen to what she was saying. Most of the reporters were hastily recording her every word.

“To help combat metahuman crime, it is my great pleasure to announce that Waters Pharmaceuticals has, at this moment, started to research, and then hopefully manufacture, a cure that would be effective on metahumans who uses their powers to cause harm. Our research at this time is using the DNA samples of consenting metahumans, who at this time wishes to remain anonymous for their safety and privacy. Our goal is to make Pittsburgh, and this country, safe for metas and non-metas alike.”

Beatrice set her folder aside, and adressed the crowd more fully, “I’ll be taking questions at this time.”

 

[Phoenix]

When Sam had initially decided to go to this announcement, she hadn’t anticipated having to go as an advocate for Metamorphosis. She had just wanted to go to support Beatrice and to check in on how the girl was doing. After all, she had been the one to help her with her leg. It was only natural she would be concerned for her well-being. She’d been surprised by the fact that the girl Todd had rescued, and she had helped, was actually the CEO of one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in Pittsburgh.

What she hadn’t expected was the announcement of a cure. Even the idea of such a thing, even the idea of a cure, made something under her skin burn. She felt her heat rising up to the surface. With a deep breath, she dampened it, burying it down deep. It would serve no purpose here. She controlled her anger, her heat, not the other way around. Her eyes flashed as she stepped up to the front, near the reporters. There were questions flying and microphones being held aloft. Sam didn’t need anything to get in there and make herself heard, however.

In the same voice that she used to call across the gym, her voice carried sharply above the din. “Sam Walsh, here on behalf of Metamorphosis. Your statement is all well and good, but you sound no better than a police officer with a thinly veiled bias. Tell me, how can you even say that such a thing will only be used on criminals? Can you guarantee that it won’t be used against law-abiding metas? Or what about metas who are only trying to help others?”​

 

[Creed]

Creed clapped politely at the conclusion of Beatrice's speech.

The sense of impending doom that had engulfed everyone seemed to have spared Director Creed. As a Branch Manager at Waters Pharmaceuticals, he commanded substantial authority over both product and procedure at the business. He was reliable, fair, and not unfriendly, though the nature of his job put a barrier between him and his subordinates. He wore a custom suit with a dark red tie; he had run a hand over his jawline as he watched Beatrice Waters deliver her planned remarks.

Beatrice had chosen to look professional today, which he appreciated. Gone was the little ring that hung out of her nostril, the black lipstick, the combat boots - the whiff of impetuousness. She was only eighteen, and obviously very young for her role, but stranger things were afoot in the world, and it all seemed just part of the spectacle. He did his part to show support for her and not undermine her authority within the company. His men answered to him, and he pushed for results.

A metahuman cure. He felt the little catch in her throat as she discussed it - the pressure on her, the attention, the uncertainty. She was so effete in her delivery - oh, yes, many metas are good people, no doubt, yes - apologetic right out of the gate, afraid of being torn apart on Tick-Tock or whatever it was. Fear of criticism from the wokies, the parasites who just liked to tear others down, who pounced on weakness while offering no solutions of their own.

And there was the problem of metahuman as the focus. He had been an advocate for terming the issue "abilities." Or "powers." But tying it so deeply to what they were as people - it played right into the hands of the advocacy groups that would raise millions off a fake discrimination issue. They treated it as an equality thing, when there were people who were fundamentally genetically empowered to be stronger, faster, and smarter than others. And poor sweet little Bea, Bea who wrote her own speeches, had bought right into it. If he weren't himself a so-called metahuman, Creed had no doubts he would be one of the cure's strongest advocates.

In a strange twist of fate, though, he still was. Harboring no illusions that such a drug, if it could be manufactured, would mean an end to his little double self, he was more confident that he would simply continue to do what he had done for thirty-five years, and hide his other half. Dodging mass administrations of the cure, if it even moved past the drawing board, would be possible. And then there was a question of whether or not the Creature would just burn right through it. To put it bluntly, a bullet to the roof of his mouth hadn't cured him. He was positive that his transformation was utterly unstoppable.

RIGHT ON CUE, it thought. It was spectating, too, behind his eyes.

Among the cacophony of voices, Creed caught a strong, confident woman (of course) speak up on the behalf of Metamorphosis. One Samantha Walsh. She was pretty, in the pedestrian way. And her question positively burned with liberality. He wasn't in charge of personally coaching Beatrice that corporations aren't hip, dude!; he hoped she would stand her ground and not take that obvious bait, what with the reference to police officers. Sure, he'd ripped a few in half, but that was the best case for the cure, and he knew it. But he wanted the money more. He cared about this fucking business, and now it was in the hands of a PTSD-addled teenager.

THAT WAS MEAN.

It was. He felt a pang of guilt. Beatrice reminded him so much of Mary-Anne. He wanted her to succeed. He wanted her to be safe. He didn't want her to wind up the target of some psycho with a manifesto, like what happened in New York.

YES, WE WILL KEEP HER SAFE.

That would be something. He didn't trust that at all.

Don't answer her, he wanted to say. But Walsh was nothing if not a commanding presence. She needed to be shut down immediately, but he doubted that would happen. What a fucking trainwreck.

WE WON'T FORGET HER.

Ominous. It should be a while until the next incident, though. He woke up the other morning completely naked and completely blacked out. Complete submersion. He'd scanned the news for any hints, but -

- but there was stuff to do. That had been his last thought, as he was turning. That he had stuff to do.

What had he done, after? It'd been busy, and gruesome. He remembered something about a thumb.

 

[Arcane Eye]

If Hazel Beauvois had thought she’d be on camera today, she might’ve worn a different outfit. Something simple. Black with accents, or – well, it was after Labor Day, but white would be a statement. She had a pink dress that was about the right shade and cut to be a little more subtle. Something like what Ms. Waters was wearing [Houndstooth, good way to break monotony, simple blouse, makeup to mask age, dark flats – not heels. Where’s the sling from?]. As things stood, what she’d gone with was a lot less “professional” and a lot more her profession, or at least what made her money right now: costuming. The idea had been that if the cameras caught her and her clients recognized her, she’d be making a statement, but she wasn’t supposed to be someone talking.

She and a few classmates had gotten together to come to this thing. Beatrice Waters was a student at Pitt-Johnstown – the commute was like, an hour and a half without traffic, and if she was careful about the cameras Hazel and her yellow Yamaha could pull it off in way less – and they’d come both to show their support of their most famous classmate right now, and to try to get a few words in edgewise. Internships were coming up for some of them; maybe they were hoping to get scouted, or do some pre-work. Sure, Hazel was looking for that, but she wanted a reason to come to town anyway. She’d be going to the Diamond after this to keep up her snooping, even if Obsidian knew about all of that.

Those plans changed with the announcement of the cure, and now Hazel was really wishing she hadn’t gone with the stark yellow collared shirt, purple and blue plaid jumper, blue loafers, and pink socks. All of which clashed against the green headphones she had to wear when there were this many cameras and microphones around, even with the attempted balance of her green nails. From where she was standing she could get every angle of the stage, if she wanted to. The only thing keeping her from collapsing on the spot was the ambient noise the headphones were making. Even her motorcycle helmet had bluetooth connections for her – and after the Mania concert, well, she was never too careful. From here she could see Ms. Waters, see her staff and the local director of her pharmaceuticals company [Square jaw, more commanding, tailored suit; money, professional career, good match. Red tie, classic, tasteful.], see the leaders of the press in Pittsburgh.

It was very clear nobody had expected this statement [Clear, professional, inexperienced rhetoric; very basic, self-written, sounds like a new political candidate but much more detached.]. There was a buzz of opportunity in the air. Journalists could smell that. It’s what caused all of them to circle like moths to a flame when they had the chance to be the first to cover something – or the most detailed. That wasn’t what Hazel was going for. Whatever it was worth, whatever it took, whatever it did to her – Hazel was going to be going after the truth. It was why Panopticon was written under a pseudonym. It was dangerous, but it brought the truth to countless people.

[Red hair, small build, loud voice, commanding presence. Familiar?] She shifted her train of thought to focus on the young woman who’d stepped forward, slipping her attention between the cameras that had turned on her. It was her best chance to get a closer look. [Golden eyes. Red hair, golden eyes – not Obsidian. Walsh, not Fielding. Meta. Familiar.]

She wished she had time to place where she knew the woman from, but there wasn’t really time. She didn’t know it, but she was having the same experienced thoughts as the man on stage – Ms. Waters would have to shut Sam Walsh down fast and hard, but not too hard, if she wanted to keep up appearances. As a member of the Vigilante Watch, Hazel had to agree with the sentiment. There was no more promise that the Cure wouldn’t be used on civilians doing what they could to help each other out than there was that tear gas wouldn’t be used on peaceful protestors.

But she wasn’t here as Arcane Eye. Her classmates were whispering to each other, and one of them was even looking at her. Her meta ability – really, meta disability – was an open secret. Nobody talked about it, everyone had guesses about what exactly it was, and everybody expected her to speak up here. They were journalists, after all. Even her classmates were looking for the newest scoop. She set her jaw behind her blue lips and watched the young CEO with newly piqued – and predictable, to anybody who knew her – interest. Waiting for her second in the spotlight.

 

[Ban Bean]

It would have been easier if it had been anyone but Samantha Walsh.

Beatrice wasn't stupid. She had expected backlash, leading questions and accusatory statements. A cure was controversial. However, they were now coming from the woman who had saved her life, with the assistance of another metahuman no less. Without Ms. Walsh and Cryptid, Bea would have bled to death in a dirty dumpster. She might have deserved the sharp pang of guilt that rose in her throat.

But Beatrice also knew this was a test of will, and public perception. If she backed down after making a controversial decision because of one detractor no one would take her seriously ever again. She'd be nothing more than a rich bitch with a empty head who shouldn't be in charge of a major pharmaceutical enterprise.

It was just like New Coke.

No one wanted this. No one wanted a change in the status quo, or to have to think of the ethics of a cure. Things were operating in Pittsburg the way people were familiar with, and a new different taste of the way things could be scared many.

Before the monster that attacked her in the park had a chance to manifest, Beatrice quickly controlled her thoughts, redirecting her attention to Ms. Walsh.

Beatrice squared her shoulders slightly and addressed Samantha with a polite expression, but a solid and steady voice. "I understand there might be a concern about improper use of a cure against metahumans, but I can assure you that the cure itself is in the earliest stages of development and we are nowhere near a complete product at this time. One of our aims in announcing this project so early is so that Waters Pharmaceutical remains transparent to the public about the cure."

Bea paused for a moment and shifted her weight off her injured leg, "We are committed to working with metahuman activist groups, law enforcement and other legal entities as the cure develops, in order to ensure that any issues that or concerns made might be addressed and mitigated before a cure is ready for use."

A sharp citrus scent began to waft in Beatrice's general vicinity. She took a moment, pausing to exhale and dispel the building scent. "We are concerned with the development of medicine and public health, so Waters Pharmaceutical will not be making a statement regarding policy about metahuman vigilantism at this time."

 

[Phoenix]

“You don’t need to make a statement. I think your phrasing has done enough to indicate your stance on the matter. Additionally, your use of the term ‘cure’ indicates that you and your company view metaism as some kind of disease. Don’t you think that making such a statement, that indicates you view metas as some kind of societal problem that needs to be corrected, is going to cause major backlash?”

Sam finally made it to the front of the crowd, her arms crossed as she looked up at the stage. Her face was stony, nothing there to show any kind of emotion. She could feel more than see that some of the cameras behind her were rearranging to capture both the stage and her, but that was less important than the eye contact she tried to hold with Beatrice. In her eyes, there was a fire burning over, one that roiled beneath her skin as her anger started to rise.

She wasn’t angry at Beatrice, but the girl was there and making the statement, so she knew how it would come off. All the while, she kept her voice even and her tone neutral. No anger could be unleashed here, in public, now that she had made the statement about being there on behalf of the activist and charity group she worked with. She had to be an example. She had to make a statement.

“What it sounds like is that you have no way of actually making sure that this won’t be misused, especially once it’s out of your hands. Just saying that you plan to work with law enforcement means nothing. We all know that law enforcement doesn’t take well to vigilantes– almost as poorly as they do criminals. Anyone, for any reason, could have this forced upon them. Crime is a pretty broad definition. That could be anything from shoplifting to murder. Does a shoplifter deserve to be stripped of a power theyve had their whole life? I ask again, do you have any way to prevent this so called cure from being misused?”​

 

[Ban Bean]

"Vigilantes are criminals, Ms. Walsh. Metahuman or not," Beatrice replied evenly. With Samantha getting heated, it was all the more important she remain calm and collected, and not stoop to the emotional display most activists were prone too. "And frankly the police, and Waters Pharmacueticals, can at least be held accountable for our actions, which is more than can be said for vigilantes."

Beatrice paused before she continued further. She had already said she would not make statements regarding vigilantism, and did not want to contradict herself. However, the argument was at the forefront of her mind. How could Sam not see that people didn't want anonymous strangers in charge of public safety. That the public had a right to feel safe, and also that the people protecting them were held answerable. The cure would help eliminate the need for vigilantes, since the police would be able to neutralize metahuman threats.

The monster. The mustache man. Redblood. Min'yo and Psych. All who had caused her harm, or were at least capable.

Obsdian, who even Min'yo seemed wary of.

Pittsburgh was a pressure cooker of metahuman crime, ready to explode if action wasn't taken. People like them- people like her- needed to be stopped if they hurt others. What if Pheonix went rogue? Or Obsidian manage to gather more gangs into his organization? What about the Crown Killer?

There wasn't enough assurance that anyone was safe.


Beatrice exhaled heavily but kept her composure otherwise professional. "I am here to answer questions, not to listen to oppositional speeches, and I have given you my answer. If you have no further questions, Ms. Walsh, I'll ask you to allow someone else the opportunity."