He stood across from Director Piggot.
"Is the money ready?" she asked him.
He nodded as he presented her the case. The money in the suitcase was not pulled out of banks or any checks. It was absconded from gang stashes and confiscated assets. They were lost as far as paperwork was concerned either because they were "too damaged" or "part of evidence required for investigation."
Armsmaster hated that he and Piggot had to go this far just to keep the PRT ENE and Protectorate ENE afloat.
She nodded in satisfaction, but the fact that she was unhappy with this was clear to even him.
"When is he going to be here?"
Armsmaster looked at the clock on his helmet's UI.
"In an hour."
The person they were waiting for was a … controversial individual.
In many circles, he was considered a paragon of independence and justice. To others, he was a dangerous vigilante with the power to destabilize the status quo and thus the stability of the world.
But as far as both Armsmaster and Piggot was concerned, this person was neither a paragon nor a threat to the world. This person was worth more to them than the far away authority of Washington D.C. and the powerhouses that were Los Angelos, New York City, and Houston.
"I have a question, director," he spoke up. They had few minutes for a question or two, so he decided to ask it. It would affect his efficiency otherwise.
"Yes?"
"Why did you want to meet him after all this time?"
PRT and Protectorate ENE have been both in contact with him shortly after Marquis's incarceration. It had been a decade since then, and this made this individual the longest lasting rogue in all of Brockton Bay, one that survived Empire Eighty-Eight's assault and then counterattacked.
Director Piggot drummed her fingers once and then twice.
"I want to know what kind of person he is."
The rogue in question was young, which made his survival and flourishing accomplishments that much more astonishing for everyone. In fact, when Armsmaster first met him, he wasn't even ten years old while Armsmaster himself had just graduated from the Wards program. So shocked at the revelation of such a young cape, Armsmaster had stumbled over his words. The rogue simply gave him a nod while Armsmaster was trying to say the right words for recruitment and just left him. The second time they met, the rogue came to him and asked if he was interested in an under the table deal.
Armsmaster was about to refuse before the rogue cited too many information about the failing nature of PRT ENE. He presented his deal as a way to keep PRT ENE - and thus the city of Brockton Bay - afloat. He took this deal to the then director of the ENE and got approval.
Continued to this day with Piggot's own approval, this single deal was responsible for providing for a half of the PRT ENE's budget.
A whole half of the entire budget!
The rogue never gloated over this, never tried to use his leverage to gain something out from the ENE branches, and never took on additional requests.
For some reason, this satisfied Armsmaster.
Apparently, it was not so for the director.
"Cape title: Pickaxe-"
"I know what his name is, what his age is, how tall, skinny, and so on. It was in your chronicled report."
"Then what do you wish to know, ma'am?"
Piggot grunted. "Cape or not, people all have things they do to keep themselves sane. I highly doubt that this deal is his because he could do far more with it than trading with us."
This was true.
On average, Pickaxe delivered over a ton of gold each year. On "good" years, he delivered over two tons of gold. This made him, as a result, one of the biggest producer of raw gold in all of New England, and outside of the PRT ENE's director, deputy director, the previous director, and Protectorate ENE's leader, Armsmaster himself, no one knew about this. Armsmaster bought all of those gold at half the market price and sold it to the market at market price as a third party company unrelated to the PRT or the Protectorate. The company paid all of the taxes involved, and the half of the profit went to PRT ENE … at a whopping 13.5 million USD.
That money was barely enough to keep the equipments constantly replaced when they broke, pay all of the bureaucrats of the PRT ENE, pay all of the field agents, all of the employee's health benefits, and so on.
The other half of the profit was kept in multiple bank accounts, all of them collecting interest.
It irked Armsmaster so much that they had to rely on what was basically a donation from a rogue to keep a federal agency operating just to maintain that edge against the villains of Brockton Bay.
No.
He hated it, because whenever he thought of any victory he might have achieved, that nagging part of himself at the back of his head would always tell him just how much he owed the victory to a pubescent rogue. He looked over his armor and saw just how much of his budget came from the rogue's donation, how much of the weapon's parts were bought with the money from the rogue, how much of the field agents were hired with the rogue's money, and how much -!
He calmed himself down.
He didn't hate Pickaxe. How could he? Pickaxe came to them at their lowest and brought about this donation in the guise of a business deal. It was what kept the PRT ENE afloat.
No, Armsmaster just hated his inability and self-doubt.
"I am aware," he said to director's remark.
She grunted. "I hate depending on him."
"I agree." It was why the other half of the profits was kept without being spent. If Pickaxe ever turned his back on them, then the ten year's worth of saved up money would give them another ten years to survive on and find other solutions to.
His UI alerted him. He only had forty-five minutes before he had to go.
"Director."
She nodded to him.
He left her office to meet the legendary rogue of Brockton Bay.