...very unseasonable rains can be seen in the distance from the shores of Acapulco.
The Brockton Bay Protectorate starts organizing volunteers to be transported or teletransported in batches to it. Heroes, rogues, villains, anyone's assistance is appreciated. A rendez-vous point is set for non-Protectorate capes wishing to volunteer, and Protectorate capes are informed of the situation via communication devices.
"Okay. So you were prepping something to take out Mincemeat, you grabbed the wrong gun, you devoutly hope he makes a full recovery, they will probably pressgang you into the Wards if they let you evade trial but I wouldn't say it's too unlikely."
Exhale. "I do devoutly hope he makes a full recovery. I didn't mean to shoot him, he was just a drug dealer, I don't even agree with drug laws."
"Mention that if it looks like they aren't buying it, otherwise this is a bad time to go into your disagreement with various laws."
Behold: Brockton Bay Protectorate HQ.
In they go.
Chevalier's waiting, arms crossed forbiddingly.
"I've got Lorica's summary," he tells Glam. "I'd like to hear what happened in your own words."
"I was making something to take on Mincemeat, then I ran into the deal and got the wrong gun. It was supposed to just be a, a stun gun, but then it wasn't. I'm really, really sorry, and I hope he makes a full recovery."
They do, though it's not exactly something they can properly explain without explaining the particulars of their powers.
Truth: "Recklessness. Not having properly thought about it." They sound rather embarrassed.
"Er."
They tend to be good at verbalizing their thoughts. The problem is, verbalizing their thoughts here is not allowed, and verbalizing a fictional version of them—
"I want to help people. I have a versatile power that has intricacies mostly if not completely worked out and that need thought, such as the one that caused today's—problem." Their voice breaks a little at that word. "Figuring out how to most effectively do the former with the latter is where I'm currently at."