"God will forgive me. That's his business."
-Heinrich Heine
The dogs' cages rattled, setting off another round of barking.
"Shut the fuck up!" the handler screamed, kicking at a cage. This only served to incite the dogs to bark more. "Fuck!"
"Leave it," his friend said. "They'll just be that much more aggressive tonight. Boss man is gonna be here. Let's leave the mutts alone until then. I'll buy you a beer."
The two men left, leaving the dogs completely alone to voice their frustration and rage.
Almost completely alone.
The padlocks on the cages opened. Even the rusty ones made no noise, their mechanisms smoothed. They fell on the floor softly, making no noise. The doors opened.
The dogs grew quiet. The first one, brave enough or angry enough, took a step out of the cage, then bounded towards the exit. Inspired by his example, the rest stampeded out, a mad dash of energy at the prospect of freedom invigorating their strides.
Within a few weeks, most of the dogs will have been taken into pounds and put down when they prove too unruly. A dog taught only violence can not make a good pet.
The cages themselves broke apart, the chain linked wires curling, appearing nearly liquid in their fluidity.
The two men ran back in. "What the fuck..." the handler said.
The wires flew towards the men, and in wrapped themselves around them in an almost gentle manner before beginning to constrict. The men struggled, against the constraints.
"He-" the other man started to scream before wires wrapped around his face and mouth and tightened, cutting into his cheeks, muffling his cries. The handler's wires followed suit.
The girl stepped over them. Her metallic armor fit her perfectly. A helmet barely obscured her features, a Y-shaped slit showing brown eyes and thin lips pursed into a joyless smile.
The metal frames of the cages rearranged themselves to form a chair. She sat on it, and waited.
She didn't have to wait long before they entered.
Four men came in, all of whom had metal on their pwersons, but her eyes were only interested in their leader. A tall, strong man, with long, dirty blond hair. He wore a wifebeater and jeans, but most important was his mask. Metal beaten to resemble the shape of a wolf's head. Hookwolf.
He laughed when he saw her. The three others immediately pulled guns on her. Hookwolf put a hand up, holding them back.
"You've been looking for me," he said.
"It's time for you to pay for what you've done," the girl said, standing up.
"I've done a lot of things," Hookwolf said.
"You killed the rabbi," the girl responded.
"I've killed a lot of Jews, you're going to have to be specific."
"You will pay for what you've done," she said.
"I'll give you one chance, little girl. Go play hero somewhere else. Before I decide to take what you just cost me out of you," Hookwolf said. "You've got a loss, and I respect that. You want to come out of this feeling like a hero? Walk away. We can call it even. I killed one of yours, you've hurt two of mine and freed my dogs. We don't have to do this."
"You will pay for what you've done."
"Fine," he said. He was upon her in two blinks of an eye. She only needed one.
He froze in mid-air, half transformed, chains extending from his body in all directions. His men tried to pull the triggers on their guns, but couldn't. She pulled each gun from its owner's hands and pointed them back towards the owners.
"Let me go, kike bitch," he said. "Fight fair, you pathetic little-"
His words were choked out by a grunt when she pulled on the chains. She pulled the mask from his head, revealing a nose that had been broken a few too many times and bloodshot blue eyes.
"You killed one of mine? Only one?" she asked. She pulled the triggers on all three guns, their owners flopping to the ground. "Your people killed so many… and they still let you walk around. They still let you laugh, and play, and smile. And so many others can't. Because of you, and yours. Because of the shit you put us through."
"Fucking bitch." He extended more chains. That just gave her more to hold. She pulled harder, noticing the stress points in the chains. She changed her pull pulling from the base of the chains, the part embedded in his flesh, keeping the chains straight as well. She wouldn't want to break the chains before she broke him.
That would be stupid.
He kept releasing more chains, trying to relieve the pain, until they came to an end. He'd reached his limit. Good. She pulled harder. He started screaming. Better.
Now was time for the art. If she pulled too much, she might leave him with a core. The secret was to pull the chains off, one at a time. Each one came off with a piece of flesh. Very Shylock of her, she thought. Only she could take blood as well. No false mob would be hunting her down for this one.
Pretty soon, the screams stopped as well.. Was he… mewling?
Good. She'd done enough. Even animals deserved to be put down.
"Hookwolf?" She asked.
His head was transfixed, but his eyes were looking at her. There were tears in them. He looked pathetic.
"Bye bye." The chains she ripped off all straightened and rose in the air. Like spears, they aimed themselves at their former owner and flew.
Charlotte had to wash herself off before heading home.
For the first time in two months, the first time since Yom Kippur, she slept a full night. There were no nightmares.
"Baruch ata adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, shehechyanu, vekiyemanu, vehegiyanu lazman haze," sang Rabbi Greenberg.
It was a bit of a joke, Charlotte reflected. Her family, the Fittses, and Rabbi Greenberg's family were the only ones in the synagogue. They were only a minyan when they counted women. The only Jews to still practice in Brockton Bay. The only ones brave enough or stupid enough to stay. She'd heard it from her mother, but apparently Rabbi Greenberg had invited the only Muslim family they knew, the Halimis, to join them. They had politely refused.
Rabbi Greenberg. Hopeful or delusional, she didn't know. Mostly just… sad. Every Friday night and every Saturday morning, he'd come to Temple, to await families who didn't come. For prayers that he'd end up praying alone. He'd been a staple of Brockton Bay since the 80's, since his beard had been black and his belly massive. But it seemed that as the community left with the rise of the Neo Nazi movement in Brockton Bay, his beard had gone whiter and his belly shrank. She'd seen an old picture of him, back when he took the job. He'd been a bear of a man, with a smile on his face. Now he looked small. Defeated. He'd smile and thank her family for coming when they'd arrive for holidays, but the smile never reached his eyes.
One by one, people started walking towards the door. Melanie Fitts was the first. Charlotte remembered being six, and tackling her during her Bat Mitzvah. Candy had flown everywhere, but Melanie just laughed and hugged her. Melanie had had a sense of humor, back then. A slight smile to offset her sternness. But that had disappeared, as surely as the community had. Melanie had greeted her with an unfamiliar "Hello," and gone to sit with her parents at the beginning of the evening. Her younger brother had stayed at home, probably. They didn't speak all night. Charlotte couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, at that.
Melanie looked at her phone, a look of alarm spreading on her face. "Everyone hide!" she screamed, running to her parents, pushing them towards the back exit. Almost on cue, the door broke inwards. A giant metallic canine pushed its way through.
Hookwolf was there.
She stood in shock as Hookwolf bounded in. A noise came out of his mouth. It sounded like… a laugh? It was distorted by the lupine shape he'd taken. Her mother screamed, and pulled at her zeide.
Charlotte wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight back. She did none of those. She stood. Why aren't I running?
Hookwolf swung a bladed tail around, taking out the decorations, the wooden walls and plastic chairs. Splinters flew. Charlotte numbly registered a pain in her left arm.
"Come on, Char!" Her mother pulled at her sleeve. The tear widened. This was my nice dress, she thought. It was too modest to be a party dress, but she loved the blue of it. And now it had a tear on the left sleeve, and blood was soaking through. It was ruined now. She wondered if she'd be buried in it.
"Charlotte!" She found herself stumbling after her parents. Her father pushing her grandparents away. The Fittses had disappeared already. Smart. Rabbi Greenberg stood in place. He stared at the monster in front of him.
Hookwolf approached him slowly.
"Shma yisrael," he said, his voice carrying. "Adonai eloheinu. Adonai echad."
Hookwolf laughed again, a harsh metallic sound. He extended a paw, and slapped him. It was almost comedic, how the rabbi crumpled. And Hookwolf…
He didn't even care. There was no anger, no real emotion about it. Only a slight amusement. He looked at Charlotte. He took a step forward. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
She collapsed, thinking of stars.
"You haven't been eating," her mother remarked. The plate in front of her had asparagus and chicken, an old favorite of hers. She'd been pushing it around with her fork, watching the asparagus push away the grease with its own juices. It looked revolting.
"I'm not hungry," she said. She'd last eaten… yesterday. She'd had breakfast then, right?
"You need to eat, honey. I know that what happened was terrible, but we have to keep living." Her mother washed dishes as she spoke, loading them into the dishwasher after she was finished. She was always the type to do more work than was needed, to overcompensate. The large dish of chicken breasts and asparagus was also a product of that. If Charlotte were the hungriest she'd ever been, she wouldn't have been able to tackle it.
"Then what are we doing here?" Charlotte asked. He put down her fork.
"Excuse me?"
"What are we doing here? We were attacked a week ago. Rabbi Greenberg is dead!" She shouted. Her mother stopped wiping the glass she was holding. "There's no reason for us to stay, unless we want to be next! This city has Nazis, mom. Actual Nazis. Not just assholes, not just people doing evil shit, but actual literal Nazis. Did you even go to Rabbi Greenberg's funeral?"
Her mother was shaking. "You were in the hospital, and it was in New York. We couldn't..."
"We couldn't what? Go to New York? Go away? Go anywhere that isn't this shithole of a city?" Charlotte didn't notice when it happened, but she was standing. "I'm not doing this, mom! I can't go to a school where lockers get tagged with swastikas! I can't do this. I can't… do this."
"You can't do this? You!?" Her mother had tears in her eyes. "Do you even… We can't do this to your grandfather, Charlotte. He's not going to leave after fighting for this place, and we're not leaving without him. Do you know what he's achieved in this city? How much we should be thanking him? And he's not going to let these animals win. Neither should you. Don't turn your tail. We are not going to leave."
The glass slipped from her hand, and fell on the floor, smashing into pieces, clattering over the tiles. Her mother started. "Are you wearing shoes? Sit on the chair, keep off the ground. I'll go get a broom."
Don't let these animals win, Charlotte thought. Don't turn your tail.
The chicken breast looked good. She smelled it. Paprika and curry. Her favorite. She cut off a small piece, and took a bite.
Maybe she was hungry.
Her first act would be to get a costume. She'd doodled concepts, but couldn't find one that fit, until she absentmindedly accidentally flattened a spoon with her power. She had a moment of panic before she realized… she could do it the other way. She could shape the spoon, bend it back to shape. Erase the little scratches and tooth marks on it. In the space of a few seconds, it was pristine. Better than it was when her mother had first replaced the silverware in the house after a moment of panic.
Quickly, she drew a helmet. Rounded, yet angular, flowing… intimidating. She could do it, she knew. One good thing about living in a shitty city was the huge amount of scrap metal just lying there. Some boys from school made extra pocket money sifting through it, taking the good pieces, and selling them under the table to metalworkers. She could buy from them… or just get it herself.
If she had a full suit of armor, could she lift herself?
She turned on her computer. She was going to Google the shit out of this.
After two hours of flying around, she saw it. Two skinheads, approaching a black woman in an alley. She couldn't make out what they were saying from inside this helmet. She opened slits near her ears. A miscalculation.
"What's the problem? White ain't good enough for you?" One of them asked. He was laughing.
"Mikey, I think she has a problem with white guys," the other responded.
"Well, I don't like stuck up black bitches, so I guess we have something in common." For the first time, Charlotte noticed the knife in his hand.
She woman backed away. She didn't even talk. She looked so defeated. Anger flared in Charlotte's chest. She could stand up for herself, fight. But she didn't. She just… was going to be victimized.
Like Charlotte.
She crumpled the man's knife. "Stop right there!"
"Cape!" He screamed at his friend, then started running. They wouldn't hurt this woman, but… they'd hurt other women. Other people.
She picked up the lid of a metal trash can from one of the restaurants in this alley, and threw it It hit one in the head and she directed its bounce to hit the other one. They crumpled.
She flew to them. The second guy she'd hit was breathing, groaning. The first…
She'd hit him too hard. The back of his skull had caved in… blood was leaking out of his nose and ears. She'd killed him. She'd…
She threw up.
"Oh my god, thank you," she vaguely registered a voice saying. The woman. The one she'd saved, by scaring these people, by… killing one.
She didn't mean to. It was an accident. They were hurting someone.
They were Nazis. Why was she upset?
She flew away. She couldn't be here. She needed to get away.