Falcon: Nox Custos

Chapter I: Ghost in the City

Jason

I awoke suddenly, and found the sun already streaming through a gap I had left in the curtains. My whole body ached and my right shoulder felt stiff, and burned when I moved it in any direction. It was the ghost of an injury, but I had grown used to these during my time in New York City. Hell, you don't spend God-knows how many hours slogging at a punching bag without some trade off.

I rolled over, the bedsprings creaking under me, and I fished around in the black denim tangle that was my jeans for my phone. As I searched, a lock of black hair fell across my eye, and I irritably pushed it back off my forehead, only to have it fall back into place a few seconds later.

After a few moments of fruitless rummaging, I finally extracted the device, and thumbed the unlock button. It awoke with a slight vibration, and the inevitable angry "Low Battery" message glared at me from the screen, before it slid away and I was permitted access to the rest of the mobile.

Very little had happened, but this was not surprising, given my appalling social skills. Today, a Snapchat notification from Diana, an old friend from England, blinked at me. We had managed to keep this conversation for quite some time, only "slightly" hampered by our vastly different time zones. Instead of replying, I idly tapped the icon for the other notification. Hardly worth the minor effort, as it was a Facebook game request from some random person I barely knew. Worst of all it was for Candy Crush. That game is the bane of my existence.

I was about to drop it back to its place on the floor, when it buzzed in my hand, nearly making me drop it in surprise. A call, from Mary Jane, even though I was fairly sure she was only downstairs. I flicked the answer button and sat up, pressing the phone against my ear and hearing only the slight wash of white noise.

"Morning Sunshine."

Even without seeing her, I could hear the grin plastered across Mary Jane's face. It was obvious from her only vaguely smug tones.

"MJ," I sighed ruefully, sweeping my fringe away from my face again. I took the opportunity of examining the room I was in, as it was the most interesting thing I had going on right now. It was nondescript, to say the least. Plain white walls in a simple box, with an equally plain beige carpet. I had only one window, and the dismally thin curtains that hung there struggled to keep the sunlight at bay. An ordinary wardrobe, a cheap wood bed, and a desk, on which sat my laptop, which was one of the few things I had taken the liberty of personalizing.

"Yeah, Dad wants you down, like, now," Mary Jane continued, "He even made breakfast for us, isn't that nice?"

Another voice, this one quieter and slightly distorted, sounded out in the background, and Mary Jane paused, then;

"So yeah, he leaves in like, 30 seconds," she said cheerily, "Better get that damn fine butt of yours moving Jase."

"Yeah yeah, sure," I muttered, clambering from the bed, and beginning the hunt for some clean clothes.

"Why did you have to call though?" I asked, "You're about, what, ten foot away. Hardly deserves a call right?"

"Meh," Mary Jane replied nonchalantly, "It was effort to walk up there. Tick-tock, Jase."

She killed the call, and I tossed the phone onto the bed behind me, before returning to the task at hand. The clothes I had picked out where as unremarkable as the room I resided in. Black long sleeved T-Shirt, and blue skinny jeans, nothing that would make me stand out in a crowd. That was made more of a challenge however by my distinct Oxford accent, and the neon blue streak in my hair that seemed to say, "Hey, look at meeee! I stand out." The streak itself had been the resulting product of a dare from Diana, and she had made me swear to keep it I, so I was stuck with it.

Pausing only to scoop up yesterday's dirty clothing, I headed for the stairs, lobbing the bundle in the general direction of the wash basket as I passed by. When I arrived in the kitchen, I saw Mary Jane's Dad stood anxiously by the door, bouncing slightly on his heels.

"Ah, Jason, good," he said distractedly, spotting me with a palatable sense of relief. What was going through his head? Did he think I would have just run away again? As absolutely thrilling an idea as that sounded, I didn't want to cause the Watson family any more grief. The amount of trouble they'd get from Social Services for letting their adoptive son disappear in the middle of America's largest city would be immense.

Mary Jane realised my presence too, and greeted me with a mischievous grin.

"You ready for another thrilling day then?" she asked, pulling me by the elbow to the kitchen table.

I could feel her dad's gaze burning into the back if my neck, and I resisted the urge to look round. I had come to expect this from him though. He tolerated my presence, but had made it very clear that he did not consider me part of the family, and seemed to go out of his way to remind me of it.

He took a few steps across the kitchen, and embraced Mary Jane briefly, and she kissed him on the cheek. Straightening, he nodded to me, in a rather curt and cold manner. I watched him as he stepped out the front door, slamming it behind him.

"Jase," she said, and the concerned tone to her tone made me look round. She was pointing to something on my jaw, something I couldn't see.

"What is it?"

"It's a cut," she said, leaning in for a closer look, and I felt her hair tickling my ear, "A nasty one."

"I- I don't know why..."

My voice tailed away, and I felt my face flush.

"Jase," Mary Jane said softly, "Have you been in another fight?"

I stayed silent, but my heel tapped a nervous arpeggio on the tiled kitchen floor. Mary Jane continued to stare, as if her green eyes alone could convince me of speaking. They didn't and eventually she sighed, giving up. I was relieved, although not surprised. Mary Jane was used to this. Used to me.

"Come on then," she said, straightening up and slinging her bag onto her shoulder. She had set her expression into one of resolute, maybe a little bit of contriteness after getting another question rejected. From the hard line of her lips, I could tell she was a little ticked. "We'd better get going."

"Yeah, okay then."

There was no point in arguing – I couldn't tell Mary Jane the truth, but I hated it when she was angry (or disappointed) in me, so I did my best to make up for it in some manner of compliance.

I stood too, and glanced around the kitchen again. The plain white walls and stark black tiles felt a little comforting, more so than the idea of joining another new school. Unfamiliar faces, funny accents, irritable teachers – and of course the ever-ubiquitous bullies. The guys that pushed you into lockers and cheated off your homework, the girls who spread rumours behind your back, asked you on a date and pretended to forget. Those were always fun.

My history with schools has never been too good. Let's just say I've got kicked out more than a few places for picking the wrong fight, and keep it at that.

There was the sound of a vehicle pulling up, and Mary Jane moved towards the door. After a few steps, she stopped and turned.

"You coming?"

"Oh- uh. Yeah." I stood, and pulled my bag onto one shoulder and followed her from the house.

…

Amy

The hall was annoyingly crowded, people all bunched together and shoving past each other to in a vast melee. The few minutes between classes were always the worst. My radar picked up on all the small details that I couldn't filter through; the annoying high-pitched laughter, the hundreds of locker doors opening and slamming shut, backpacks being swung onto shoulders, millions of letters typed per second on tiny virtual keyboards, in plain view of teachers who would usually frown on that sort of thing if they weren't too busy dealing with the bigger problems.

For example: football players barrelling through the halls like they owned the place, throwing footballs as they went. Flash Thompson was a major contender, and I managed to duck a pigskin gone ballistic after a bad throw.

Something bright caught my eye. A small flash of blue. Stupid thing to notice. Probably a phone or something, who cares?

"Hey, you."

I heard Mary Jane's voice at my shoulder.

"Hey," I replied, my voice unenthusiastic. I tried to get across the message I wasn't feeling the Magic of Friendship today. I wasn't subtle. Not that it discouraged her.

"I have someone for you to meet," she grinned, motioning for me to look. "He's right-"

She stopped suddenly, and I turned. MJ was pointing at an empty spot behind her, probably her imaginary friend (that'd be new), and stifled a smirk when her face got a little irritated.

"Here," she finished flatly.

"Well?" I said, raising one eyebrow. I very much wanted to hear about this invisible friend of hers. I started to back away, but Mary Jane just shook her head.

"Oh no," She said, with a sly little smile. MJ seemed to guess what was going on. "I know where he'll be."

Mary Jane led me to the computer lab, a couple floors down. I followed her, not because I wanted to, but because Mary Jane was used to getting her way, and if I didn't do it now, she would bug me endlessly about it. She kept talking about this Jason kid, someone I'd honestly never heard of before, although it did kind of ring a bell. Then again, Jason wasn't an unusual name so maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me.

Upon reaching the lab, we had to look around the terminals to find the right one. The computer lab was as quiet as the library, which kind of made sense since everyone at a screen had headphones on and was minding their own business. The computers were arranged in neat rows on either side of us -five to each, and ten columns filling the room. There was a desk near the door where sat a bespectacled woman in a tight bun, who made us sign in before going any further.

I looked around, mildly curious. I had never been in the computer lab before, since most classrooms had their own shared laptops to use. And before that, the library had been my previous hide out (that or the girl's bathroom) when I wasn't hiding from bullies. On my breaks I either hung out at the gym or outside, where I could breathe real air. There were a couple of kids to the right discussing a Power Point presentation, and another one apparently dozing in his chair while Dubstep blared in his headphones, loud enough for the guy in the seat next to him turned up the volume on his own headset.

The person we were looking for was in the far back of the room, in the corner, apparently trying to be as far away from everyone as possible. I didn't really recognise him; he could have been any random schmoe I passed a dozen times over the past few weeks. He's the new guy? I was left feeling unimpressed. What could this guy possibly have to offer to me?

Mary Jane didn't seem to notice the expression on my face, or any other complaint I had voiced, and walked right up to the guy. He was leaned in, so close to the screen that his nose was almost touching it. His fingers tapped and danced across the keyboard, playing around with what looked to be a music program. GarageBand? MusicMeister? I didn't know, I didn't really go for that kind of stuff.

He was kind of cute, at least from this angle. He seemed fit, from what I could tell under his somewhat nondescript clothes. A well-muscled neck, a sharp jaw and handsome nose. Dark hair, seeming to be dyed black, and a bright blue stripe that instantly caught my eye. Yep, definitely remembered him from the hall. You'd think with hair like that, a guy would be more outgoing, at least outspoken about his beliefs. But for the life of me, I could not recall ever hearing this guy speak. He may not have even been here too long, I'd never know. He seemed to have gone out of his way to blend in.

She tapped him on the shoulder, making the boy jump and almost fall out of his chair. "Gah!"

Mary Jane stifled a giggle and whispered, "Hey, stranger. You doing homework?"

"No, why?" the boy hadn't seen me just yet, since I was standing behind Mary Jane. When she moved aside to introduce me, I saw the boy's face pale, his too-big eyes widen. He looked like one of those funny looking lemurs. Clearly, he recognized me - perhaps my reputation of breaking people's arms and setting off fire alarms had preceded me. "Uh, why is she...?"

"This is Amelia -" MJ started, but I interrupted her right away.

"It's Amy," I glanced at her, crossing my arms before returning to look at the boy. The longer I glared at him, the farther he seemed to sink in his chair. "Just Amy."

"Sorry," she winced, finally seeming to catch on that I wasn't happy about this situation. Still, she managed a smile, and threw it in the boy's direction, maybe to draw him back out of that chair. "Amy, this is Jason. He's my...friend. Say hi, Jase."

"Hi," the boy whispered.

"Yo."

There was a second of silence as the three of us looked everywhere but each other. I wasn't going to say anything, and Jason didn't look up for the task, so Mary Jane took a deep breath and said, "Right! Jason, show her your music!"

"Music?"

"Oh yes," Mary Jane said, bouncing on the balls of her heels, "It's amazing, take a listen."

Silently, Jason passed over a pair of rather cumbersome looking headphones. Large, heavy black things that pressed against your ears and hurt like hell if you left them on too long. I knew, Peter had a similar pair and they were as annoying as hell. They messed up my radar if turned on too loud.

"Well," Mary Jane said, leaning over Jason's shoulder, her hand hovering over the keyboard, "Show her then."

He shot a peculiar, almost apologetic look over his shoulder at me. Oh, good lord. That didn't bode well at all - did he think his music was bad? Or trying to tell me that MJ was secretly tone-deaf and couldn't tell the difference? How bad was this going to be?

Mary Jane said something soft to Jason, which I didn't quite catch because he just hit the play button. I was just about to take off the headphones to ask what she said, and then the music started to play.

I wasn't going to let it stop me; I wasn't interested, and politeness was hardly a priority for me. But then I heard the first few notes. I tried to appear unimpressed.

Then I paused.

And listened.

I pressed a hand to the headphone, pushing it to my ear even though the foam was already flush with my skin. It was soft, sweet, almost mystical, and far too delicate for me to like.

But it evoked something in me. Pulled at the heartstrings, so to say. I didn't know how to describe it. I'm not a touchy-feely person, you know? I'm not good at expressing myself.

I didn't usually listen to a lot of music. Movies were more my thing, and their soundtracks were good enough for me. Lyrics and stuff...they didn't jazz with my radar. Thankfully for Jason, his little creation was orchestral only, and that was enough for me to experience the entire thing.

It took a few minutes for the song to end, and it cut off rather abruptly, the sounds echoing away to nothing. And that's when it hit me. That's when I understood what the song felt like.

Loneliness.

And I hated it.

Jason eyed me nervously, trying to gauge my opinion from my expression.

"It's good," I said, keeping my voice neutral, and handing the headphones back. It was an objective response: the song was good in the fact that it was well-crafted. The kid knew his stuff. It wasn't good in the fact that I hated it.

But he wasn't being specific, was he?

"You sure?" his said, his eyes wide. Maybe I hadn't hidden my feelings as well as I thought. Or maybe he was just self-conscious. I decided with the latter. "I mean, it isn't finished and..."

His voice tailed away, and I shot a glance at Mary Jane, who shrugged.

"Yeah," I said. This was stupid. I wasn't going to mince feelings with some weird music kid. "I'm sure."

I looked back across at Mary Jane, and made a subtle gesture toward the door. She nodded, and leant down to speak to Jason. They had a short whispered conversation, and Mary Jane gave him a brief hug from behind.

I tried not to look irritated and was already heading towards the exit. Their relationship - he was definitely not her boyfriend, I could tell (What? I'm still a girl) - and they seemed very brother/sister towards each other, even though they had no family resemblance whatsoever. I was also pretty sure I would have heard if Mary Jane had a mysterious brother hanging around. That was also the same age as her. Yeah, not twins, no way.

Watching that sentimental closeness made me feel awkward and it felt better to pretend it didn't happen.

"What's the deal with you two?" I asked, as Mary Jane finally caught up to me at the door. A glance behind me revealed that Jason had already returned to his music.

"It's-... Complicated," she said hesitantly. Oh, good, I knew what that meant: Secrets, like I didn't have enough of those in my life. "And it'll take a while to explain."

"So you aren't related then?"

"No," she said, laughing, "God no, we're totally different."

"Yeah," I said, looking back over my shoulder at the figure hunched over the keyboard.

Something about him unsettled me. I could see it in his eyes, the weird shift in his shoulders, that bruising cut on his jaw that I knew from experience could have only come from a serrated blade that a kid like him should have no business being around.

He was hiding something.

That evening...

Night had swept in quickly, the sun pushed aside by the mass of midnight blue. Far below, the traffic seemed to glow, numerous headlights and traffic lights blinking against the black asphalt. On either side, skyscrapers reared up, tall and proud, silhouetted against the lavender sky. The air was cold and still, and the night was quiet.

A single figure lay flat on the roof of some faceless office, hidden safely in the blacker-than-night shadows thrown by a nearby air vent. He barely breathed, his eye pressed tightly against the scope of ugly, heavy looking sniper.

The grip of the handle was familiar, the press of the butt against his shoulder – it felt completely natural. He had been doing this for as long as he could remember (which, admittedly, only went back for a few years), and since he first touched a gun, he had never missed a shot.

His target was in the apartment block across the street. The building, a squat, ugly box made of dirty red bricks. A building that could have appeared in any major city across the world.

The curtains were thin. Cheap squares of grimy, once-white cloth which prevented nothing but total privacy.

Behind the curtains, two figures moved. The first being a large, obese looking figure, their wide berth a shadow against the window. A second, slimmer, taller figure, probably female, performed various "exotic" dance moves while the man watched.

Behind his mask, the sniper's lip curled in contempt.

He readjusted his position slightly, the cross hairs lining up behind the man's head, then moving skyward slightly. The sniper concentrated, letting his breathing slow, focussing solely on what he could see though the scope, and on the cross-hair that swayed with his breaths. Finally, he took a breath, held it, and fired. The bullet was spat from the rifle with a rather unimpressive cough, and it sped toward the window at nearly 700 mph.

A split second pause, then the huge figure slid slowly to the floor. No splattering of blood. No Hollywood burst as the head exploded. Just a small hole in the back of the man's head, now showered with a fine dusting of broken glass.

"That was a mistake."

The voice, deep and distorted, called out from above him. The sniper looked up, just in time to evade a blow from the owner.

He rolled backwards, alighted on his feet, snapped up the rifle and fired. His assailant dived behind a brick outhouse, and the bullet blew shrapnel from the wall.

He paused. He never missed. Never.

In the split second it took for him to register the impossibility before him – the bullet changing direction mid-flight, the unnatural speed of his opponent – he understood that he had overstayed his welcome on this roof.

It was a rule of his: keep things as short as possible. Any physical combat should be short, and should escape rather than finish it if the former option was faster.

He fired off another shot blindly, not aiming, not even raising the rife; a sloppy shot from the hip that, wasn't meant to kill, only to distract, before he slung the sniper over his shoulder and took off running.

Falcon

Falcon cursed as her helmet was showered with fine chunks of brickwork. This guy, whoever he the hell he was, moved quickly. No normal thug could have dodged her attack. Internally, she berated herself for not disabling the gun, but she'd got cocky, and now she was paying for it.

A second bullet whistled past, perilously close to her head. The sound of feet on tarmac, and she realised the gunner had made a run for it. She leapt out from behind cover, and gave chase. She unsheathed her wings and took flight, keeping her eyes on the figure below her. She accelerated, before dropping onto the roof in front of him. He slid to a halt, and Falcon could hear his breathing, light and slow.

"Don't even try to fight," Falcon warned. The sound warbled low and threatening, and she couldn't help but smile at the sound. Man, she sounded badass. "You'll lose, believe me."

The figure didn't answer, and Falcon took the opportunity to examine him. They were dressed in an all black, skin-tight body suit. Their face was hidden behind a mask that lacked any facial features, it was just a continuous black. It had a hood, the hem pulled low over their left eye, so that a large amount of their face was thrown into darkness. In the half-light, she could make out a lens, a glowing, blood red tear-drop shape; The only splash of colour on a shadow. It was quite an unsettling effect.

Falcon circled them slowly, keeping a wary distance. The sniper's eyes followed her as she side-stepped, but he didn't move, and didn't turn as she approached from behind his back.

"Why did you kill him?" she asked, extending a hand on the pretence of placating - but was actually trying to keep him distracted as she reached out to the rifle mentally.

"I don't explain my reasons." The sniper rasped, his voice harsh. He still didn't turn to face her, keeping his face forward, and his arms by his side. Falcon noticed the vicious looking knife that was strapped to his leg, and she made a mental not to be more cautious about a fight.

She could disable a gun. It was harder to disable a knife.

Falcon was still focused on the sniper's mechanism, intrigued by it. It wasn't often she got the chance to see inside a gun this heavy duty, and she was taking the opportunity to learn how it worked. A twitch of her finger and the trigger was disabled, the chamber jammed.

Suddenly, the shooter moved.

He ripped the knife from its sheath and lashed out, the blade scything at Falcon's stomach.

She twisted away quickly, and retaliated with a swift punch toward the sniper's face, which he managed to block and swiped again at her.

Falcon grabbed the sniper's wrist, and twisted. The knife fell from the sniper's hand, but he managed to get a painful jab into Falcon's solar plexus. A jolt of pain hit her, but her concrete abdomen would have caused more damage to his knuckles. He wasn't nearly strong enough to break through her defence and knock the breath out of her.

From that knowledge, she knew that he was only human. An incredibly skilled and capable human, but still human. No super genetics, no cybernetic implants, or AI system. That made it a little harder – now she had to hold back to keep from pulverizing him.

Still holding onto his wrist, she brought up her foot and slammed her heel into his gut (see how he liked it). She felt satisfaction as he gasped in pain, but it was short lived when he elbowed her in the head.

Instinctively, she released the sniper's wrist, and he somersaulted backwards out of reach, a hand reaching for a pouch at his hip.

"No, you don't," Falcon muttered, and she lunged forward. The sniper threw something onto the ground, and dived aside, and for a split second, Falcon was staring a white tube on the ground. A flash-bang.

"Son of a...," she hissed. Light exploded across her vision, and her ear drums were assaulted by a wave of stunningly loud sound. She reeled backwards, a high pitched screaming in her ears and black spots dancing across her eyes. To a normal person this hurt. To Falcon, with her heightened sight and hearing, it was excruciating.

She was vaguely aware of falling backwards, but the blindness and shrieking in her ears kept her brain from any coherent thought.

Eventually, the noise and dark spots receded, and Falcon found herself staring up at the night sky. The sniper was gone, long gone by now. Falcon shook herself, and sat up slowly, her head pounding. She exhaled and stood, staggering slightly.

Despite her splitting head, and a hip that ached from where she had fell. Only her pride had been damaged tonight, and she was going to even the score.

She spread her wings and flew in a lazy spiral into the sky, briefly silhouetted against the pale light of the moon.

She didn't noticed the figure perched on a roof edge below, the long rifle strapped diagonally across its back. For a brief second, the sniper's hand twitched, a motion that made to raise the weapon and fire. But then he paused, and stopped, his hand dropping back to his side.

"This got more... Interesting," he muttered, before slipping from the rooftop into the shadows.

Something worth noting, if you want the full understanding, go read The Solar Surfer's stuff. If you don't, do it anyway, she's a damn good writer.