Helheim's kitchen

by Tmaster123

Vigilante AU/Modern AU: Haunted by his past and the death of his mentor, Hiccup decides to step in where the justice system is flawed and take matters into his own hands. But how will he fare after being thrust into a world crammed full of pompous superheroes and vaguely familiar villains?

2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Blind

Bloodshot eyes stared into the darkness. Darkness, that's all his eyes will ever see – nothing more, nothing less; not that he was complaining, he's learned to live with it. He's managed to adapt.

It's all ironic really. There's so much that humans don't see: the ultraviolet spectrum, infrared radiation, X-Rays. Yet, even knowing this, our brains continue to persist that what we see is what exists. Eyes blind. Harper's not blind.

Harper rolled off his bed with a grunt. He hissed a curse as his body slammed into the wooden flooring, refusing to follow the orders he gave it. The shock of the fall helped to shift some of the haziness of sleep and once the fog began to thin out, tangible thoughts developed. The first thing to surface in his brain was the temptation to climb back in bed; it was borderline unbearable. With effort, Harper managed to shove the incentive away and sit up. Pain flared in his shoulder. He interdicted the cry that threatened to escape through his lips, wincing as he reached around to check the stitches in his shoulder; they held. Good. The last thing he wanted to wake up to was popped stitches. He ran a careful hand through the auburn hairs strewn across his head and gave a short yawn. This time, cautious as to not aggravate the wound on his shoulder, he gently pulled himself to his feet and dragged the sack of meat and bones, that was his body, to the bathroom, splashing water over his face to alleviate the remaining tiredness that tormented him.

As his calloused fingers rested on his damp skin he took a moment to map out the various nuances of his appearance: the faint scarring around his eyes, the high cheekbones, his sharp chin, the overall angular features that gave hint to a Nordic background. A hiss escaped his lips as a stray finger brushed his split lip. He imagined his skin to be pale, just as his mother's was, and the freckles that were once sprinkled over the bridge of his nose to be faded to virtually nothing. His brain compiled this information into a single, vivid mental image, a face – his face.

Harper sniffed the air then blanched; an offensive smell burned at his nostrils and seared his lungs. What was that? He rose his arm and winced as he identified the malodour's source. It was definitely time for a shower. He stripped, climbed into the shower and twisted the knob clockwise, prompting a downpour of ice-cold water. He relished in the blissful numbing power the water had and the temporary ease it offered his aching body. The skin around his scars tightened and his hand instinctively rose to settle on a large white scar that ran across his chest diagonally. Every mark on his body told a story, or so his ex-girlfriend used to say. Despite his attempt at diverting his thoughts, they continued to linger on her; that intoxicating smile of hers haunting his thoughts once again as he recalled the way she used to run her fingers across the scars, the way she used to trace circles on his skin until her touch was seared into his mind, the way she. . . Harper shook his head.

A short while later, Harper padded out of the bathroom with a contemplative frown. One of his hands trailed against the bare brick walls as he entered the living room. His thoughts abruptly became trained his father; a minimalist who had seen the beauty in the rawness of such things. As a child, Harper had found it ugly, but now, he finally saw it, or felt it: the beauty in imperfection and asymmetry. That likely explained why he loved the shithole that was Helheim's Kitchen - the worst city in the entire archipelago. His city. Close by, something scraped across the floor. Harper snapped towards the sound, eyes narrowing in the direction of the disruption.

'Toothless!' He called. A small grunt sounded from behind the couch and a pitch black Bay Retriever trotted to him, tail wagging excitedly. Harper's brows lowered. 'What did you do?'

The dog yipped then placed down a pale-green shirt that was stained a shade darker by saliva. Harper reached down to pick it up, his face contorting in disgust as his fingers pressed against the wet fabric.

'Thanks bud, but I prefer my clothes not soaked in dog slobber.' He stated, setting the shirt aside. 'You hungry?' He asked as he entered the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards for dog food. Toothless barked. With a smile, he poured the processed meat chunks into a bowl for Toothless to eat.

'Today's the day,' Harper stated out of the blue as he tucked into his own food – a dreary bowl of oatmeal with about as much flavour as the streets of Helheim's kitchen. The dog glanced up from his bowl briefly, giving the man a questioning glance. 'Fishlegs and I are opening our law firm, remember? I told you this before.' He continued as though he was answering the dog's unspoken question. 'Think about it bud, I don't have to wait 'til night to help change the city for the better.' A small smile slithered onto his features as he sat, revelling in the moment. 'Harper Haddock doesn't have to be the mask anymore.'

Despite his inability to see through his eyes, his forest green pupils still found their way to the oatmeal. Another spoonful entered his mouth, though abruptly fell out when his phone began to vibrate. A synthetic voice announced that it was Franklin, or as he called him: Fishlegs, his best friend. With practised ease, he guided his thumb to the accept button.

'Hey 'legs,' he greeted, prodding at his breakfast. 'What's going on?'

'Oh, so you are alive.' His friend exclaimed. 'Dude, were you ignoring my calls yesterday?'

'Nah,' Harper sighed. 'I was busy.'

'Ah, it was one of those days then?' Franklin asked.

Harper could hear the frown in his friend's voice; he spooned some more oatmeal into his mouth, mulling over ways to prevent this conversation from going down the usual course. 'I was thinking that I'll leave early.' He said, redirecting the conversation. 'Maybe then, I'll only be a little late.'

Franklin chuckled. 'Don't bother. I'm coming to pick you up.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, knowing you, you'd decide to stop a few muggings on your journey to the firm. A reliable source, called common sense, told me that people don't like bloody, disgruntled lawyers.'

'Yeah? Well, common sense in Helheim's kitchen also says that alcohol should be three-quarters of the average man's diet.'

'Touche.' The loud chatter in the background of Franklin's side of the call silenced to barely audible mumbles at the sound of a car door slamming shut. 'I'll be there in fifteen, Hiccup. Be ready.'

'Will do.'

With that, the line went dead. Harper scarfed down the rest of his breakfast then scowling, turned to face the slobbery shirt he had discarded on the sofa and for the second time said, 'Thank you,' sarcasm evident in his tone while addressing the seemingly amused dog. Toothless watched him with something close to a grin on his lupine features.

Harper pulled on the shirt and the rest of the clothes he had set out yesterday. The smart jacket and tie hid the majority of the wet patches, though he grimaced in discomfort with every move made, both in pain and disgust. As promised, Franklin knocked on the door fifteen minutes later. Harper opened it, smiling at his friend's attire. As opposed to his usual baggy casual wear he wore a smart navy blue suit. Harper suddenly understood why his friend usually wore loose fitting clothes. His blazer seemed to be waging war against his gut, the buttons straining to perform their duty. Harper smirked. A blind man such as himself shouldn't be noticing such things.

Franklin stared at Harper for a moment, performing an analysis of his own. 'You look like shit.' He concluded.

'I feel like shit too.' Harper sighed as his friend bent down to pet Toothless. 'You shouldn't be petting my guide dog.'

Franklin snorted. 'Guide dog? You guide him more than he does you.'

Harper stepped out of his apartment. The door closed behind him with a soft click. 'Yeah, but nobody else knows that.' His lips quirked up in a smile as Toothless began weaving between Franklin's legs while they approached the exit to the apartment complex, nearly tripping him a few times. 'I don't think he appreciated your comment.'

'Okay, Toothless, I get it.' Franklin sighed. Toothless tripped Franklin one more time. Satisfied, the dog followed the pair into the car, sprawling across the seats in the vehicle's back. Harper settled in after him, his aching leg finally finding relief as he relaxed into the overly-plush upholstery. Soon, he found the car's comfort tearing a yawn from his mouth.

Franklin rose an eyebrow, his rotund face donning a frown. 'Exactly how long did you stay up for this extracurricular hobby of yours?'

''Til dawn.'

Franklin glared at Harper.

'What?'

'Hiccup, I'm-'

'Worried about me.' Harper finished. 'So you tell me, every single time we meet.'

'With reason.' Franklin snapped back, he held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. 'You rarely come back from your. . . night job without injury. You're lucky, always have been, but every time you go out there, the likelihood of your next injury being fatal increases. Sooner or later that luck will run out.'

Of course Fishlegs would consider this all logically. 'That's where you're wrong, Fish. I'm not lucky, I'm skilled.'

'Are you skilled or is the demon?' At Harper's confused expression Franklin decided to continue. 'When you put on that armour you become someone else,' Franklin hesitated. 'Someone that completely disregards danger in its entirety. It's like you don't feel fear.'

Harper's brows lowered. 'You say that like it's a bad thing.'

'Humans experience fear for a reason, Hic. It protects us.'

'Well the last time I let fear control me, I was blinded and got an inch long shard of metal lodged in my head.'

Franklin frowned and turned to stare at his best friend. Harper somehow met the gaze, his dulled green eyes revealing nothing. A car honked its horn in the distance and without missing a beat, Harper reached out and grabbed the steering wheel, turning the car out of the way of a collision. Franklin smiled and Harper found that it was his time to frown.

'Blind, huh?' The large man asked. 'Harper,' Franklin began, his use of his friend's real name feeling foreign on his tongue. 'You should know by now that the blind card stopped working on me a long time ago.'

Damn. Harper remained silent for the rest of the journey; he was used to having these conversations with Franklin but this time it was different. There was a weight to the man's words that Harper hadn't anticipated. A few minutes later the car pulled into a space in front of a single floored building composed of the usual dirt brown bricks found in the city. It was painfully average; the only distinguishing part of the building was the worn sign of the business that had once owned the building plastered high on its walls. The windows were boarded and the door hung lopsided on its hinges. Harper stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. With two clicks, he assembled his cane. He stood still for a moment, hands ringing the cane's handle.

Breaking him from his reverie, Harper's heavyset friend dragged him into what would be their law firm. Franklin held an evident perk in his steps, his blonde hair bouncing and his blue eyes darting around the room as though this wasn't his sixth time seeing it. He seems to have gotten over our conversation. Toothless released a chain of sneezes, the dust around him moving away in bursts with each one.

'This building isn't much now but it'll be enough until we get our big break. I mean, all great heroes start from humble beginnings, right?' Franklin asked. 'We'll fix this place up and within a year we'll have our own television commercials: Haddock and Ingerman . . . attorneys at law.'

Harper shook his head. 'Ingerman and Haddock sounds better.' He corrected.

Franklin smiled and a tension Harper hadn't been aware was there seemed to slip away. 'Thanks, man, that means a lot.' He settled into a swivel chair with a satisfied grin. Dust exploded into a cloud around him though the stout man stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. 'Now, all we need is a secretary, then we'll be a real firm.'

Harper snorted. 'What will we pay the secretary with? Friendship? The amount we spent on this building barely left us enough money to look after ourselves, let alone to pay a secretary at minimum wage.'

'Enough money yet.' Franklin corrected. 'And speaking of secretaries, I came across a particularly interesting story about one the other day.'

Harper leaned forward. He had no doubt that Franklin had purposely led the conversation down this route. 'A case? Already?' He asked.

The chubby man nodded enthusiastically. 'Murder. A secretary working for a big shot company apparently killed her co-worker. I'm sure she'd be willing to pay some big bucks for a lawyer, or two.'

'She doesn't have one already?'

'No,'

Harper let the reply hang in the air as he attempted to read this friend of his. They'd agreed to stay away from homicides and yet, here Franklin was, suggesting a homicide case to start off their careers. He opened his mouth. 'How do you know all of this?' He intended to say. Franklin, however, didn't intend on letting him speak.

'I called Mala to congratulate her on her promotion to police commissioner. I may or may not have gotten some extra information in the process.' Franklin cut in, looking rather proud of himself.

'Mala? What else did she say?' He knew the woman well. She was tall, deceptively thin and had a disdain for giving away incomplete chunks of information. For her, answers had only two forms: a full-blown essay, or nothing at all.

'She said that it's all shady. There's definitive evidence against the secretary; way too much to seem plausible. Not just that, nobody wants to take the case. She thinks the secretary is a scapegoat for the business' shadier work.'

'This suspect wouldn't happen to already have any criminal charges, would she? Assault or anything?'

'The worst thing she's done is rear-end a car in traffic.' Franklin stated. 'Hel, I don't think she's guilty, Hiccup. And win or lose, we still get publicity.' He pinned that last bit about publicity on in hopes of removing any of Harper's lingering doubts. Unfortunately for him, Harper didn't care about publicity. Franklin seemed to have remembered that such tactics didn't work on his friend as he immediately pulled out his golden gun. 'And Mala said that she has a gut feeling.'

Harper shook his head, his doubts withering to nothingness. 'You could've just started with that, you know?'

Franklin smiled and pulled his phone from his pocket. 'Let me call Mala in advance, she'll want to be there when we arrive.'

And so Franklin did, telling Mala to expect them in thirty minutes. Punctuality was something the man treasured so after ending the call, he practically dragged his friend out of the building. Toothless was having none of it and refused to move from the beaten chair he had curled up in. They left him behind. When they finally arrived at the precinct Harper entered first, Franklin trailed in after him, blowing into his cupped hands.

Upon seeing them, Mala marched to the pair; her short, platinum blonde hair swayed atop her head, an active reminder of her time served in the Berkian military. She was in her mid-thirties and had impossibly smooth skin that seemed to belong to a model rather than a war-hardened cop. But Harper knew that despite her slight build and soft features she was not someone to be toyed with; he'd witnessed her take down every police officer in the precinct one by one during a training exercise. Hel, she was the one to drag his bloodied body to safety on judgement day. After knowing her for so long and witnessing her in action, a part of him wondered if she was, unknowingly, some sort of minor Odinborn.

Mala stopped a metre away from them, her steely gaze soaking up their forms. Harper immediately noticed that her usually impassive face was thrown off by a foreign object just above her chin. A smile. A feint one but a smile nonetheless.

'It is a pleasure to see you, boys, again.' She almost beamed.

Franklin furrowed his brows. 'Your face, it's. . .' He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence without being beaten to a pulp.

She turned her gaze to him. 'It is what?'

'Smiling.'

She nodded as if that was in any way a normal statement. 'It is only my first week as commissioner and we have already caught that bastard, The Trader. Morale is high.' She explained.

So that's why she marched to them rather than stalking to them like she usually did: she was happy. That also helped to somewhat alleviate the suspicion Harper had about her being replaced with an imposter.

'I found him in a car wreck.' She continued. Her smile slipped away and she dawned a contemplative expression. Harper finally felt that he could breathe easy. 'There was an imitation dragon scale in his hand. The work of that damned demon, I suspect.'

Franklin grimaced and glanced up at Harper, who seemed to be suppressing a smile. 'Come now, don't sell yourself short. I'm sure that, had the opportunity arisen, you would've caught him yourself.' Harper said, and he meant it. That's why he had to get to Johann before she got a whiff of his presence in the city.

Mala smiled again. 'I know.' She said, taking hold of Harper's arm and guiding him through the precinct. Franklin followed closely behind, his wide frame putting him at a disadvantage when following them through the bustling building. 'I would be lying if I said that I was not surprised you accepted this case, I thought that both of you agreed not to do homicides.'

'We did.' Franklin confirmed. 'But when you said that your gut was telling you something was wrong, I just knew we had to check this out.'

'Your gut's never wrong.' Harper added. Not that he needed to.

'Gut feeling or no, it is evident that something is amiss.' Mala sighed, her steely gaze momentarily flickering over the lawyers. She paused and lowering her voice to a whisper said, 'The new district attorney has been trying to get to this girl for a while. I managed to get an extension on how long I can hold her without charging her, but I suspect that even then, we are running out of time. Get her out. I will help how I can.'

'This suspect, what's her name?' Harper asked.

'Heather Oswaldson.' Mala stated curtly as she pushed the door to the interrogation room open, gesturing for the men to step in.

Franklin was the first to enter. He lowered his husky body into a chair, the metal seat creaking a complaint as he settled in. Before Harper could enter behind the man, Mala caught his arm again. She was silent for a moment, as if unsure of herself. 'Your father would be proud if he were here to see you now.'

Harper blinked. 'Th-thank you.' He had not expected that. 'He'd be proud of you too. He always did want you to be his successor.'

Mala smiled. She apparently didn't catch on to the bitter undertone Harper unintentionally put into the words. The truth of the matter was that his father was cold and distant, and more of a father to Mala than he had ever been to Harper. He still appreciated the gesture though.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, he finally entered the interrogation room and took the seat beside Franklin, folding his cane and placing it in his jacket pocket. The woman across from them, Heather Oswaldson, flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. She looked young, perhaps mid-twenties, and so pale that the whites of her eyes were barely distinguishable from her skin. The only colour on her face came in the form of her bright green eyes and an angry looking lump purchased at the very corner of her forehead. Her jet-black hair shook as she looked the pair of lawyers up and down.

'Who are you?' She sniffled. She didn't vocalise any distrust but her tone was wary of the pair. Apparently, she wasn't expecting help anytime soon. Harper's interest was piqued. What had this woman been through?

'Two lawyers willing to represent you.' Answered Franklin, unbuttoning his jacket. A sweat patch was already blooming on his chest.

'But I don't have any money. I-I haven't even got my first check yet.' She stated, wringing her hands. Franklin fell silent, disappointed.

'You're new to the city, miss Oswaldson?' Harper asked.

She gave a feeble nod. 'I moved here for my new job: secretary to the head accountant of a construction company. I was supposed to be earning twice as much as what I was getting before.' She added, as if needing to explain why. A bitter, broken laugh slipped from between her lips. 'I guess that's not happening now.'

Franklin pulled out his notebook and began writing. 'Uh-huh. . . may I ask which construction company?'

'Berkian construction Ltd.' She hissed, venom flaring up in her words.

Harper leaned forwards, curiosity burning inside of him. 'Start from the beginning, miss Oswaldson. What happened?'

Heather slumped in her chair. The cuffs that secured her to the table rattled as she attempted to wipe at her watering eyes. 'I was sent an anonymous email on Tuesday. . .'

Heather stared at the email curiously. Her brows lowered as she read the email's subject, it stated: Berkian construction's pension. She bit her lip. It was addressed to her boss but she still allowed her cursor to hover over the file. 'I shouldn't . . .' She told herself, but the temptation gnawed away at her resolve. After searching the room for any prying eyes and finding none, she opened it. Heather wasn't an accountant but she was smart enough to immediately realise that these numbers weren't about pensions. The data showed figures with so many zeroes that Heather began to feel nauseous. Bile rose to the back of her throat as she delved deeper; millions of dollars were being skimmed from profits every month and thousands of people were being exploited out of their money. Her eyes narrowed further when she also noticed that money was being pumped into the company from an anonymous source. Was this some sort of illegal shell corporation? She inserted her thumb drive into the computer and saved a copy of the data. After making sure nobody was watching her again, she slipped it into her bra.

'Oswaldson.' An accented voice called.

Heather nearly screamed in fear. She felt her chest constrict as panic flared through her body. That voice, it belonged to the CEO of the company, Eret Eretson! Had he been watching her all along? Was he here to drag her away? 'H-hello, sir.' She stuttered as she scrambled to close the email.

He rose a single brow. 'Sir?' He repeated, moving from behind her to settle on her desk. 'I thought you hated formalities.' He set a coffee down in front of her, briefly glancing at her computer's blank screen.'

'Sorry, you just. . . caught me by surprise.' She stated.

Eret nodded slowly. 'Uh-huh. . . Well, I came to borrow you from accounting again. We have an important meeting later this week and I need a few extra hands.'

'Sure.' She surprised herself by mustering a weak smile.

Eret leaned closer to her so that his lips brushed against her ear and whispered, 'I shouldn't really be telling you this, but sometimes when I'm bored, I play Minesweeper too.'

Heather's eyes widened. She glanced at her screen to find that the cursor now hovered over the application.

Eret patted her on the shoulder then sauntered away.

She watched the man go. Could he, of all people, really have a hand in this company's illegal dealings. She brought the email up again and glared at the data. The data, nothing but numbers and false names, glared back. She would get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing she did.

'So what did you do next?' Harper asked.

She shuddered and her eyes glazed over as she recalled the memories. 'There was a guy I knew. Gustav. I brought a copy of the data to him.'

'Why him?'

'He worked at Berkian construction Ltd too - in the legal department. I thought that if there was anybody that could help me, it was him.'

'Wait, this Gustav. . . is he the man you killed- I mean, the man they say you killed?' Franklin asked.

Harper winced. Heather recoiled as if she had just been slapped in the face. 'I didn't kill him, he was one of the only people I knew and . . . and . . .' Her words trailed off into sobs. 'You probably don't believe me. Hel, I'm not sure that I believe me.' She fell silent and for a brief period of time stared at her cuffed hands.

Harper had to actively fight the temptation to glare at his friend. At Franklin's statement, her heart rate flared, becoming dangerously erratic, any worse and she could have literally had a heart attack. 'I believe you.' He suddenly spoke up.

'Y-you do?' She asked. Her heart began to slow.

'Yes.' Harper replied. 'But you need to tell us what else happened. We need the full story.'

She gave a small nod, twiddling her fingers anxiously. 'The next day I met Gustav at a bar. . .'

Gustav glanced at his laptop screen one more time. 'I knew something fishy was going on but I never expected this. This is, like, fraud on a huge scale.' He drew his hands out wildly to emphasise his words.

Heather ducked just in time to avoid one of his hands slapping her in the face. 'Do you think I should bring it to the police?' She asked, disgruntled.

'Are you nuts?' He hissed, pausing to take a swig of his drink. 'The BPD are crooked as hel, they'd probably just get paid off.'

'So what do I do?' She asked, cradling her own drink.

Gustav smiled widely. 'Nothing. Let me handle it. This is kinda my forte.'

Heather lowered her brows. 'Are you sure?'

'Yup, I got this, babe.' He stood up, throwing a few coins - not nearly enough to pay for all of his drinks - on the table. 'I'll see you later.'

Harper blinked, a single brow raised expectantly. 'That's it?'

Heather nodded. 'I didn't hear anything from him for another week, not until- until. . .'

'Take your time.' Franklin said as he furiously scribbled notes into his book. Harper wasn't sure if the man said that out of concern or if it was because he was struggling to keep up with the speed she told her tale.

Heather let out a long, shaky exhale. 'I got a message from Gustav telling me to meet him at his house.'

'And did you?'

She nodded, looking pained as she did. Franklin placed his notebook down, apparently sensing the shift in the room's atmosphere. 'When I got there the door to his apartment was open. I thought that maybe- maybe he was drunk and forgot to close the door, so I went in.'

Heather entered the room slowly, navigating through the dimly lit room cautiously, at least until she felt a sudden prick in her neck. She jerked away in surprise, clapping a single hand on her neck.

'Oswaldson,' A voice purred. From the shadows, Eret emerged, tucking a small syringe into a plastic wallet

Heather bleary mindedly spun to face him but even as she stopped, her vision continued to spin, causing bile to rise to the back of her throat.

'Why couldn't you just let it go?' He asked, frowning.

Her legs gave out from beneath her, her consciousness waded. 'You . . . You . . . bastard.' Was all she managed to get out. At this point, her voice was barely a whisper.

Eret chuckled. 'If only I got a nickel for every time somebody said that.'

'Claiming your boss drugged you is a serious accusation.' Franklin highlighted as he scribbled more notes into his book.

'But it did happen.'

'You say that he injected your neck?' Harper asked.

She gave a subtle nod.

'She just nodded.' Franklin stated.

Harper scratched his stubble in thought. 'Maybe you should tell us what happens next, there might be something else substantial in that.'

Heather tapped her fingers against the metal table. Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of her next words. 'I woke up in the apartment sometime later. It was dark and I couldn't quite remember what happened but I knew something was wrong . . .'

Heather's eyes shot open. She leapt to her feet as though she had just had the worst nightmare, but could remember no dream. Her neck ached and she felt sticky but she paid that no attention as she attempted to make sense of her situation.

'Eret . . .' She breathed, as it began to come back to her. 'Gustav!' She had to call Gustav, find out where he is.

Wincing through the dark, she launched across the room to get to the phone mounted on the wall but tumbled over a dead weight that blocked her path; a shriek fell from her lips as her head slammed into a wall and pain exploded from her forehead, coursing through her skull like a raging inferno.

'Fuck,' she cursed, raising a hand to feel the pained spot and drawing back her fingers wet with blood. 'Shit,' Heather cursed again. She wiped the blood on her sleeve then persisted through the dark, feeling across the wall for the light switch and succeeding. She let out a bitter laugh of victory as she snapped the light on, turning around to see what she tripped over. Her eyes widened.

Before her laid Gustav, his body partially submerged in a crimson patch of blood that covered half of the carpet. His bloodshot eyes were wide open and shocked. Heather fell to her knees, a single trembling hand covering her agape mouth, and her eyes erratically looking over the stab wounds that peppered his stomach; chunks of intestine clambered out of the broken flesh like worms seeping through blood-soaked dirt.

There was a jagged, twelve-inch knife on the floor by Gustav's right foot. She picked it up. Is this what the murderer used to kill him?

'Oh Gods,' Heather whispered as the reality of the situation finally sunk in. What was happening, did he die because of her? Then it hit her like a truck. Eret. He did this. He was a thief and a murderer.

She curled into a ball beside Gustav, her chest convulsing as she choked out a dry sob.

Sirens screamed in the distance, wailing louder and louder as the BPD grew closer to her apartment. Blue and red lights flashed through her windows, momentarily snapping her from her stupor and giving her a chance to realise that she was soaked in her co-worker's blood and holding the likely murder weapon.

The lights shut off and the door slammed open. Heather's teary gaze snapped away from the knife in her hand to the pair of costumed vigilantes standing in her doorway. They were both dressed in army green but in the room's lighting, they may as well have been looming shadows. In an instant, their guns became trained on Heather. She rose her arms in submission, not wanting to give them a reason to shoot.

'Drop the weapon and move away from the body!' One of the vigilantes barked at her, their modulated voice ringing in her ears even after they finished speaking.

'It wasn't me!' she sobbed, her whole body trembling as she complied with the instructions. 'I swear, I didn't do it!'

'Right,' The other vigilante drawled. 'And I didn't kick my brother in the balls at least ten times today.' They added sarcastically as they cuffed her hands roughly. After securing her, both of them began to guide her out of the apartment.

'It wasn't me!' She screamed again, though neither of them listened as they dragged her to the police waiting outside.

'Two vigilantes?' Harper asked, leaning forward in his chair.

'Yes.' She sniffled.

'And they were working with the police?' Harper asked, frowning. Mala hates vigilantes. Franklin glanced at Harper, he appeared confused too.

'Yeah.'

'Uh, Miss Oswaldson?' Franklin interjected. 'If this Eret was willing to go to the lengths of killing Gustav then why didn't he kill you too, seeing how you uncovered the whole scandal in the first place?'

'I-I don't know. Maybe he wants me to suffer.' She suggested.

Harper rose an eyebrow. That didn't seem right. He didn't voice that thought though. 'I can confidently speak for both my friend and I when I say that this is a, well, complicated case, but I'm still willing to take it on.' Harper stated.

'As am I,' added Franklin. 'We'll do what it takes to get you out of this whole. . . debacle.' He watched Heather's face for a moment. 'You look shocked.'

'I-I don't know what to say. . . Thank you.' Heather fumbled. The word 'shocked' couldn't do justice for what she was feeling right now. The story sounded crazy, even to her.

Franklin glanced at his watch, then hauled himself up and helped Harper to his feet as well. 'It's time that we get going.'

'We'll be sure to update you with any progress we make.' Harper added as he was led out of the room.

---

'Fascinating.' Mala stated, after being briefed on Heather's story. 'So she was framed, as I suspected.'

Harper sat at the other side of the room spinning in his chair while Franklin paced around. 'There was never a doubt about that, Mala. The issue is how we prove the evidence being used against her was falsified.'

Franklin stopped in front of him. 'What I don't get is if they murdered her co-worker, then why frame her? Why didn't they just kill her when they first had a chance, I mean wouldn't it be easier?'

'Because killing her wasn't their top priority in all of this. The likelihood is that this was all orchestrated to send a message to a third party.' Mala stated. 'I imagine that they saw Gustav as the larger threat so they disposed of him and not Heather.'

Both men nodded. That made sense.

'Say, Mala,' Harper began, 'Heather said that she was arrested by a pair of vigilantes working with the police. That couldn't be right, could it?'

'Those pests,' Mala spat, 'Are not working with us. They have been showing up to crime scenes just before my officers and messing everything up. That was only their second reported appearance and I already miss the days when the demon was the only vigilante in the city.'

'Any Idea who they are?' Franklin asked.

'No. I only know two things about them: they are brother and sister, and they are well funded - their equipment is beyond anything I have ever seen.'

'Do you think they could have some sort of involvement in this?' Harper asked.

Mala pursed her lips then after a moment of silence, shook her head no.

'Right now, I only see one way to prove Heather's story.' Franklin sighed. He flipped through his notebook and underlined a word then turned it so that Mala could see.

Harper frowned. 'What?'

'We find the thumb drive.' Mala stated.