A/N
The Night of Rage on February 7, 2039, signified the date of the single greatest anti-metahuman riot of all time. Three days later, Alamos 20,000 used explosives and magic to collapse and destroy the Sears Tower. The area around the tower was utterly devastated, and was never repaired (now called the "Shattergraves"). Gradually, legislation was introduced that gave all metahumans equal rights, but the damage had been done.
Ch.4
"The corps have rules, and so do the streets. Play at your own risk." ~ Street Proverb
"Hola, Senor Lobo. What can I do for you?" Inez smiled at the samurai.
"Hola, Inez. I need to subcontract."
"The job?"
"Prisoner watch for undetermined time frame."
Inez cocked her head and considered her current stable of Shadowrunners. "Your offer?"
"5k for one week. Renegotiate if necessary."
She nodded. "I think I can fill your order. Give me an hour and I will get back to you."
Inez called back in forty-five minutes with the name of a team who would accept the job. An hour and a half later the gangers were out of the team's hair and on ice watched over by a team of neophyte Shadowrunners looking to get started in the biz. They all heaved a sigh of relief and went to let Ezra out of the room they had locked him in.
The vote had gone against Chris five to one.
"Hell, Chris, you locked him in there… you get him out. We'll wait over here." Vin grinned at him.
Chris took a deep breath and unlocked the door, not sure what he would find once he stepped inside. He entered slowly and found Ezra sitting in the middle of a debris field, silent and seething, the heat rising from his body permeating every corner of the room.
The shaman looked up into Chris's eyes. "What is wrong with me?" he asked, his tone bordering on both plaintive and raging.
Chris sat down next to him. "I don't know, but we're going to find out."
"I am just so… angry. I want to kill them Chris. I want to rip their hearts out through their noses with my bare hands and feed it to them. I don't just want to them to die, I want them to die slowly… in agony."
"Hell, Ezra. We're all pissed. You just don't treat a kid…" he trailed off as Ezra shook his head frantically.
"No, no, no. You aren't listening, Chris. This is different! This is…all out of proportion. It's… visceral." He stopped, desperately searching for the words to explain how overwhelming it was, to make Chris understand. "I.. uh.. talked to Fox," he stammered. Ezra blushed, and then hurried on. "She said that it wasn't entirely my fault and she hinted that there is something manipulating me."
Chris didn't answer for a moment, clearly mulling over what the shaman had just revealed. "Something's manipulating you? And you're just now telling me about it? Damn it Ezra!"
"I'm sorry," he shot back. "I thought I could control it!"
Chris snorted. "Obviously you were wrong."
Ezra scowled. "Obviously." He gestured to the destroyed room.
"Any idea what it could be?"
Ezra ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "No! I have been wracking my brain and I just can't remember… remember…" he trailed off, brow furrowed.
"What is it?" Chris lapsed back into silence at Ezra's upraised hand. He idly contemplated the destruction of the room while he waited. The desk had been upturned, papers shredded, the two chairs were in scattered pieces flung around the room. The bulletproof window was cracked and there were fist-sized holes in the sheet rock. There were shards of glass from the central light bulb embedded in the wall and furniture; the couch had been eviscerated, scattering bits of stuffing around the room.
A sharp cry brought his attention back to his teammate. Ezra was rocking in place, both hands clenched in his hair, the look on his face one of…agony? Frustration? Rage? Chris wasn't sure just what the shaman was feeling, but whatever it was sure didn't look pleasant. He rested his hand on the man's shoulder. "Ezra! Let it go. We'll figure it out. In the meantime, why don't you go get some sleep?"
"Damn it, Chris! I was out for six hours."
"No! Sleep, damn it! Not passed out. Now git!" Chris demanded. He grinned at Ezra's grousing, and then sighed with relief when he was obeyed. It was always tricky leading a shaman, especially fox. They were all so damn…Machiavellian.
M7M7M7
"How is he?" Vin asked quietly.
"It's not good, Vin. Someone got to him and fucked with his head." Chris pinched the bridge of his nose.
"What? How? When? He hasn't been alone since we started… oh God! The playground. He was alone there." Vin shot a horrified look at Chris. "PROPHET!"
"Damn it, Falcon don't yell. What do you want?" Josiah grumbled.
"Get up here right now! We need you!"
"On my way."
Vin paced back and forth while they waited for Josiah.
"What're you thinking, Vin?" Chris asked him.
"Honestly, Chris, I'm not even sure if it would be possible." He snorted. "I mean hell, what do I know about mojo? But what if that spirit he summoned did something to him?" Vin asked.
"But you're a physical adept. Don't you use magic?" Chris asked.
"Well, yeah," he admitted. "but it's not the same. It's not like I cast spells, like Ezra or 'Siah. It just…gives me an edge; makes me faster, and I can do a little self-healing, and I got really good eyesight; hell, all my senses really. But mostly…" he fidgeted. " I don't tell most folks this, but it gives me this weird combat sense, ya know? Like I can tell what the other fella's gonna do."
Chris nodded. "Yeah, ya tend to develop that when ya fight for a living. Got it as a Delta. Not like you with the magic or anything. Just developed this sixth sense." Chris shrugged. "But anyway, if that spirit did do something, Josiah should be able to tell us and we'll help Ezra figure out how to fix it."
The two men turned as Josiah came bustling into the room. "Ok, what's the problem?"
The mage listened carefully as Vin explained his idea. "Well," he said slowly. "I suppose if Ezra was dealing with a free spirit, that might be possible…" He paused to consider it. "Free spirits are… odd. No one really knows the extent of what they can do. Honestly, I need to talk to Ezra and see what he did and what he called." He headed out the door muttering to himself. "… yes, an interesting idea…."
M7M7M7
She tried to rush forward, but was paralyzed; screamed in anger and denial, but was voiceless. Her arms ached as she reached desperately for her son as dark, menacing shadows surrounded him. Saw his blue eyes filled with pain and fear and cried herself; helpless to do anything for him as the shadows hid him from her sight. Margaret woke with a scream crawling its way up her throat. In a rare moment of lucid thought she knew that Jason, her little son, was gone, swallowed up in the madness of The Night of Rage… but sanity was fleeting.
Billy huddled in the bed and cried silently. He had already learned that it was in his best interest to stay quiet, but the lesson hadn't been taught through physical means. No, the only bruises he had were those he sustained from the beating he took when Elizabeth died. The crazy lady who called him Jason wouldn't hurt him, but she had other ways of making him behave, ways that scared him on a deeper level than the threat of physical pain. It was in the way she stared at him that made his skin crawl and made him want to creep into a corner and hide. There was something in her eyes that wasn't right, something...broken, and he was terrified by it. He feared what she would do if she suddenly realized he was not the little boy she was longing for. Sniffling softly, he looked around the room where he spent most of his time. It had everything a boy could dream of… but it wasn't his and he - he slammed a rebellious fist into his pillow - he wasn't Jason! But she believed he was, and with a whimper, he couldn't help but wonder if that was the only thing keeping him alive. He hugged the pillow to his face and cried some more until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
M7M7M7
Louis Carletti entered the darkened room cautiously. It wouldn't be wise to startle the boss when he was of such uncertain temper. "Sir?"
The tall figure at the window turned. "What is it, Mr. Carletti?"
"I have that report you asked for." Louis' skin shivered at the feeling of malice that permeated the office.
"Put it on the desk."
He stepped forward and laid the file on the barren desk. He cleared his throat tentatively. "We'll find her, sir." He jumped back as his boss turned and looked at him, dead eyes gazing at him as if he was a curious specimen.
"For your sake, you had better," he stated dispassionately.
Louis cringed and turned to go. He knew very well that the boss never made idle threats. He simply told you the way it was.
"Oh, and Mr. Carletti, if you do not, I would suggest you not even bother to return."
M7M7M7
Josiah and Ezra sat cross-legged on the floor quietly discussing the events at the playground. Chris watched from the doorway, noting the easy companionship between the two meta-humans. So different - one dwarf, one elf, one hermetic, one shamanistic - but through it all, still friends, teammates, brothers.
"Come on in, Chris," Josiah said. "We think we have figured out what went wrong."
Chris smiled. "That's a relief. Care to share?" He sat down, his back supported by the wall.
"Well," Ezra started, "spirits often need to be coaxed …"
"Or coerced," Josiah cut in.
"Or coerced," Ezra agreed. "I, however, prefer to gain allies rather than to force obedience, so I offer rewards."
"And you offered that spirit a reward?" Chris asked.
"I did, a happy memory. Usually a spirit will… feed, for lack of a better term, on emotional energy, but we believe that this spirit actually took my memory, and left the memory of Ms. Barrett's murder in its place."
"With all of the associated emotions that went with it." Josiah added.
"Which is why I was feeling so much rage and need for vengeance. And quite frankly I still am." Ezra confessed. "Chris… It's overwhelming. I can't control it. If you think of it as a psychic wound, I'm bleeding out."
"Damn." Chris ran his hand through his hair. "Can you get rid of it?"
"Perhaps. There is something that we have been considering…" he paused.
"But?"
"But there is a problem." He glanced over at Chris. "I don't belong to a lodge and it would require ... help."
Chris clapped a hand on Ezra's shoulder and grinned. "And that's a problem why?"
Ezra grinned back. "You might want to know what you would be getting into before you volunteer your services, Lobo," he warned. "The idea we have is a sweat lodge ceremony."
Chris just shot him that look, the one that said I got your back brother. "I'll get a hold of the judge and give him an update."
