AN: don't own worm. This one has been a struggle. First it was going to be Piggot, but I still can't write her, then it was going to be Armsmaster, but that asshat still gives me writer's block. Then it was going to be Miss Militia, but for the life of me it just didn't seem to come together in a way I was happy about. Finally, I said to hell with the capes and established characters! So now you get officer McLagan of the Brockton Bay Police Department.
Once again I want to thank you all for being amazing.
James McLagan (BBPD)
Capes.
It's always the fucking capes.
Prostitution ring kidnapping girls off the street to be trained? Can't go after them because they have a serial suicide bomber and a fucking dragon backing that shit up.
Kids getting forcibly addicted to crack and speed and God only knows what else? Step lightly or a man made out of garbage will drown you in filth.
A black man getting beaten to death in the street? You step in you take your life in your hands because a punk with a gun is the very least of your worries.
People like to pretend that it's all okay because we have heroes on our side to balance that shit out.
It doesn't. They don't walk the beat with us. They don't make it there in time to bail us out if we get in over our heads. And they sure as hell don't keep us and our families safe at night from worries of reprisals when we clock out at the end of the day.
No being a cop in this city is a lot like being a model. You stand around getting paid to look good, and you hope to hell you don't attract the attention of anyone unstable.
Helping a woman and her kid out of a car wreck I know down to my bones I can blame this on a cape too.
The memory of what I'd seen rises up again and I do my best to swallow back bile. Most of it was alright, good even. I'd helped people during my career despite how pointless it could sometimes feel in the face of the gangs. But there were three moments in my career, in my life, that stung like a bitch to relive.
Capes, God damn capes.
I'd had to sit on my hands or run for my life instead of doing my job three times because of fucking capes. Every single time someone who didn't deserve it got hurt, or the bastards walked off with whatever they'd been after without any fucking resistance. They got to do that because normals fighting the capes is a death sentence. Even if you get lucky and bring the bastard down there are always who knows how many others that'll be out for your blood. And there aren't any unwritten rules to protect cops. Sure if they push too far the public outcry might bring the Protectorate down on them, but that tends to blow over after a while. Then it's back to business as usual.
Besides, that was only if they handled it personally, and why would they need to? That's what dumb shits with guns and no brains are for. Harder to ID the killer and absolutely nothing about it that can force the PRT or Protectorate to actually step up.
So I'd kept my head down. I made sure I would be safe, that my family would be safe.
So why did the damned fucking cape have to drag up all that old guilt?
I'd been through this all dozens of times. With my buddies on the force, with my wife, hell even with a shrink a few times! Lord knows I'd spent some sleepless nights thinking about that one poor bastard the Empire had caught up with after I got the order to back off and wait for the Protectorate.
Cursing myself for getting distracted in the middle of all this I moved on to the next person in need of help. An old man who lost his balance during the citywide freeze up or whatever the hell that was. Poor guy was nursing a nasty looking cut on his forehead.
Before I can start looking for a makeshift bandage I hear something that turns my guts to ice.
Screaming.
"Fuck!" With a muttered apology to the old man I took off in the direction of the screams.
A minute later I almost wish I hadn't.
Hookwolf. The bastard was… Well it looked like a drunk trying to run and only half succeeding. His arms were covered in knives and blades but the rest of him still looked human.
Every few steps he would take a wild swipe at a person or car and all the while screaming obscenities and challenges.
In that moment training kicked in and I started directing and shoving people away from the lunatic. They didn't need much prompting.
I was halfway turned around and ready to keep the crowd moving away when a scream caught my attention.
There laying on the ground mostly hidden by a car wreck was a young blonde woman with a clearly broken leg. Naturally Hookwolf heard her and was marching towards her screaming death threats.
Fuck, fuck fuckitty fuck!
The memory of a broken body left behind after I had sat and waited for cape backup plays across my vision.
My gun is out and pointed at the bastard before I even realize what I'm doing.
"Hey, Blender Bitch!"
I'm going to die. I can't believe I just said that! I'm going to die!
Snarling Hookwolf spins to face me, and I don't hesitate.
The bullet hits him on the left side of his chest, too low for it to have hit the heart but probably a lung.
For a moment everything freezes… And then I squeeze the trigger. Then I keep squeezing it. I don't stop until the soft click tells me I've emptied the clip.
Holly shit, I'm not dead.
Holly shit, I just killed Hookwolf!
I slump over resting against the hood of a car as the adrenaline bleeds out of my system. There is a lot going through my mind but it's all a bit hard to focus on through the sense of… approval? Is that what I'm feeling?
God I'm tired.
Shaking my head, I force myself back to my feet and put away my gun.
"Come on miss, let me take a look at your leg." I offer to the rather stunned, injured woman.
I wonder if I can get a transfer to New York PD? Might be best not to stay in town after this.
AN:
Not entirely happy with this one for a lot of reasons but really I needed to wrap up where I left off with Hookwolf, and I needed to put this one behind me so I could move on to the conclusion and the very likely epilogue. Read and Review please and thank you.