Originally posted 1/14/2018
Sometimes I want to turn my words into art. Not drawings or paintings, but simple words so thick with meaning that they stick in your mind and never leave.
I remember reading one story over four years ago that was so bad I can still remember the typos in it (let's say someone pulled an eight inch erosion out of their pants...). I remember authors whose works were so much more detailed that I wondered if I would ever be as professional as them. I remember reading Frozen (Chendzeea Li) for the first time, getting to that one dreadful scene, and realizing that you can actually capture emotion with words. I remember reading Effervescence (Yoshiyuki Ly) for the first time and realizing that words can be turned into an art.
But, there's that problem. As an online writer, there are no sale metrics I can track to see if I'm best-seller material. I'm never going to show up at a convention and have fans queuing up to sign autographs and tell me what I meant to them. As an online writer, I find myself curious to know how much my words mean, if they've left any sort of impact at all. But, thinking about it... there's just no indication.
If you want to do an author a favor, tell them what you remember later. Not something you've read in their latest chapter, but something that stuck out to you, something that had meaning to you. Tell them that years down the line, that all this time later you can still remember the plot, or that one scene, or even that one line, or that it inspired you to work on one thing or another.
If you want to do me a favor, go check out one of those stories I mentioned above and tell Chendzeea and Yoshiyuki that they continue to inspire.
On with the story!
Out front, there was music. When the doors between front and back swung open, the sounds of a hundred bodies trying to speak over one another and the loud, echoing crash of the soundtrack flooded through the room.
Then the doors swooped closed. The nuances of the music died.
In the back, there was only the bass. It was a repetitive, thrumming melody that echoed through each body. It shook through the walls, traveling through tight entrances to add to the aura of greed.
The back was a series of rooms, each one connected by a thin hallway. Cloth curtains split each room from its neighbor, heavy things that had to be pushed aside for Midnight to squeeze from one room to the next. She was stepping away from a bar of neon-white trim, side-stepping around a waitress in a cocktail dress with a tray of drinks balanced on three fingers, slipping through the next entrance.
Everything was bathed in a dim red glow to her front and back, stifling any other color down to a mix of red and black. Most of the were already wearing black, giving them devilish-red skin and a silhouette of darkness. Many of them wore masks. Midnight was one of them, her regular mask replaced by one that covered her nose down, but left her eyes free to sweep across the room. In this one, a bar stretched across half the room, railing covering the top so one could lean over and watch a pair of dancers strutting slowly from side-to-side.
She continued, eyes gauging for danger, proceeding past one more barrier into the final room, a dead end. It was much thinner than the other rooms had been, most of its space taken up by a round table of red rimmed with gold. Poker chips clicked against its surface, cards changing hands. Men surrounded it, resting at their chairs, smoking thick cigars, sharing sideways glances.
Mobsters, Night knew them as. Most of them had the look for it, portly men with shrewd faces and accentuated jewelry. One of them was an old-school gangster in a pinstriped suit with a thick face only a mother could love. He was chewing on a cigar and giving her a dangerous look as she stepped up to the table.
"I was wondering when you would pay this old man a visit," the man at the end of the table said. His accent was thick, the kind of smooth Spanish rumble that made him sound interesting talking about paint drying. He had sharp eyes and grey hair that had been immaculately cut and slicked back, matching the similarly-sharp black suit he was wearing.
"I didn't know I was invited. I would have come sooner," Night replied. She didn't move to sit, but did stop by the man and lean her head down to his, pressing the front of her mask to either side of his face in what could have counted as kissing his cheeks.
"Come, come," he said, waving aside her comment, "you are always invited. You are more a daughter to me than my son is a son. We missed you in Madrid, the sun was amazing."
"I was held up… and you honor me too much, Señor."
"Perhaps," he admitted. "Now, tell me why you come. And, perhaps while you're at it, you can share why you've changed your name, and why you have brought our old friend into this den of sin."
"You're well informed," Night commented. Her gaze turned briefly back the way she came, through the heavy curtains. Leaning against the railing in the room next door, watching the girls swaying hypnotically, was a familiar young woman. Her hair was near invisible in the red light, pulled into a thick braid behind her and ending half down her back. Her face was unmistakable, green eyes trailing the woman in front of her, nose-down covered by a black-and-green mask.
"It pays to be," Senior Sr. said, sipping at a crystal glass. "Were it not for my order to let her be, she might have had a bad time."
"I disagree," Night replied. "She was strong before. She's stronger now… Someone turned my comrade into a weapon- a superpowered one- and I want to know who."
Senior let his casual smile fall, his face turned cold and serious. He matched her gaze to the woman in the other room. "Superpowers… that is worse than I feared. I admit having relied on her good grace to let me escape before, I fear what she would be capable of with an advantage."
"Fear me, then. Not her. Sunset is loyal to me now, so as long as I don't order it she won't come knocking at your door. Now, onto business…"
"Yes, yes… you want information…"
It didn't seem like she was in there long before she stepped back through the curtain. Another waitress passed, Night waiting for her to step out of the way before taking a slow stroll to where Sunset was leaning against the rails.
Her sidekick had gathered a following. There was a subtle difference between the men who were there to enjoy shows and drinks and the men who were there keeping an eye on her. Dark-suited men in dark shirts, most of them bulky or rotund with short or no hair, hung off chairs and rested against the railing. Their eyes were more on the pair in their midst than the girls above them.
Night stepped up to Sun, letting her hand rest at the base of the teen's back. "Time to go."
Sun reached into her pocket, ignored the visible tense to the atmosphere and the men resting their hands on guns around them, and pulled out a wad of green. She flicked a few bills over the railing before trailing Night out.
"You learn fast," Night said, "I'm surprised this is your first time here."
"You have been training me," Sun replied. "Watch your surroundings, read the situation, do not stand out… Good rules to follow." They both spoke through their masks, voices filtered.
Time had been spent customizing the vocal output of their masks. Night's mask had a pleasant, airy sound to it. She had the sound of a beautiful woman whispering through a vintage radio. Sunset had chosen a more mechanical tone, growling and garbled, the kind of voice that would echo threats through the static of a broken machine.
"I don't recall telling you to tip the strippers."
Sunset shrugged. "I'm pretty sure she was an assassin, actually."
Midnight stopped, turned, and raised an eyebrow. Sunset and her were at the last door to the back area, veiled in the shadows of the red lights.
"Ancient martial arts have been passed down in dances…" Sunset finally offered as an explanation.
"Hmm…" Midnight didn't reply. Anything she would have said would have been drowned out after they swung open the door. The party on the other side was relentless, lights flashing in every direction through a thick haze of fog. Bodies bounced in and out of the mist, thrashing to the rapid techno coming out of a colorful booth on one side.
Neither girl bothered to give the scene any enthusiasm. Together, they made a beeline to the entrance, then back out into the drooping sun.
"Did you learn anything?"
"Nothing useful. But he gave me a place to start."
"I will admit," Sun replied quietly, "it is hard to stay hopeful when I don't even know what to start doing…"
"You're thinking too much. You just have to do as I say, and you'll be back to fighting guys like these in no time."
"Yeah…" Night was walking ahead of her, letting her linger back a few steps, letting Sun hide her face and the mix of indecisiveness that crossed it. It was easier to think she was just depressed about the situation than confused about it. After a few minutes of walking and the silence grating on her, Sun finally broke and spoke again. "Do you think we can trust them?"
"No… One thing I've learned of the Seniors over the years, money is an obsession of theirs that you should hope they never have to worry about. Senior would sell his own daughter if he had one, and Junior is no better."
"That's promising," a sarcastic Sun replied.
"Somewhat. If you know how to play their game, they can be quite lucrative."
After heading home and storing their hovercraft on a camouflaged helipad, the pair rode a small lift down into the base. It emptied out just outside of Drakken's lab, in an intersection between it, their room, and the common area.
Night stepped over to Drakken's door and rapped on it with the back of her hand. At the same time, Sun was stretching and covering a yawn, idly wandering towards the common area.
"Tired?" Midnight asked as she joined the redhead.
"Mhmm," Sun replied. "Wish I could sleep, but I don't want to wake up at midnight again."
"Yeah, you just want to wake up on Midnight…" Midnight teased, rewarded with a small blush and playful squint.
Midnight's teasing always contained a little crinkle to her eyes and a smirk. And how Sunset loved that smirk. It was probably one of the things that had started her attraction so long ago, watching the villainess' face light up with mischief, while her eyes remained ever-locked on their target. In Sun's opinion, to call her attractive was to call a Monet a drawing.
"Is that an offer?" Sunset asked, taking a brief moment to lock the older woman down with her own razor-sharp gaze.
"Hmm… I wonder," Midnight replied. She did wonder, if only because she had no reply to that. She went back to looking ahead, leading Sunset back across the common area only because she didn't want to withstand the intensity of Sunset's eyes. As a hero, the teen had a sharpness to her. As a villainess, she had an intensity to her look that could make anyone uncomfortable.
"No lie," Sun said along the way, "your job is really tiring. I would love a couple days to chill."
"All in good time, princess. I think we've about earned a weekend."
"We, hmm?" Sun's gaze drifted away from the back of Night's head, finding anything else to focus on. "Maybe during the weekend, you want to-"
"I take it you two had a perfectly good reason for disappearing for an entire day!" Drakken shouted from behind them.
He was stomping his way through the hangar, his regular overcoat forgotten somewhere else for a pair of slacks up to his stomach, suspenders, and a button-down shirt. If not for the scowl, Drakken could have been an attractive man. He was broad shouldered, had a powerful presence and a sense of purpose, but a messy haircut that made Sunset think he never let anyone else touch it but him.
There was also an anger to him. It made Sunset casually step behind Midnight, her previous conversation forgotten, but Midnight just gave a shrug.
"We had things to do. Woman things."
"Oh, ew…" Drakken muttered, then waved his hands as if banishing the conversation entirely. "While you were gone, I was being productive! Behold!"
Of course they had already seen it, but the pair allowed him to wave his arms out in a grand introduction of the target sign drawn over a padded cushion. It was bolted into the ground by a series of pipes forming supports on its back, with thick wires running out of it to a clunky laptop on a folding table.
"How tough is it?" Sunset asked.
"How should I know? I built it, there's no reason I would want to risk damaging my vitally important fingers trying it out. I'm pretty sure that's what I pay the two of you for."
Night raised an eyebrow, circling the machine to gauge its quality. "Not for our witty banter?"
"Or our stunning good looks?" Sunset added.
"If I really wanted cheap sarcasm I could hire a teenager from Bueno Nacho," was Drakken's snide reply.
Sunset lifted her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in shock. Night had to turn away, silent laughter wracking her body.
"Damn, Doc, that was harsh!" Midnight finally managed to wheeze out between laughs.
"I feel personally assaulted right now," Sun added.
"All joking aside…" Night continued, unable to bat down her grin. She had looped around the target once more, standing in front of it. "This thing on?" Drakken gave a nod. Midnight gave a punch.
She had spent the entire conversation casually stretching her arm. When she stepped forward, she had a look of focus on some point through and behind the punching bag. Her arm extended from her shoulder, entire body extending up to the point of her first.
The noise it actually made on landing was anticlimactic. The cushion rippled at the force, a light flashing at the top of the target. Then, Night stepped back and shook her hand.
"Hmm…" Drakken muttered, stepping around to the table to read out the results. "It says thirteen hundred. I'll assume that's worth the money I pay you."
Sunset stepped up after Night. She started with stretches, extending her right arm high over her head and twisting it in a way that didn't seem possible, or comfortable.
"This morning I said I wanted to talk to you about something," she said.
His attention was captured, if only because nothing else was happening. Drakken gave her his best poker face.
"The truth is… I'm here because Global Justice turned me into a weapon, and I accidentally killed someone."
Despite his poker face, Sunset wasn't looking at him. She was still just standing in front of the target, but her eyes were on Midnight. Her voice had turned melancholy, unhappiness draining the usual pep and sass.
"A weapon?" Drakken asked quizzically. "What, like the Human Blade- that guy who can shoot knives out of his hands?"
Night smacked her face with a palm. "No, Doc, like a super-soldier. You know, super strength and all?"
"Oh… Well, show me. Punch the bag."
Sun was still staring at Midnight. She kept staring until Night raised all of her fingers, then dropped them all but two.
"Twenty-percent punch," Sun whispered quietly. She scooted forward, arm level with her chest, outstretched like a viper ready to strike.
The punch was a small one. Her fist went out, knuckles wrapping on the bullseye.
It sounded like a gunshot. Then it sounded like tearing metal. The pipes behind, forming right triangles against the base, bent backwards. The bolts attaching it to the ground sheared and stretched. In the center of the target, when her hands left it, were four perfect marks where her fingers had been.
"Well…" Drakken managed. Words failed him. He stood there with wide eyes, staring at the mangled machine. "You broke the sensor."
"She took out Hego in one shot yesterday," Night said. "That should tell you something about how strong she really is."
"Yes… concerning. It worries me that they have the power to do this. Imagine if they start turning their entire workforce..."
"You're not worried about me?" Sun asked, watching as Drakken looked thoughtfully at the computer below him.
"You? Worried? No. Thrilled, perhaps. Not worried."
"Thrilled?"
In his eyes there was a little flash of madness, of crazed inspiration. He had cheekbones that reminded her of a skeleton, a smile stretched between them that might have been downright terrifying. "I've got two superpowered lackeys to do my bidding, of course I'm thrilled!"
"Nu-uh," Midnight countered. "It's in her contract, she listens to me. And I'm not going to have her throwing punches until we're damn sure she can control herself."
"It kinda hurts, too," Sun said, shaking her arm and flexing her fingers. "Each time I do it… Like I just worked out and my joints are swollen"
"Hmm... that's concerning. It's possible that they didn't take into account that your body isn't built for that sort of power." Drakken looked thoughtful once more.
"Oh?" Night asked.
"Perhaps. Imagine a machine snapping a piece of paper in and out. You can put as much power as you want into the machine, at some point the paper will rip."
"So…" Night started. She stepped up next to Sunset, in front of the machine, and rested her arm on the younger girl's shoulder. "We've got to make sure Sunshine here isn't tearing her arms apart, and we've got to make sure Global Justice isn't building anymore of those super soldiers."
"Don't forget our latest plan, too," Drakken cut in.
"Yeah, yeah… How about you handle that and making sure our princess doesn't hurt herself. I'll take care of the pricks in blue." They all seemed to be in agreement, thoughtfully focused on their own ideas and concerns.
"Thank you," Sunset added. "I should have told you sooner, but it means a lot to me that you would trust me… and that you would help me."
"Come now, Sun… shoe, this side of justice isn't concerned about who you are and what you've done. We're a simple folk with simple aspirations. Help us, and we'll help you. Simple, yes?"
"It still means a lot, Drew. Though, speaking of simple... you're pretty bad at names, aren't you?"
"If you call me simple, you're fired."
"No! You're maybe the smartest person I know. I just thought, maybe it would help if you called us something simpler… you can call me Red if it helps."
"Red? Hmm… I can remember that. Maybe I can call Moodlight there Green, since she gets angry anytime I try to remember her new codename." Drakken was muttering to himself, his entire focus away from the present and the girls in front of him.
The common area had been set up as a way to get away from work. Years of old memories were stored away in boxes above them, more years of memories were stored in the vague stains on the couch and the mess that had built up around it.
Now, there was a piece of abstract art in an empty spot in the floor. The pad looked like it was meant to take arrows for archery practice, but was now tilted askew, bent pipes sticking out, four small grooves dug into the front.
For Drakken, the image was an exciting symbol of power. It signified the overpowering strength of his allies.
For Sunset, the thing in front of her was a reminder of her own inability to control herself. Every punch was a potentially-fatal mystery to her.
For Midnight, the mangled punching target was a warning. Whether it was protecting Sunset from her betrayers, or protecting people from Sunset, nothing would be easy with that kind of power.
Drakken left them, muttering out plans as he returned to his lab. Night rolled her eyes, relaxing, then looking down as Sun snaked her hand into Midnight's and gave a squeeze. The teen gave her a small smile. It spoke of progress, of hope.
"Thanks, babe," she whispered.
"Anything for you, princess."
Author's Note:
I kinda feel like I've got a talking head problem and a rail problem. I seem to stick with the same format during all of the dialogue, and I feel like I'm just moving them from one plot-important scene to the next. Maybe I'm wrong? I don't know, I'll work on it though.
