A/N: This chapter covers some of the slavery employed by the ABB. Nothing is directly shown, but fair warning.
In my haste to get this up before the new year, it went up a bit unpolished. Big thanks to the Cauldron Discord, and in particular Juff, for the feedback.
By the time Disjoint returned home she was ready for a break. She wasn't tired exactly; her thoughts still twisted around without slowing. However, the clarity was lacking, and focusing on even the simplest things took more effort than it should have. It was a decidedly odd feeling. Not particularly unpleasant, but something that she still preferred to avoid. Thankfully, it wasn't too much of a hindrance.
She did regret missing out on the opportunity to take another look at the suspected gang house. Her original plan had been to pass by it on the way home, but after the toil of her earlier revelations she couldn't bring herself to make the effort.
It wouldn't be a very good idea to go into the situation with such an avoidable handicap. Even without having to worry for her own safety, the rest of the city's inhabitants weren't so lucky. A moment of carelessness on her part could cause untold damage; she was loath to let innocents get caught in the crossfire. Just encountering potential gang members would require her to hold back immensely to avoid killing them. Beyond that, she had to be cognizant of every encounter. Her impressions of violence may have faded, but there were a decade of them. Instinct drove her towards lethality and the rejection was always delayed, a moment behind. It was a constant struggle as conscious thoughts and memories pushed down the vague impressions.
Furthermore, she wasn't the only one at risk of causing devastation. The ABB cape population numbered only two, but they had managed to carve out a section of the city in spite of a powerful rival gang and the Protectorate. Neither of the villains would be a particularly simple fight, especially if they were on their guard. Responding to a perceived attack on their territory, there was no doubt they would be cautious enough to avoid a surprise attack.
The second-in-command of the gang was the inscrutable Oni Lee. He was widely regarded as less of a threat than the gang's leader Lung, though they were equally incapable of causing her any harm. More importantly, Lee was a knife fighter, his signature weapons unremarkable in every way. When it came to collateral damage, he posed far less risk.
Instead it was his mobility that drew her attention. Oni Lee's teleportation was a significant counter to her own greatest strength, able to carry him out of melee range and beyond her sphere of influence. Catching him would be no trivial task, which placed the two of them into an imbalanced stalemate. Regardless, he would need to get close to attack her, risking himself each time. The odds tilted further in her favor the longer they fought, so any potential encounter would depend on keeping her capabilities concealed and convincing the villain that he was making progress.
Contrary to most of the other capes in the city, she was actually more confident in her chances of a successful capture if she ran into Lung. For all his vast strength he was still utterly outclassed. The gang leader undoubtedly had other tricks up his sleeve to have made it this long in his position, but at the end of the day he was the kind of cape that only knew how to fight via applications of force. Once his raw strength was taken off the table, his options plummeted.
They were actually somewhat similar in that regard, Disjoint mused. Admittedly she had additional facets of her power that she had avoided blatantly using so far, but the two of them still fit into roughly the same categories. Unfortunately for him, the strength of muscle and tendon could only carry one so far. The distance between them would remain an insurmountable gap.
Truly, her power was a curse and a blessing. It was a puzzle, the simple implacability of her form. A single idea distilled into its purest expression. Even now within her nestled the feeling of permanence, that there wasn't a single thing in existence that could do more than delay her. Nothing would stop her body from reaching her eventual goal, and she only hoped that she could capture a fraction of that in her drive to do better. It was an impossible ideal, but that didn't make it any less worthy to strive for.
Ideally, she would make the infiltration without ever being detected. Subtlety had been something of a foreign concept to her until very recently, but it wasn't an impossible task. She could travel in true silence, lacking even the faintest sounds of breathing. That alone was a significant benefit, and it wasn't the only advantage she had. If she fully committed to remaining unseen gravity was no more than a suggestion. The risk of revealing herself increased, but the actual chance of it occurring dropped commensurably.
In the end, moving quickly and quietly was going to be paramount, and that required clear thoughts. Rushing in unprepared wouldn't necessarily prevent her from succeeding, but it drew the risk of engulfing the streets in an unnecessary fight. It was something she desperately wanted to avoid.
For now she would relax and let her mind settle. Sleep wasn't possible, but there were other actions she could take. Over the past few days she had taken the opportunity to continue her research, but it was more time-consuming than truly relaxing. Instead, she found far more success listening to music. It hadn't been her original idea; it was something she had happened upon while exploring the Case 53s. One of the more prominent members had caught her eye, a Ward in Boston by the name of Weld. He had given dozens of speeches, acting as a public face for the 'monstrous capes,' but more notably shared her quirk of a body devoid of sensation. It had come up once or twice in the interviews he gave, and he had enthusiastically described his interest in music.
Disjoint stared out the window, letting the sound wash over her. Her costume lay folded on the small bed next to her boots, the pile of cloth topped with the ceramic mask facing the ceiling. Underneath she wore a plain black shirt and military-style pants, the scrunched hem resting on her bare feet. She couldn't actually feel the air rushing over her arms and through her hair, but it still helped her relax. A mental quirk, the product of her memories in a normal body.
Technically speaking it was an unnecessary risk, revealing even a hint of her vibrant stripes to the world. It was one she had avoided until now, but the gesture felt comfortable. Here in the privacy of her room there wasn't anything to hide from.
The morning sun rose on her masked face, costume recently secured in preparation. The plan for the day was simple – she would return to the aborted stakeout and finish investigating, before moving in. With any luck she could destroy whatever she found, and if that wasn't the case the PRT could be notified instead. All together it was far more of a guideline than some kind of true tactical plan, but that suited her perfectly. Scheming wasn't one of her strengths.
Arriving at the scene revealed a view that was almost identical to the day before: the same pair of men lounging out front, deep tire tracks layered over one another around them in the crushed snow. There weren't any cars present, but Disjoint doubted today would be any different than before.
At the edge of the building there was an alleyway, an unremarkable gap between the thick stone walls. Every few minutes one of the guards would wander over, ducking out of the wind and warming his hands in the limited shelter it provided. She peered down it from above, moving slowly to stay out of sight. The only thing of note was an industrial-looking door, steel panels covered in a veneer of rust and bound with a thick chain and lock. The reinforcement wouldn't prove much of an obstacle, but it was bound to cause a commotion should she force it open. The squeal of metal on metal was hardly subtle.
Continuing around to the rear of the building only revealed more of the same. What had once been a loading dock was boarded over, large sheets of plywood covering even the metal shutters. Above, the first row of windows peeked out from the facade, metallic mesh covering the glass. It was impossible to tell if the security had been added by the gangs, or was just a typical precaution for the area. Either way it was inconvenient.
As a final check Disjoint moved upwards, peering over the edge to check for onlookers before vaulting upwards to the roof. The building was only three stories tall, with a flat, industrial roof. It looked like it had been an old hotel or apartment complex at one point, if the numerous windows were anything to go by. Any signage it may have had was long since gone, however.
Landing on the gravelly surface, she cast her gaze back and forth. A squat heating unit sat in one corner, its low hum audible now that she was so close to it. Around it lay a section of clear roof, the snow melted away by the head radiating outwards. Across the rooftop, closer to the center, jutted a thick brick chimney, and Disjoint paused as the thought of clambering down it like some kind of demonic Santa passed through her head. It was ridiculous, but the humor broke some of the tension that had been gathering during her methodical exploration. Besides, judging by the slow wisps of smoke drifting out the top, climbing down would be an awkward proposition.
Past the chimney at the far end of the roof lay the maintenance access – a small square of concrete capped in a metal lid. The yellow and black safety paint around it was almost entirely faded, only showing as a few splotches of color. There was no exterior lock and she reached for the handle, exerting a fraction of strength. It didn't budge, and after a moment the realization hit that obviously there wouldn't be a lock on the outside, when there was nothing but inaccessible rooftop around. Regardless, the roof hatch remained the most likely candidate for getting in unnoticed.
The front door was unlocked, but the pair of men standing guard complicated things. Even if she surprised them there was no safe way to take them out of the picture. She knew from experience that knocking someone unconscious wasn't the harmless nap it was often portrayed as. A lack of consciousness was brought about by damaging the brain; it was dangerous at best and could prove fatal frightfully easily. She wasn't above violence, but to inflict that level of damage on two unpowered, suspected gang members wasn't the kind of hero she wanted to be. No, acting hastily wouldn't get her anywhere.
The door nestled in the alley was the other alternative, but it too offered significant downsides. Unlike the roof the alleyway was far closer to the entrance than she was willing to risk; a screech of metal there would be unmistakable. In the end, the rooftop still seemed like the best option.
Approaching the hatch again, she peered down at the gap between the lid and the metal lip surrounding it. The narrow crevice prevented her from seeing the latch directly, but logic dictated it would be centered on the plate, in line with the handle on the outside. Kneeling down and reaching forward she removed a single glove, wedging the tip of a fingernail between the two pieces of metal.
Pulling towards herself slowly, Disjoint watched as the outer section peeled forwards, surprisingly quiet for the amount of force being exerted on it. Only a quiet groan heralded the chunk of metal buckling, falling sideways onto the ground in front of her. Beneath it, gleaming in the early morning sun, was the shiny metal tab of the latch. Exactly where she had expected it to be.
Snapping the tab off was the work of a moment, and she was inside seconds later, pausing only to replace her glove. Beneath the hatch was darkness, which slowly resolved into a shadow-filled supply closet as sunlight managed to reach it for the first time in what was likely years.
A thick layer of dust covered every visible surface, motes filling the air and highlighting the sparse beams of light as they were disturbed by the rush of air. On the wall tall shelves loomed, covered in an assortment of supplies. Paint cans were the most common, stacked nearly to the low ceiling, but joining them were a mismatched jumble of other items. A spare section of ductwork, an old tool set, and dozens of boxes of screws littered the small room. On the far wall, the only clear spot was the outline of a wooden interior door. No light seeped through the cracks, a good sign.
The door was unsurprisingly locked as well, but its flimsy nature proved even less of a challenge than the roof hatch. She tore out a section of the wood-paneled door frame with a quiet crunch, the handful of splinters revealing that it was lacking even a metal locking plate, and the door freely inched towards her without ever touching the knob.
Disjoint hesitated, pausing silently in front of the door. Beyond her silence stretched outwards, encompassing the space past the door in a bubble. As far as she could tell, her invasion had gone unnoticed. A moment later she eased open the door, peering through the crack that formed and into the hallway beyond.
It was, surprisingly enough, completely and utterly empty.
The supply room door opened near one end of a long hallway, lit intermittently by dim overhead lighting encrusted in dust and grime. Faded carpet covered the floor completely, and interior doors dotted the length of the hallway in pairs. The dingy plaques beside them confirmed her original suspicion, that the building must have been a hotel at one point. Now it seemed to have been taken over by the local gangs.
There were two sets of stairwells, one located just beside the supply closet and another at the far end of the hall. Faded exit signs shined softly above them, casting a red glow all the more prominent for the weak hallway lighting. At the entrance to each stairwell was another series of closed doors, blocking her sight of the stairs themselves.
The entire floor looked abandoned, and Disjoint was tempted to keep moving downwards, but she wanted to be thorough. Approaching the first bedroom revealed that it wasn't even locked, and she swung the door open slowly to peer inside. Beyond lay a vacant room, the only noteworthy feature its utter emptiness. At some point in the past the space had been stripped bare, scavenged down to the carpet for furniture. It did make her search easier though.
The remainder of the rooms on the third floor were the same, containing nothing but dust and faded paint. Whatever use they had served was long past, abandoned along with the entire level. If she was lucky her goal would be found on the floor below, but it was more likely it would be at ground level, along with a heavy contingent of gang members. Perhaps not the most optimistic thought, but the dreary rooms didn't do much to encourage her mood.
Upon reaching the stairs at the end of the corridor she was met with the now-familiar sight of a closed door. Pushing through into the stairwell she could now hear the faint sound of voices below her. The echoes of the bare concrete made it hard to determine much about the speakers, but judging from how quiet they were the ground level was looking more and more likely. Regardless, it wouldn't do to miss anything out of impatience. Descending the flight of stairs slowly, she kept an eye further down until she ducked into the new hallway.
At first glance the corridor was a mirror image of the one above, but it lacked the signs of disuse that were so prevalent prior. Instead the carpet was actually relatively clean, and all of the lights were turned on. Evidently someone came through semi-regularly to clean the place up, though it was hard to picture the gang members wandering around with a vacuum. The quiet still enveloped the area, but now it was a fragile sort of silence, one that threatened to be broken should feet sound on the stairwell behind her.
The new rooms were obviously different, furniture sparse but still present. Working methodically down the hallway continued the trend of vacancies, now interspersed with the occasional personal object decorating the rooms. None of them contained much more variation than the color of the couches or curtains, but it was something.
As she traveled the length of the corridor she moved slower than before, ears searching for any advance warning of an incoming disturbance. Twice she paused as threads of conversation trickled up through the floor, but each time they died away naturally. The walk passed by far slower than on the floor above; she made sure to never lose track of the stairwell doors at either end for more than a moment.
She ended her search directly below the supply closet that had served as her original entrance, having doubled back the entire length of the building. The top two floors had failed to reveal anything of note, but there was still one to go. There would undoubtedly be gang members present though, which meant she would have to be as focused as possible.
Slipping into the stairwell once again teased her hearing with the faint trickle of sound. It was too faint to make out individual words, but by the cadence it didn't sound like English, so listening in wouldn't do her much good. Perhaps she should start learning other languages; she wasn't exactly lacking free time. Regardless, that was a thought for a less critical location.
Cracking the door at the ground floor saw a light stream through the gap, even more than the halls above. She held the door open a fraction with a thumb and peered through, taking in the room beyond.
In front of her the previous narrow corridors were missing, instead replaced by a wide lobby. Chairs and sofas littered one side of the room, gathered around a large television mounted high above. Across from her a large fireplace was set in the rear wall of the lobby, flames already roaring up the chimney. Past the bricks a smaller hallway beckoned, likely leading to what at some point had been the hotel's offices.
For the first time inside the building she caught sight of another person, a short head of hair peeking over the couch, facing away from her and at the television. The TV wasn't actually turned on, so either the man enjoyed staring at blank walls, or – more likely given the still-early time of day – was asleep. Regardless, judging by the noise there were quite a few people down the hallway who weren't. As if summoned by her thoughts one appeared around the corner, ambling towards the common room.
The man passed through her field of view, vanishing to the final side of the room that she couldn't see. A moment later the sound of running water was audible, along with a general rummaging. As the man returned to her sight she could see the difference, his arms now full of cheap cartons of fast food. That answered the question of what was over there, at least. Without a second glance the man disappeared back in the direction he had come.
From here onward it seemed that she would have to adjust her plan. So far she had gotten extraordinarily lucky that there hadn't been a single person wandering around upstairs. The empty third floor gave the impression that this location was less used now than in the past; perhaps the shifting gang territories had reduced the ABB presence in the area. Alternatively, a part of it may have been the early hour or simply the lack of significant things to keep an eye on above. Either way it was clear she had gotten as far as she could on stealth alone. Perhaps if her powers were different she could have waltzed right past the men and been in and out with nobody the wiser, but she was reaching the limit of her capabilities. Well, these particular capabilities.
She would simply have to focus on speed now, blitzing through the rooms before any kind of coherent response could form. Now that she had seen the floor plan above she felt more confident; there couldn't be that many rooms past the lobby. The building was big, but not that big. It would only take minutes to find whatever drugs or guns were stashed away, and then she would be long gone. The gang members were a secondary concern at best. If they tried to stop her she wouldn't hesitate to remove them, but chasing them down wasn't the goal.
Pushing forwards she finished opening the door in front of her, ignoring the hiss it gave as she darted through. She launched off the doorframe and shrugged off the influence of gravity, skimming across the lobby as a pale blur flashing through the background. As she approached the walls of the corridor she reached outwards, fingers tapping as she sailed past to add minute corrections to her trajectory down the hall. At the end she came to an instantaneous stop as her outstretched palm collided with the corner in front of her. The hall turned to the left for a short distance before returning straight again, and there was an empty doorway in the center of the far wall.
Speeding through the opening revealed a small office, filing cabinets stacked high and papers scattered throughout the room, almost completely covering the large wooden desk in the center. The documents may have been important, but she wouldn't know what to look for and didn't have the time. Instead, she made a mental note to grab a few on the way out if by some miracle she hadn't been detected.
A moment later she was back in the hallway, approaching the second corner. Peering around it, the hall continued for a short distance before turning again, back to the right as it formed a fishhook around the room she had just been in. The voices had grown louder and clearer, not in response to anything she had done but simply as the distance between them shrank. Judging by the volume they were still a little ways off, or perhaps inside one of the rooms further up.
Rounding the next corner revealed an unpleasant surprise. The voices may have been out of sight, but the two men silently standing part of the way down the hall clearly weren't. The three of them stared at each other in shock for a heartbeat before she broke the stalemate, tearing forwards towards the pair in a blur of action.
The shorter figure on the right got out the beginning half of a shout before her fist was buried in his gut, knocking the wind out of him and sending his wheezing form sliding down the hallway to crash against the wall at the end. His partner joined him a moment later as her other hand struck out in a mirror of the first, tumbling backwards to form a pile of limbs as the two collided.
Voices immediately rose in agitation from further down as the commotion echoed through the building, her stealth breaking at last. The longer she waited the more people would arrive, so she couldn't afford any more breaks to plan. Luckily the next course of action lay right before her.
The reason for the guards placement had become apparent when she reached the spot they had been standing – recessed into the wall a foot or so was a thick steel door. Unlike the wooden ones that made up the rest of the interior this looked like it would have been more at home on a ship. Thick rivets ran down one edge, and even the frame was reinforced with steel.
A small smile worked its way onto her face as she paused for a second to take it in. Beyond the obvious security benefits it was clearly meant to look imposing, but whoever had lugged that door here might as well have placed a giant bullseye on it while they were at it; the dramatic security was practically shouting at her that this was her destination. Extending an arm she pressed down on the handle, only mildly amused when it snapped immediately, refusing to open. It was a good design choice, to break at the handle instead of the locking mechanism, but not good enough.
Her fingers flexed, tearing into the steel with casual ease as the squeal of tortured metal filled the hallway. Pulling back she discarded a handful of twisted scrap, the remains of the lock, and wretched open the door, spinning quickly to slam it shut behind her. Only then did she look up, and her smile froze on her face.
To tell the truth she hadn't really considered what exactly she would find inside the gang house. Weapons had seemed like the obvious answer, or perhaps drugs or even cartoonish piles of money. Guns would have been ideal; they were easy to twist into useless garbage and she could even leave the scraps at the scene. For the other two she would have had to scatter or destroy them in some way, but it still wouldn't have been that complicated.
Instead, the last traces of humor vanished as she was struck into a terrible silence, taking in the room. Intellectually she had known the gangs were a plague on the city, but a week of failing to encounter even a mugging had lowered her guard. Even after New Wave's heated condemnation the knowledge of their evils had stayed surface-level, but now she felt it sink in as a wave of fury rose up to meet it.
Bedrolls were scattered across the open space, covering the floor in a sea of ragged fabric. Piles of clothing lay tossed about haphazardly, and along the far edges of the room exhausted figures huddled miserably, shying away from her violent entrance. Malnourished and bruised, the women looked anywhere but directly at her, trying valiantly to vanish into the background and remain unnoticed. Approaching, she almost missed a step when she caught sight of one of the girls in the back who couldn't have been more than thirteen. A faint scraping rose into her hearing, and it took a moment to realize that it was her own teeth, grinding together with pulverizing force.
She would get every last one of them free, and the first step was to secure the exit. Any ounce of hesitation had been crushed in a vice; restraint fleeing as buried recollections of violence lent their weight once again.
Spinning in place she strode coldly towards the door, footsteps heralding a countdown that fell on deaf ears. She could hear voices shouting loudly but indistinctly just on the other side, a call to action partially muffled by the thick door. Staring at it, her thoughts crystallized in jagged points, and she raised a single boot.
The titanic piece of metal was torn from its anchor with the sound of a cannon firing, blasting through the room full of papers and back towards the lobby in a twisted mass. It jackknifed as she drove it forwards, folding in half around the impact of her foot as the structural integrity failed in the face of such an overwhelming assault. In the wake a beat of utter silence descended, followed by absolute pandemonium.
Standing in the now-empty doorway she stared at the crowd that had formed in the hall. As the quiet broke they were spurred into action, the closest ones throwing themselves away in an instinctive scrabble for survival, subconsciously recognizing the danger before their minds had caught up. Behind them, a few of the dumber or braver gang members opened fire, brandishing a disorganized collection of pistols and sending a hail of lead towards her.
Brushing aside the gunfire with contemptuous ease she darted forwards, ears overwhelmed by the torrent of noise. Fortunately the horizontal rain of bullets started further down the hall, the rounds that missed continuing into the far wall instead of the room behind her. She aimed herself towards them, rushing to silence the gunfire before a stray round ricocheted somewhere unfortunate.
The slightest of concessions kept her from tearing their heads clean off their shoulders, settling for bowling through them like a train and launching bodies with a crunch of breaking bone. Directly in front of her she caught the wide eyes of a terrified gun-wielder, her own narrowing in anger as she saw his gaze flicker to the now-empty doorway behind her. In response her hand closed around his throat, lifting him bodily off the floor and tossing him through the gaping hole in the wall she had made a moment prior. Sailing through the air he spun through the shattered remains of the fireplace, dashing burning wood and embers across the carpet.
As smoke began to billow through the lobby the last few upright gang members fled, common sense prevailing long enough to carry them as far away as possible. Disjoint watched them leave, torn, before returning to the room she had just left. The captives were the priority, and now that the coast was clear it was time to go. Before the building burnt down around them.
Upon reentering the room she slowed, moving softly towards the confused and terrified women. Hopefully at least one of them spoke English; it would make this a little bit easier. But even as she went to open her mouth one of the captives looked up, holding her hands to her own ears and wincing.
Ah, of course. The door and gunfire had been loud to her, but didn't leave any permanent marks. For these ordinary people, that torrent of sound in such a confined space would be deafening. Even if any of them could speak English, they wouldn't be able to hear a thing for minutes at least.
Instead she beckoned towards the door, trying to appear as gentle and non-threatening as possible. Even as terrified as they were she could see the spark of hope ignite as the bolder among them stood, hobbling on stiff legs to the entryway. When Disjoint made no move to stop her another rose, followed by a few more, until the whole dozen-plus crowd were on their feet.
Peering down the hallway to verify it was still empty, Disjoint ushered them out of the room, away from the rapidly-spreading fire consuming one end of the building. A few limp forms lay scattered in the dust, and she watched silently as a smattering of furious kicks lashed out at the prone figures. At the end of the hallway the exit sign glared through the expanding layer of smoke, and her hand pushed through the locked door, chain snapping and sending thick links rattling through the handle and onto the ground.
The small crowd piled through the doors, blinking and shivering in the cold winter air. She herded them forwards and away from the building, clearing the street to gather on the opposite sidewalk. Only once the last members had rejoined the crowd did she turn back towards the hotel currently engulfed in flames. Her mind returned to the gang members they had passed on the way out, lying half-conscious in the hallway besides the exit. A moment later she deliberately discarded the thought, face motionless as she watched the fire burn higher.
Around the edges of her vision she could see furtive movement, the single-minded purpose of the crowd dispersing now that they had escaped the building. A handful of figures were taking the opportunity to slip away, darting into the alleys and streets behind her. Hopefully they had friends or family in the city to return to; she couldn't blame them for wanting to leave as soon as possible. Still, the remaining ten-odd women seemed content to wait with her, or perhaps they were just too overwhelmed to do anything else at the moment.
None of them had come forward to talk to her, for which a part of her was grateful. Freeing them had been easy, but she didn't even know where to begin when it came to figuring out where to go from there. Luckily she wouldn't have to wait much longer. At the edge of the street a red figure blurred into view before coming to a halt, still a half-block away. Another blur and he was besides her, staring in confusion at her cloaked figure and the impromptu gathering.
She was relieved to see the hero, not sure if they would have bothered to send anyone after her admittedly terse call to the PRT a few minutes prior. Apparently they had, and Velocity was either already nearby or simply fast enough to get there first.
The Protectorate hero looked at her, following her gaze as it landed on the small group of destitute-looking women, and his face hardened. Stepping forward he called out haltingly in a foreign language, presumably Chinese. A few faces brightened, and the previously quiet conversation grew to a babble of words, none of which she recognized. Velocity looked quite overwhelmed as well, but apparently caught enough of the words to get the gist; she could tell when his expression grew to match hers, hard and flat.
Another minute of dialogue passed by, the hero asking intermittent questions and a couple of the more vocal women chiming in to answer him. Finally he stopped and left the group, picking his way back over to her.
"Disjoint? I'm Velocity. I wish we could have met under better circumstances," the hero spoke. He looked grim, eyes roving between herself, the crowd, and the building cheerfully burning further down the street. A few minutes prior she and the women had been forced to move further away as the flames roared hotter, the building well and truly lost.
"I think I got the summary from the civilians over there, but can you tell me what happened?" The hero seemed to be asking in order for her to elaborate rather than out of doubt, and she didn't blame him for following procedure.
"I investigated the hotel. I found those women in there, and then I got them out." It wasn't the most polite or helpful summary she could have given, and she felt bad immediately after speaking, but just thinking back stoked the anger that had been coursing through her since discovering what was behind the door. Velocity, understandingly, waited a moment and she continued talking.
"Sorry. I'd been watching the building for the past few days – knew it was a spot the gangs were using but thought it was weapons, or drugs, or… something else. So I went in, made it to the vault in the middle, only to find…" she trailed off, glancing at the group behind her and Velocity nodded.
"What happened to the gang members inside?" the hero ventured calmly, staring at her and she met his eyes without hesitation.
"Some of them fled, I guess. Once I cleared a path I escorted the women out before the flames grew any worse, and then…" She gestured broadly at the inferno. A stab of vengeful satisfaction went through her at the sight, and perhaps more importantly she failed to feel anything else. There was no regret, staring at the pillar of red and orange.
"Did you start the fire?" he asked quietly, and she was mildly surprised at his boldness.
"No, I didn't. There was a fireplace inside, already lit. It spread during the fighting. But I'm not sad to see the building go," she stated, perhaps harsher than intended.
"I am," Velocity said slowly, and she twitched, taking a closer look at his face. The grim tightness from before was still there, but there was something else as well, something somber beneath the surface.
"You're a new hero, aren't you?" he continued, and she nodded a second later, curious where he was going. If he was trying to give her a speech on property damage after what she had just seen she was going to leave, paperwork and protocol be damned.
"Do you know what this is?" Velocity waved his arm at the burning building even as the familiar-growing sound of sirens edged into the background of her hearing. She forced herself to wait another moment, to let him finish his thought before she stormed off in disgust. Instead, her head cocked to the side as his next words registered, departing from the assumed script.
"This right here? It's simple. It's clean. It's the easy way out. And as a hero, it's everything you need to avoid."
He continued, noticing her abrupt attention, "Being a hero is… complicated. I'm sure you've seen that much already. You're supposed to be a soldier, fighting off the gangs. You're supposed to be a rescue worker, saving people in need. The media divides it up cleanly, heroes and villains. Good and bad. A 'hero' is shown as some combinations of roles, wearing a different hat for each occasion. But they're wrong. A hero is about helping people.
"Being a hero isn't about doing the right thing when it's easy. It's not about helping those who deserve it. It's about doing the right thing every time. It's helping everyone, even the ones who might not necessarily deserve it. Even the ones who you know don't." His words fell on a metronome beat as he stared at her expressionless mask. Finally he broke away, looking back towards the blazing hotel.
"It's never easy, no matter what you stumble upon. You got a bad one, and I only wish one of us had been here to do it instead. The gangs are rotten, and there's no easy answer. At least, no correct one." Beckoning, he turned and began making his way towards the flames at a slow pace.
"Let's get the area clear, I can hear the trucks getting closer," he spoke, and Disjoint found herself staring at his back, turning his words over methodically in her mind. Even after his brusque words she failed to find a shred of regret, but neither could she disagree with what he had said. The dissonance sparked in her thoughts, and a moment later she followed after him, still turning it over and over in her head.