A thousand apologies for the late update, everyone. This week has been rough. Having a sick toddler latched onto you while you're sick and your spouse is sick makes writing difficult.
Also, for anyone wondering: Yes, Desperado's visor looks exactly like Garrus'.
9:00 pm
The residential street is quiet at this time of night. A car passes every now and then, even a jogger with a cute dog, but other than that it's quiet. Thankfully. Glade sits in between a pair of large bushes across the street from Sinclair's house. He grew some extra leaves on his armor to help him blend in a little more, while he keeps watch. He wants to just get in and out so he can go help out Crusade and Desperado, but he can't afford to get caught. Which means taking it slow and being careful.
He's been hiding in these bushes for 10 minutes, observing the house and neighborhood. There hasn't been anything suspicious that he's noticed; no repeat cars driving by, no nosey neighbors looking out the window regularly, no movement inside the house. It's probably safe to go in.
With nobody in sight, Glade climbs out of the space between the bushes and hurries across the street. He slips in between Sinclair's house and the neighbor's, keeping to the shadows. Crouching behind another bush, he pulls out a handful of seeds and scatters them on the ground. He connects to them, feeling their little life forces, and wills them to grow. Little dryads sprout from the seeds and start running off. Glade directs a few to the front and back doors and they morph into lurkers, growing bushy foliage and long vines curled and hidden away. The rest of the dryads follow him as he skirts around the house, leaving a few more lurkers around the edge of the building. It's not a fool-proof security measure, but it'll alert him if someone comes up to the house.
Sinclair's house is dark. There are no lights on inside or out. Peeking in the windows, there aren't even any window coverings on the first floor. Glade picks a window in the kitchen and tries to open it, but it's locked. He moves along the side of the building to another and tries it, but it too is locked. The windows are old, probably original to the very old house. There may be a way to get them open.
Glade pulls another seed out of his pouch. Instead of growing a dryad, though, he guides the plant to grow thin, delicate vines that wrap around the window and creep into the crevices. The plant finds all of the little gaps that let air in and grows through them, extending up to the lock on the inside of the window. With some encouragement, the little vines wrap around the mechanism and slowly twist it. The vines whither and recede and when Glade tries the window again it slides up smoothly.
A rustle from the next yard over startles him and Glade freezes with his hands on the windowsill. He slowly looks towards the street, but there's no one there. He looks behind him and spots some squirrels in a tree, shaking the leaves as they chase each other. He waits another moment, but there's no other noise.
As gracefully and as quietly as he can, Glade climbs through the window and into the house. It's even darker inside, so he gives himself a moment to adjust. Turning on the lights or using a flashlight would be too risky. Eyes adjusted to the darkness, he starts looking around Sinclair's house.
The building has been kept up very well for an older house and has a lot of charm, but that's about where the positives end. There's hardly any indication that anyone even lives here aside from a few pieces of furniture. It's barren, like he doesn't have any time or want to put down roots. It kind of reminds him of his own room.
He starts in the kitchen. Only one cabinet has anything in it: instant coffee, a container of licorice, and protein bars. There are no pots or pans, nothing to cook. The refrigerator is the same, just some milk and two six-packs of beer. There's a tiny table in the middle with one chair. He pokes around the empty cabinets to see if anything may be hidden here, but there's nothing.
One hand on the walls to help guide him, Glade looks around the rest of the rooms on this floor. It doesn't look like Sinclair even uses any of these, but he makes sure to check all the paneling and trim for anything that might be hidden. Old houses are full of potential hiding places. But nothing seems to be hidden down here, not even up the chimney. Better check upstairs.
Back at the front of the house, Glade starts climbing the creaky stairs. A light shines through the front windows and he drops to the floor. His lurkers haven't gone off, so no one's approaching. The light moves from one side of the house to the other, then disappears. Must have been a car. With a relieved sigh, he stands and keeps climbing the stairs.
He reaches the landing and looks around; there's a hall with four closed doors. As gently as he can, Glade turns the handle of the closest door and pushes it open to reveal an empty room. The next door leads to the same. The third opens to a small, neat bathroom. He takes a quick glance around but there's nothing suspicious there, just a toothbrush and razor sitting on the edge of the sink.
The last door opens with a creaking of hinges and reveals a bedroom. There's a mattress on the floor with linens and pillows messily tossed aside. There's a tall dresser in one corner and another door, probably a closet. Glade crosses over to the dresser and starts pulling the drawers open. Inside is just the bare essentials of clothing, with two of the drawers being completely empty. He shuts the drawers and goes to the closet. It's a fairly large closet for a house this age, but not much in it. There are two suits hanging on a rod, one black, one navy blue, and an empty hanger and half a dozen button-down shirts. There are two pairs of dress shoes on the floor of the closet, black and brown.
Glade shuts the door with a frustrated groan. There has to be something here. The spartan nature of the house is enough to make him think this is just a temporary crash pad, but he needs proof. Looking back around the room, he heads over to the bed. Gently, so as not to move things too much, he feels through the linens and pillows. He stops when he hears a paper crunch. He feels around and locates the source of the noise; there's something in one of the pillowcases.
He reaches in and pulls out a photograph. It's crumpled and has been folded and unfolded, clearly handled a lot. He examines the image; it's Sinclair, a lot more carefree looking, and a red-headed woman giving him an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. The woman looks familiar, but he can't quite place her. He looks at the back but there's nothing written. He carefully replaces the photo in the pillowcase.
Ok, now he's convinced there has to be something else hidden, he just has to look more carefully. Starting at the door, he runs his hands along the walls probing for any trick walls or hidden panels. He doesn't find anything, not even behind the dresser. He opens up the closet again. With no light source, the space is nearly pitch black. He shoves the clothes off to the side and feels around the walls. On the back wall, he comes across a small door. There's a metal latch that opens it, but he can't see what's inside as he opens the door. It's too dark.
Twisting his arm back, Glade pulls the closet door shut and grabs his flashlight out of his pocket. Flicking it on, the small space is illuminated. The space behind the door is filled with plumbing. Damn, just an access door for the bathroom. His shoulders slump and he sighs as he shuts the door again. Maybe there isn't anything here after all.
As he stands and turns to open the door again, the flashlight illuminates the side of the closet that was previously hidden in shadow. There are pictures of vigilantes taped to the walls with eyes x'd out, nooses drawn across throats, blood dripping from every orifice, and other vulgar things. Half of the images are just of the Cosmic Watch. Looking around, he spots a picture of him and Crusade with drawn arms stabbing him and his eyes scratched out. It's all…disturbing, but not proof.
Turning off the flashlight, Glade opens the closet door again and steps out. He carefully resets the clothes and shoes as best he can to how he remembers them. Hopefully, it's not too off. With the closet shut for good, he looks around the room one more time. He stands in the middle of the room and slowly turns, the padded rug cushioning his shuffling feet. Wait…
Glade looks down at his feet. Why would someone with absolutely no decorations anywhere else have an area rug in their bedroom?
Taking a few steps back, he crouches down and flips the rug back. He probes at the wooden floorboards underneath and…there it is. There's a loose board. He struggles to get his fingers in the gaps, but a little creative extension of the branches on his costume gets him the leverage he needs to pull the board up.
Underneath he finds a neat pile of small envelopes. He grabs the top one and, sitting back on his knees, opens it. There's a letter inside written in a flowing, precise cursive.
My Queen,
I'm counting down the days until we are reunited. The pit in my soul your absence has left grows deeper every day. These fools will regret parting us from one another. With the leader gone so long, my puppet has a chance to move the plan along. The other is upset, but he will be mollified soon. Everything moves as I command.
Our plan to recapture that talkative imbecile is divine. I only wish I could be there to kill those useless pigs myself. I find myself reminiscing about the time you danced and carved your way through those useless oafs along the beach, the moon reflecting off the sea of blood, illuminating your radiance.
I dreamt of you last night. Your lips on me, the sweet taste of your….
That's enough of that. Glade feels a slight chill run down his spine as he replaces the paper in the envelope. He pulls out the rest, there must be more than 50 here. Some of them have splotches of blood on them. He reaches a hand into the space under the floor and feels around for anything else. His fingers brush a piece of fabric and he grabs it, pulling it out from the small space. It's some type of clothes. Scooching over to some empty floor space, he lays out what looks to be a suit. It's a black tailcoat with gold embellishments and matching pants. He reaches back down into the hole and, pushed in the other direction, pulls out a blood-red shirt and grotesque, red face mask. It looks hand sculpted, but it gives the wearer's features a wrinkled, distorted look. He lays it out all together and it finally clicks for him. This is Monarch's costume.
Glade dives back over the bed, heart racing, and grabs the pillow, pulling out the old photo of Sinclair. That must be HarleQueen, the bright red hair matches the pictures of her he's seen. Sinclair is Monarch. He looks back and forth at everything he found. This is it; this is what they needed.
He stands and gathers everything in his arms and runs out of the room without bothering to put anything back. He needs to get this all to Crusade and the team, to the police, to the heroes, somebody. He jogs down the stairs and hurries to the kitchen. Luckily Sinclair is at least still a little bit of a normal person and has a bunch of plastic bags shoved in the cabinet under the sink. He grabs one and dumps all the evidence into it, tying it off at the top as he runs back to the room at the side of the house where the window still stands open. He leaps out of the window and, after releasing all of the lurkers around the house, runs back to the street and down the sidewalk.
A few blocks away from Sinclair's house Glade finally slows down and pulls out his phone. Crusade sent him a text with an address a few minutes ago. Watchdog must have found where the cops are being held. He opens up the address in his maps only to find that the location is halfway across the city from where he is. He's never going to get there in time on foot.
He can't exactly take a cab or the bus in his current state. He looks around, maybe there's something he can borrow. He's not confident about his ability to hotwire a car, plus that is really risky. There's a kid's bike just laying in a yard, but that would still be too slow. He already took way longer going through Sinclair's house than he anticipated. Halfway up a driveway, he spots a pink moped just leaning against the fence. He groans internally; stealing someone's moped isn't exactly a great thing to do, but he doesn't have many choices right now.
Glade hurries up the driveway and grabs the motorized bike. There's a keyhole for the ignition, maybe it'll be easier than a car to fool it. He grows one of the branches from his costume into the hole and fiddles with it, trying different shapes and sizes until it turns and the small engine comes to life. He breaks off the branch, leaving it in the ignition, hops on the moped, and takes off down the street.
He follows the tinny voice on his map as quickly as he can. Luckily the route is taking him on mostly non-major roads, so he isn't running too much of a risk just driving around in full costume on a stolen moped. He gets within a quarter mile of the address and pulls the moped off to the side. He stashes it in an alley and makes a mental note of the closest intersection. He can take it back to its owner with a full tank of gas later. He grabs the plastic bag full of evidence from Sinclair's house and starts running the last couple of blocks towards the location. What is he going to do with this stuff? He can't just…take it into a fight with him.
Glade drops a few seeds as he runs, sprouting each of them into a dryad and combining them into a big, sturdy trunk. He hears a crash and yelling from around the corner and glances down the street as he passes the intersection. Lamplighter and a giant dog-like creature, that must be Cannis, tear through a small horde of Rite's minions, blood splattering onto the asphalt. He can't stop to say hi and help, though. He needs to hurry and get to his team. They have this handled.
He approaches the address marked on his map; a squat brick building. He's not sure where his teammates are, he hasn't heard from them in a while. He examines the windows of the building; there are shadows moving and flashes of light on the third floor, that must be where they are. He throws the plastic bag over his back and encourages his branches to grow around it, protecting it from harm. There are no obvious signs of fire, hopefully that means Hellion isn't here.
Glade runs up to the side of the building, seeds in hand, and presses them to the brick. Life bursts from the small pods and thick sturdy branches grow up, gripping the craggy bricks. After giving the branches a probing shake, he starts climbing up to the top floor of the building with the trunk right behind him. Once he's level with one of the windows, he takes a peek in. Desperado and Crusade are in there, and so are Rite and some other woman dressed in black.
He doesn't have time to figure out if this window opens or how, so he shuffles off to the side and directs the trunk up to the window. The large wooden creature pulls one arm back and shoves it through the large window, shards of glass raining down to the pavement below. The trunk climbs through the window, clearing out the rest of the shards so Glade can follow.
Inside the building, Glade can see what's going on. Desperado is crouched down behind a stack of boxes as she reloads her pistols. There's a lot of dried blood around and Rite looks pissed. The other woman has a big book in one arm and uses the other to gesture. Desperado goes flying to the ceiling and stays there. Hands still free, she points her guns at the two women and they dive off to the side, trying to avoid the incoming bullets.
Crusade, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be fighting anyone. She has a sword in one hand, the other is clutched around her torso. She's injured, but from what? She runs along the wall, smashing her sword into the naked light bulbs. What is she doing?
Glade drops another few seeds and they grow as quickly as he can manage, morphing into soothers. He sends them Crusade's way. He tries his comm. "Guys, I'm here. What can I do?"
Desperado grunts in his ear. "A little help gettin' down might be nice." He sends the trunk over to her, thick limbs reaching up to try and help pull her down from the ceiling. He sprouts a few more dryads and sends them running over to Rite and the woman in black. Maybe they'll be able to grab that book and stop whatever that woman is doing.
As he uses the small trees to distract the women and keep their attention off of Desperado, Crusade shouts to him. "We need to get these lights off! This floodlight won't break!"
He turns to see her wailing on a bright light attached to the wall. It looks like an outdoor fixture, meant to withstand a lot of punishment. He glances around the room again, finding two more of them strategically placed to keep the whole floor bright even if all the other lights go out.
Glade takes another two seeds and slams them into the wall on either side of the window. He pushes out, long vines with dense foliage growing quickly along the walls. The plants reach the light Crusade has been working on first. The branches pack in against the light, covering up as much of the surface as they can. The brightness in the room immediately dims. The branches keep growing, breaking any normal bulbs they pass and stifling the other two unbreakable floodlights until the room is wreathed in plants.
Crusade shouts in excitement. She runs unsteadily past him towards a figure standing in the corner. Where did they come from? The person stands, looking around uneasily, in an ill-fitting head-to-toe black body suit. There are extra arms loosely stitched to his sides that just flop on the ground.
Glade's partner backs him in and puts a rounded, glowing wall up, trapping him in the corner. "Got you, you son of a bitch."
The trunk catches Desperado as she falls from the ceiling. The tinker quickly untangles herself from its branches and reloads her revolvers. She shoots a couple of her bullets that mimic Crusade's power around Rite, boxing her in, before shooting the other one at random puddles of blood. The wet, putrid-smelling blood dries up in an instant, leaving dark brown stains behind.
Glade looks at Crusade. "Did the cops make it out of here ok?"
Crusade shakes her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "We haven't found them yet. Been a bit preoccupied. But they're here somewhere." She keeps her hand firmly against the prison holding the unidentified person.
The woman in black flings her arm and the little dryads that were mobbing her go flying, grasping onto her book. They slam into a wall and he loses connection with them. The large, old book falls to the ground with a thud. She climbs to her feet, scowling, and points to Desperado and then the mimicked barriers. Desperado is seemingly pulled by the hip into the glowing blue walls. It breaks, freeing Rite. Guess the book wasn't actually doing anything.
Rite cackles and jumps on Desperado, dagger out. Desperado grabs at her wrists, trying to keep the sharp blade away from her. Glade sends the trunk over to them and it picks Rite up, kicking and screaming, off of his teammate. She struggles and stabs at the tree, but it's got a tight grip on her. "No! No! Get off of me! You can't do this!" The trunk grows, roots pushing into the floor and branches wrapping around Rite. Soon she's completely encased, unable to move.
Glade runs over to Desperado and helps her up. The gunslinger groans and grabs her side as she stands. "Don't worry about me, we gotta find those cops. I'll take care of Bruja."
The woman in the black dress, Bruja apparently, stares at Rite encased in his trunk, mouth open a little. Her eyes dart down the hall and she bolts. Without looking, Desperado shoots her gun once and Bruja cries out as she falls. She grabs her knee and curls in on herself momentarily before she struggles back up to her feet and starts slowly limping away, leaning heavily on the wall. Desperado jogs after her around the corner.
"Shit!" Glade turns to see Crusade looking at her empty barrier. "Where the hell did he go?!" She lowers the walls and looks around, but there's no one there. Her head snaps towards him, eyes wide. "Don't let him get to the hostages!"
Glade looks around. There are three doors at this end of the hallway. He opens the nearest one but it's just a closet. He runs to the second and tries to open it, but it's locked. Backing up a couple of steps, he kicks the door and it swings in, bouncing off the wall with the force. Inside is a large room with a heavy-duty pipe running overhead. The smell of death crashes into him and he coughs. The minute he steps into the room he starts hearing muffled cries from the right. The eight remaining police officers hang upside down from the pipe, faces red and mouths gagged, next to the four that were already killed.
"It's ok, I'm going to get you out of here." He looks around, but there no sign of the figure, no movement. Remembering what they did before, he turns back towards the door and flips off the light switch. The room plummets into darkness and the muffled cries of the cops just get louder.
Crusade runs in through the door, her head darting side to side. After a moment, her shoulders sag and she sighs. "Dammit! He must have gotten away."
He flips the light back on. "Who?"
She shakes her head, eyes steeling. "Doesn't matter, I'll fill you in later. Let's get these folks taken care of."
They hurry over to the dangling police officers and start working on getting them down. Crusade unbinds the first's ankles while Glade supports his shoulders so he doesn't just go crashing to the ground. As the bindings get released, she grabs his legs and lowers him down until he's on his back. Satisfied he's not seriously injured and can move on his own they move on to the next person.
Desperado joins them, helping stabilize the inverted men. They make their way down the line trying to make sure they're being as gentle as possible. A few are injured, one of them probably has a pretty bad concussion. Glade sends the soothers that had been helping Crusade to start patching up the officers on the floor. They're a little weirded out a first, but eventually they accept the little pats. The ones who are feeling marginally ok get up to release their captain at the end.
When they ungag Jenkins, he grumbles at them. "Had a feeling you'd show up."
Crusade smiles a little. "You know us, Lieutenant. Always gotta stick our noses in everything."
They lower Jenkins to the ground and he yelps, clutching his arm. "Damn terrorists broke my arm when they grabbed me." He gently cradles the limb to his chest as he slowly gets to his feet. He turns to Captain Collins. "You all right, sir?"
Captain Collins is a tall, broad man with salt-and-pepper hair. He leans on one of his men, one foot hovering off the ground. He has a nasty black eye with a cut on his cheek. "I'm alive, that's what counts." He looks at Glade and Crusade in turn. "So you're the Light Brigade? I'll be honest, when I heard the commotion outside, I thought it was the heroes here to save us. Didn't expect vigilantes to put themselves on the line for us, all things considered."
Crusade stands, letting out a slight hiss in pain. "If you arrested us right now I wouldn't care one bit. Somebody had to do something."
Collins appraises them a moment longer, an approving curl to his lip. He gestures to some of his men that have found their feet. "Somebody find our damn gear, get a call in. We're going to need back up and more than a few ambulances." With a chorus of yes sirs, the officers scatter. He turns back to them. "Do you need any medical attention?"
Desperado shakes her head. "We'll manage just fine, but one of your captors is gonna need some lookin' after. She uh…" She rubs the back of her neck a little nervously. "Her knee ain't exactly pointed the right way at the moment."
Jenkins chuckles under his breath as Collins' eyes bulge. "You caught one of them?"
Glade shrugs. "Actually two; Rite and Bruja."
Crusade crosses her arms over her chest. "Umbridge is in the wind."
Collins glances at Jenkins. "No wonder you like them." He gestures to the door. "You better get out of here before I have to answer too many questions."
Glade's brow creases. "Are you sure you don't want us to hang around, make sure they don't escape?"
Collins shakes his head. "We'll be able to handle them from here, don't worry. Lt. Jenkins will be in touch. Thank you for rescuing us."
With a quick wave to the Lieutenant, they turn and make their way out of the building. No one is feeling particularly talkative after everything they've seen tonight, they just want to get home. Crusade and Desperado are struggling to walk, he should just go get the car for them.
He holds out a hand to his teammates. "Give me the keys, you two just sit and I'll bring the car back." Desperado nods wearily and fishes around in her pocket. She pulls out the jangly keys and tells him where the car is parked. Luckily it's not too far from where he stashed the moped. The two women sink onto the curb, bone tired.
Glade jogs down the street back the way he came. He stops in the alleyway to check on the moped, but it's not there. His shoulders slump. He probably shouldn't have left the ignition on. With a sigh, he continues down the street and finds the car where Desperado told him it would be. He climbs in and starts the car, driving it the couple of blocks to where he left his teammates.
As he rounds the corner, he sees that the two women have been joined by Lamplighter, Cannis, and one other person. He hops out of the car and joins the group. "How are you guys doing? Anyone hurt?"
Lamplighter shakes his head. "Nothing serious. They were just telling us how things went inside. You and Jackass find out anything?"
Glade's eyes widen. "Right! I totally forgot!" He sheds the outer layer of his costume to reveal the bag from Sinclair's and hands it to Crusade. "I found what we were looking for and it's not good."