Welcome to the Playground
As you walk along the Boardwalk towards your destination you can't help but think back to the events of the past few months. It's weird how life can change so quickly from doing something that, at the time, was such an innocuous thing. Not that it made your life worse, not really. It made it difficult, sure. Terrifying too, sometimes. But not worse… more like… weird or strange, perhaps.
If anything, you are certain at this point that the weirdness it's in your genes (if your family is anything to go by). Meeting your Boss just made that weirdness shine brighter than before.
Life is good, tough. In general. So more interesting than before, that's for certain. Life in Brockton Bay has always been dangerous, especially for people with your skin tone, but now that you are also dangerous that factor only serves to spice the monotony of daily life. You still do the shopping for mom, go to the gym with dad, spend time with your busybody older brother, and go to Winslow, etc etc. All those things a normal teenager does.
But you also sneak out at night, go to the Last Drop, and serve as enforcer for the best crime boss this side of Boston.
Meeting the boss was pure luck. She is slightly older than you and, therefore, in a different class in school but when you spend half an hour trying to help a girl wash her hair from that unknown pink sugary liquid in the middle of the school's bathroom you tend to get to know the person. The fact that she was smart and surprisingly funny (when she wasn't all intense determination) was just a bonus.
She was a good friend. After what happened the only thing you could do was to be a good friend back.
One thing led to another and now you are second in command to a criminal organization.
Ah! How's that for a twist, bro?
You are like 87% sure you make more money per week than your brother does in, like, a month.
You think. You never compared salaries. Neither of you want to know what the other is actually getting up to. Of course, that's why you do know what he's up to. It's your duty as the annoying little sister.
After half an hour of walking, a clouded night has already descended, and you finally arrive at your destination.
Five months ago, this place was a run down, decrepit shit hole. A warehouse for a shipping company specialized in transporting all kinds of valuable stuff. After Leviathan's appearance and the Dockworkers little rebellion, the company took offense to the city and moved south to greener pastures, leaving behind its former headquarters'. When you and the boss first found the warehouse, it didn't look like much. In truth, it didn't look much different than any other warehouse: an old rectangular building smelling of rust and salt. The location was nice, though, stuck between the Docks and the Boardwalk, with a nice view to the Bay (if you classified the Bay as nice to view that is). When you were inspecting the place, however, things turned interesting.
See, there was a basement beneath the basement.
It was well hidden. The only clue were two metal vents that went down to it, and a breeze coming from a crack on an ordinary section of the wall.
It was strange already for such an old warehouse so near the sea to have a basement, but to have another level to it?
Something fishy was going on.
That is why, when you and the boss, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, cracked the damn mechanism behind the basement door (and by cracking you mean it literally) that lead to the next level, you are pleasantly surprised to have your suspicions confirmed.
Down there, right above a hardcore looking mahogany desk, was a big, stylized M.
The symbol of the March.
Everyone knew the March. They were one of the first big parahuman gangs in the city led by its sole cape Marquis. He was legendary in Brockton Bay for being a gentleman villain and being a one-man army, pushing back the E88 and the Teeth all by himself. But then, he was captured by the BBB (or New Wave, as they call themselves now) sent to the Birdcage and things got complicated for a bit. Suffice to say the older generation of the Bay still sigh nostalgically whenever Marquis's name is uttered.
So, when you find what it looks like to have been his base, you can only think that you won the lottery. The entire place looked looted, though. When Marquis was sent packing his subordinates jumped ship, apparently, and escaped with anything not nailed down. The desk was only left there to suffer the passage of time because it was too heavy to have been looted. Beyond that there was only a few rotted chairs, random newspapers pages on the ground and just a fuck ton of dust.
But it was good. Perfect, even.
When you and the boss took down the Merchants, helped dismantle the Chorus and swallowed up both gang's more business minded members; when the both of you established yourselves as the new big gang in the city you celebrated both things by making the warehouse your official base and rebranding it.
Currently, the sounds coming from it was of loud techno music and the light escaping from its windows was a psychedelic rainbow of random neon colours. Outside the main door was a line of people waiting to get in, organized in a neat file by a red rope and burly security men. On top of the door, the circular brand of the Last Drop was hanged up and shining gloriously with fluorescent light.
You approach Carlos and when he spots you, he makes way for you and starts opening the door.
Ignoring both the complaints and the whispers from the people in line to enter the club, you get in the building. Carlos says a greeting that is barely heard above the cacophony of sounds that explode outwards when he opens the door (you do try to match his "Good evening little boss" with an enthusiastic greeting back, but it's October and you don't want to stay outside in the cold so you kind of speed through the thing to get inside).
The room you enter is small and there is a large window to the side where Anna is waiting for people to give her their coats and stuff before entering the club properly. There is also John and Mike in the room, who proceed to frisk you as per the new procedure after some idiot decided bringing a gun inside an enclosed place full of people was a smart idea.
The weapons they do find on you, tough, they let you keep, as usual.
After that you open another door, and you are assaulted by even louder music than before. The club itself was divided in two: the ground floor where the main fun happened and the second floor, where private party rooms and a private bar were made from the company's former office rooms. The private party rooms have tinted windows inwards and so does the private bar, showcasing to your richer clients the club below.
Sure, it might be a bit elitist, but when you guys were establishing the gang, you were in dire needs of funding, so, taking a cue from Faultline's Crew, the both of you decided on making a more legitimate business front. Therefore, the need to appeal to all audiences.
"Hey! Don't judge! It´s hard to make money when the crime boss has morals!"
Amused by that confession that one of your underlings said way back in the beginning, you move through the thin crowd to reach the diagonally opposite end of where you came in. The basement was for gang members only and the steel door to it was guarded by the most menacing looking members of your security team.
They make their best menacing impression when they see you. They know who you are, of course, but Master/Stranger protocols exist for a reason. It's also the reason why you kept a tight leash to your power this all time.
You didn't want to have things get messy like last time you forgot to do that.
You were kind of allergic to bullets. Not very good for your health.
Under the heavy scrutiny of the two men around you, you knock on the door.
One, two.
Pause.
One.
Pause.
One, two.
With a scrapping sound of steel against steel, a peephole opens at eye level and a pair of blue eyes look out from it.
"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?" Comes an accented voice from behind the door.
"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time." You say with a smirk.
"The dog did nothing in the night-time." The voice responded.
"That was the curious incident." You say, nodding dramatically.
There's an amused scoff from the voice and the peephole closes. The grunting of steel precedes the door opening and you are now faced with a muscular ginger man who greets you.
"You are here earlier than usual, little boss."
"Oh, you know how it is! Didn't have anything to do and decided to help you guys open up the club!" You make a mischievous smile stretch across your face. "Besides, who knows what the big boss will do without proper supervision?"
The man snorts with amusement and lets you pass through the door. He smiles at you and says:
"Aye! Who knows! Last time you weren't here she wanted to ban smoking inside the club!"
"She has the best of intentions!" You manage to say with a straight face. "But yeah, if she did that half our customer base would be gone in a heartbeat."
"Better than a couple of cigars lighting the place on fire."
"There's insurance for that!"
He laughs a bit and makes a shooing motion with his right hand.
"Go see the boss. She's in her office, as usual."
"Hmm." You hum softly, thinking. "Did she go out during the day?"
"Nah, not today. Last I heard, the boss was busy with reports about Purity's movements"
You perk up at that. The infamous Blaster 8 of Brockton Bay has been one of the main powerhouses of the E88 but there have been rumours circulating for the last couple of months of a falling out and that's she is trying to go independent. It's a big deal if it's true. If.
You wave goodbye while speeding down the set of stairs that lead down to the basement. The place is big and open, with chairs, couches and sofas for people to relax as well as tables to meet up. There is also two bathrooms down here for whoever needed. A big TV on one end of the basement is blaring out a baseball game and there's a dozen people of varied genders watching a few members playing a game of poker in one of the corners. The night is still young, so the bar down here is empty, with Chuck cleaning a few glasses behind the counter.
You go and do your usual thing of greeting the few lieutenants present and make small talk with them, but you do it mostly out of sense of duty. Boss has said that it helps morale if the higher ups take noticeable care of their underlings. She is rarely wrong, and it did help make the gang members see you beyond a little girl trying to be an adult.
But some had a hard time of it.
They were quickly dissuaded.
It's hard to see a person as a child when she can cut your throat without you even noticing.
When all is said and done you move on to the part of the wall that has the secret door. Since it's inside the only place that is separate from the rest of the basement, there is no need for much secrecy. It's a rectangular room in one of the corners of the basement and it's supposed to be the boss's office. It's just a prop room, a diversion, an extra room to have the boss meet people when they are outsiders or newbies. You take one of the books from a shelf full of them (The Hound of Baskerville by Arthur C. Doyle) and you put a finger in until you meet the bookcase's wall and find the button. After a resounding click is heard you push the entire thing forwards opening the hidden door to show a hallway.
As dramatic as the boss is, there is something to say about this kind of thing.
The hallway is short and quickly ends in a set of stairs that go around the elevator shaft. The elevator is industrial and is connected to the ground level to the club's backstage. It makes too much noise, however, so it's only used when it's really necessary, like when the boss needs one of the vats moved or the product is sent to be sold. Those were the reasons why it was installed. When those times come it's an all-hands-on-deck situation and always at the highest point of the night when the noises of the club make for better cover.
After two flights of stairs, you are faced with a big open hallway full of tinkertech vats containing great amounts of liquid. Half of them are a neon purple and the other half a toxic green. There's smoke in the air and you smell oil and something overly sweet and spicy.
The combination makes your nose twitch.
You move down the long hallway, passing through all the product, until you are the boss's door. Boss's sanctum sanctorum is, no joke, a dangerous fucking place. As probably all tinker labs are. But boss's tinker speciality makes you shiver a bit. Chemical tinkers are scary as fuck, as you have come to realize this past year… a bit too intimately.
You knock precisely once and you wait fo-
"Come in."
You open the door.
The boss is siting in her swivel chair (one that looks more like a throne that an office chair) with her back to you. The office is spacious and very well decorated. It was decided early on that she would inherit Marquis sense of style, a more sophisticated look, making the entire room a late XX century feel. That contrasts rather shocking and purposefully with the modern lab on the left of the office, which contrasts even more heavily with the other part on the right of you. You tend to avoid looking at the blood-stained floor beneath the surgery bed. Behind the mahogany desk, there is a commode where on top there is a small vitrine showcasing two skulls. Beneath each of them there is a small name tag identifying whom they belonged to.
The boss is reading papers from a clip but puts the reading on hold as she turns around to see you.
"Good evening, Taylor."
"Good evening, Aisha."
You approach her with a skip on your step and you sit down on one of the corners of the desk.
"Any news?" You say as you peruse over the documents on the desk. "Jack told me you were reading on Purity"
"Hmm" Taylor hums with the back of her throat, as she puts the clip down on the desk. All her movements are slow and methodical, like she is thinking while moving, no rush or stress, like she has all the time in the world. Her long black hair contrasts heavily with her pale complexion, her eyes – no longer their original colour – shone purple with bioluminescent light. Her tall, chiselled figure showcases her long legs and powerful strides that you know she has. If you were asked for a comparison, you would say she looks like a panther. After a moment of thought, she responds:
"There is most definitely a schism between Purity and the rest of the E88. Before July she had already started actively targeting the ABB." She sighs. "The only reason she isn't attacking us it's because people still think the Merchants are operating normally and nobody attacks the Merchants"
"Because they smell?" You suggest.
"Because they were scum." She spits out. "And only would-be heroes would dare go against them. Everyone else ignored them."
Damn, you were hoping her mood was better today. But you know the subject of the Merchants was a minefield. You try to dispel her mood before it got worse.
"Any plans regarding Purity then?"
"No. She is not attacking the E88, which means they either have blackmail on her or she still has emotional ties to them. In other words, she is radioactive."
"They probably have her civ ID… And if she joins the Protectorate?"
"She won't. Their idiotic PR has made the mistake of disappearing the villains that turn themselves in. It has created a feeling in villains that their life will end if they try to turn a new leaf." Taylor's right hand moves to massage the bridge of her nose. "Either they are actively malicious or incompetent or straight up idiotic. Who knows?"
"Sad for her then. Anything else?"
"Your idiot brother's gang is doing well. A few thefts here and there, mostly from the E88 and from our Merchant's front. Tattletale has been sniffing around but I think she is trying to find a new recruit."
"He's not an idiot, Taylor. He means well."
"Yes but like all other parahumans he's lacking one critical component: common sense."
"Well… Alright, I don't have anything to say to that. I already heard all your rants about it. It really would have been simpler for him to gain custody of me by joining the Wards." You say with a shake of your head and a sigh.
"Hmm…" Taylor finally looks directly at you with a thoughtful expression adorning her face.
"Whenever you do that, you give me the heebie-jeebies." You say, after a moment of silence, with a fake shudder. Disrupted from her train of thought, Taylor's face colours a bit.
"What? Me thinking?"
"No, you plotting."
"Ah."
"Yes, ah."
She hums softly this time and rests back her head on the chair. You take that moment of relaxation as an invitation and with one swift movement you sit down horizontally on her lap. She startles a bit and glares at you while you wiggle your bum to make yourself comfortable, as if you were a cat kneading a new bed.
"You'll be the death of me." She says, with an expression of utter resignation.
"Hmhm." You confirm with, you are sure, is a shit eating grin. Her stern expression cracks for a second and you count yourself victorious.
"In other news..." She says in an obvious way to change the subject. "I have found breadcrumbs the size of houses, in my investigation of Shadow Stalker, that have led me to finding out where she went."
"Oh no! I was really hoping she died, or ya' know got dropped down a portal straight to Hell."
"Unfortunately, neither of us is so lucky. She joined the Wards."
"My God!" You say incredulously.
"Yes. But wait, there is more."
"No!"
"She was sent to San Diego in the hopes of being straightened out at a Summer 'boot camp'. Military style."
"No! They are making things worse! When the bitch goes back to the streets, she'll have proper training and shit!"
"Yes, well if sh-"
You are interrupted by a single knock on the door. You both look at the clock hanging above the door. It's 11:40. The club is probably at full swing. Taylor looks at you and you nod, understanding immediately her meaning. You get up from her lap and let reins of your power free. Taylor, who was looking at you, has a moment of confusion before a spark of realization shows in her eyes. She picks up the clip and turns around in her chair. You roll your eyes. So dramatic. You move to stand by the door.
"Come in." She commands.
Chuck comes in cautiously trying to look straight ahead, avoiding the more… ugly parts of the office. He enters fully in the room, closing the door behind him.
"Good evening, Ma'am."
Taylor slowly turns around and puts the clip she was pretending to read back on the desk. See, you think, so dramatic.
"Good evening, Eric. What is it?"
Oh, shit!? His name isn't Chuck? You have been calling him that for the last two months!
"Jack says there's a cape on the back-alley entrance hoping to talk with you."
Taylor's eyebrows rise considerably, and you can't help but imitate her. No capes are supposed to know you exist! Taylor pushes herself forward putting her elbows on the desk and interlocking her fingers, seemingly in anticipation.
"Did they ask for me, specifically, or…?"
"Ah" He startles a bit nervously. "They asked for Skidmark."
"Really?" Taylor says slowly as she relaxes slightly back to the chair, untangling her fingers. You can already see the gears ticking behind her purple eyes all while her left thumb unconsciously fiddles with her two mechanical fingers of her left hand. She always does that last thing when Skidmark's name is said, a nervous tick you think.
"Did they tell Jack their name?" Tayl- no, the Boss said.
"I don't think so Ma'am." Eric says quickly. "But Jack said they didn't look normal."
"Not normal?"
Fuck, that's the most redundant thing to say when one mentions a cape. Of course, they are not normal! They are flesh bags full of trauma and the chances of you dying are increasingly bigger the closer you are to them.
"No, Ma'am. Jack says the cape looked like someone gave sentience to the contents of a trash compactor."
Ok, now that was awfully specific. Boss's eyes narrow, though, in recognition.
"Trainwreck… huh." She says, clearly intrigued, but there is some steel entering her tone. "Ok, you can go back to tending the bar upstairs. Before that, tough, tell Jack I'll be at the back office, on the ground level in 6 minutes. We can't bring him inside the basement level, understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Eric bows a bit and quickly (although not quick enough to be deemed rude) gets out of the office. You then chain your power back and see Taylor's attention turn to you. Her eyes are cold amethysts.
"What are you thinking?" You say. The name of the cape sounds familiar. Probably from one of the Boss's briefings.
"He came from his own free will."
"Yeah, and the problem with that?"
"To join what is supposed to be the Merchants."
"Ah, I see the problem now."
"The Merchants." The boss says with her teeth clenched.
"Ok, then. How are we solving this?" Too late, the boss is already on a bender.
"The Merchants! The fuckers! Fucking scum not fit to lick my boots! Drug-peddlers!"
"Ah, boss we kinda sell drugs too." There is really no point to your response though, the boss is already going away from the desk and starts kicking the shit out of one of the spare armchairs in the office, screaming all the while. You make a mental note to put another extra armchair in the office.
"Rapists! Killers! Bastards! Kidnappers!" She pulls out a terrifying looking gun seemingly out of nowhere (one that looks more like a hand cannon than a pistol) and shoots the chair repeatedly. You sigh and make another mental note to get a new carpet.
When the bullets run out, you approach the boss slowly, because she is starting to hyperventilate. From mindless rage to impotent fear. Boss's episodes are not common but not rare either. A month ago, she went full rage mode on an unpowered member who tried to sell Shimmer to some teens from Winslow. Suffice to say no member ever tried to sell drugs of any kind to kids since then. Their operations were supposed to be a secret after all. They were supposed to be better than the Merchants after all. The weekly shipments of Shimmer that were sent to Toybox and Blasto were heavily guarded and for someone to have managed to steal, no matter how few, bottles of the stuff to sell was a major issue. One that the Boss dealt with quickly and publicly.
You manage to hug her closely but not too close, so she doesn't feel trapped, and you whisper comforting words.
"Shh… it's okay. Breathe Taylor. They are dead, remember? Yeah? I pissed inside their tequila bottle, remember how funny that was? Breath, sweetie. Shh..." When she starts hugging you back, you continue. "It's okay. Sh… I want you to do something for me, sweetie. Can you? I want for you to tell me seven things you can see in this room, sweetie. Can you tell me?"
"Armchair, … Huh" A deep breathe right in your ear. "A clock, … a desk, a table, a bottle, a chandelier… a distiller …"
"C'mon sweetie, one more." You say softly.
"A skull."
"Good." You turn her so you can look her in the eyes. "Do you feel better?"
A deep breathe.
"Yeah, I do" She says.
The both of you spend a moment just sitting there, on the floor, hugging each other.
"Eight things."
"What" You say a bit confused.
"You made me count eight things."
"Yes, well… The armchair doesn't count."
"Why?"
You pointedly look at the remains of what was once a perfectly comfortable chair. She, on the other hand, chooses to bury her face in the crook of your neck.
"Well, it was old and ugly anyway." She chooses to say.
You continue to hug it out on the floor for a bit more.
"What time is it?"
"11:44"
"Ok. We need to go." She disentangles herself from you and in one quick movement she is striding towards the desk, where her mask and yours are. She opens the drawer and takes out the rebreather for her. Taylor puts it on, there's woosh sound from the vacuum seal, and she picks up your mask and throws it at you. "C'mon, my little Imp. Get up from the floor, we have stuff to do."
"What's your plan?"
She reloads her hand cannon, straightens out her suit and passes a hand through her gorgeous hair.
"We find out why the bastard came here and what he wants. If we don't like the answer, we kill him."
"Neat. And if we do like the answer?" You say putting on your mask.
Both of you are at the door, looking over each other.
"We might kill him all the same." She confesses with a sigh. "I don't think I can trust the type of person who would willingly join the Merchants and we can't exactly let him go with the knowledge that we exist."
"Hmm. Not it."
"What?"
"I'm not gonna be the one getting rid of the body."
"Ah."
"Yes, ah."
You open the door for her with a small bow and a flourish. Before you can follow her out of the room, tough, you hear her voice soft, weak, a bit tired.
"Hey, Aisha…"
"Yeah?" You respond.
"Thanks… for everything."
"No problem."
