With the city on high alert for further bombings and sightings of the individual known as the Reckoning, many of the civilians of National City were left in the dark about the circumstances surrounding the latest incident. No news bulletin was issued identifying Jake White as the man in the suit, nor has his ties to the string of calamities been released. To the general public everything was calm and returning to normal.
To the select few in the shadows, the kind who keep their distance from the public eye so not to arouse suspicion, there was a change on the wind. Rumours have been spreading like a virus, all the lowlifes who like to hide and scurry in the darkness feeling the tremors knowing it was time to find a hole and bury their heads in it. Police officers have already noted the reports of criminal activity going up, many thugs becoming brazen and reckless. But what was going down was those with more daring attributes. Robberies, thefts, assaults, have almost halved. And the few who they pick up are found with new tools of the trade, devices or weapons the officers hadn't seen before.
Captain Sawyer was seeing the pattern. These weapons were spreading into her city. She'd already flagged the case to the FBI who were looking into the Blacksmith, the suspected source of the new advanced technology cropping up. In the past few days she'd confiscated three types of gun that uses anything but bullets. One fired some kind of energy discharge that could melt steel. Another generated a concussive pulse that punched holes in brick. Then there was the large object with a tank strapped to it that was filled with green liquid that sprayed a green mist. It was the odd one as it didn't appear to affect the people around it, but Maggie had suspicions it might be kryptonite. She passed it to the FBI and went to get on the phone to Alex when she called her first to report the identity of the Reckoning.
It was many, many hours later now and Maggie Sawyer was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a breathing apparatus and a heart monitor. She had suffered severely in the explosion that tore apart Jake's apartment but thanks to Supergirl she got medical attention in time. And thanks to the surgeons they were able to stabilise her enough to be hopeful. Now she lay in an induced coma waiting for the swelling in her brain to subside and her internal organs to function on their own. All anyone could do at the moment was wait. A TV was on in her hospital room, the channel set to a news anchor announcing the newest candidate for the upcoming senate seat. The talk of the city because they are not only from National City but also a second generation alien, making them the first to run for office in history.
While she was incapacitated, her cases continued without her. The FBI continued its hunt for the Blacksmith. Her officers joined the search for the bomber who put her in the hospital. The acting captain at her precinct was met with the rising tide of dangerous weapons on the streets and determined to get to the bottom of it before she returned to work.
Director Danvers from the DEO payed the woman a visit to check on her condition, relieved she was going to survive but guilty that she didn't get out unscathed. There was an added conflict to the young woman which the comatose captain wouldn't found ironic. Moments before she got herself blown up she had seen the wall of evidence that had been incinerated in the explosion. One glance and Maggie knew what she was looking at, reacting fast enough to get her officers out of the room before more made the same discovery. She was prepared to keep Kara's secret, to the grave if necessary. She wouldn't have expected it to be this soon. Alex was left pondering this as she sat by her bedside. On the one hand she didn't want the captain, her friend, to die. But on the other if she did Kara's secret would die with her. That wasn't much consolation though, not while Jake was still out there with the same secret. At least with Maggie she'd already demonstrated her willingness to help. She just wished they could talk about it first.
She sat with her for a few moments for standing up, wishing the woman a speedy recovery before leaving the hospital room. On her way out she bumped into a middle aged woman carrying flowers. "Hi" the woman said politely. She had dark hair and no makeup, the years showing on her face as she gave Alex a brief smile. Alex nodded politely, barely giving the woman a second thought as she walked down the hallway too caught up in her own guilt. The woman paused at the door and looked back watching the young woman leave. She was dressed in a police uniform. The card on the flowers read "from your friends at the precinct". She stepped into the room and put the flowers in a pot by her bedside, standing by the bed looking down at the captain. But her expression wasn't one of friendliness. It was cold and full of contempt. "The men at your station want you to get better" she said passively, looking at the flowers she borrowed from the young officer downstairs. "It would be easier if you were dead. But I'll settle for this, as long as you don't get in our way." she turned away from the unconscious woman and left the room, exiting in the opposite direction to Alex slipping through the emergency exit.
There was a car waiting for her downstairs at the back of the hospital, the driver waiting patiently as she left through the fire exit. She had discarded the police uniform in the stairwell. Even though it was a costume stitched together from a Halloween store she felt dirty wearing it. She exited in her tracksuit and climbed into the backseat of the four seater. As soon as the door closed the driver pulled away. "Where to?" he asked.
"The bowling alley" she replied, unzipping her tracksuit and pulling out the change of clothes stashed in a plastic bag waiting for her. The driver nodding, glancing only briefly in the rear-view mirror seeing her undressing from the tracksuit and pulling on a more suitable attire. By the time they pulled into the dark abandoned carpark she was dressed in a leather jacket, tight jeans and steel capped boots. She tied her hair back in a ponytail and stepped out of the car taking a deep breath of air feeling much better. The driver followed her into the building in front of them, locking the car behind them.
The bowling alley had been shut down months ago, scheduled to be demolished. But between the endless attacks from aliens, terrorists or scheming corporations it's status had dropped from everyone's radar. It made the dark interior and lack of security an ideal base of operations for the men and women scurrying inside organising the many pieces of equipment between them. The middle aged woman walked through the bowling lanes examining the guns, explosives, body armour, riot gear and maps on the fold away tables. She came to a rack that used to hold bowling balls, now displaying a series of weapons never seen on earth before. They looked elegant and complex but guess they were simple to use. Most of them were.
She stopped when she found one of them missing, looking to her driver. "One of our guys got caught with it" he explained.
"I thought I told you all to stay out of sight!" she shouted to the room, silencing the hushed conversation as they all glanced nervously to her, their masks hiding their expressions. She looked to the man again. "Can we get it back?"
She shook his head. "The FBI has it."
She grit her teeth furiously. "Will he talk?"
"No. he's loyal to the cause."
She nodded. He'd better be right. They weren't going to get a better opportunity like this. With the police captain in hospital the NCPD were in a rare state of chaos. If they time this right, they'll be able to make their move before anyone knew what hit them. "Can it be replaced?" she asked, looking at the empty slot.
"I keep telling you, none of them can be replaced" a voice reminded her from the back counter. She looked up and saw the large black man at the reception desk organising his own wares. She walked up to him where he greeted her like the merchant he was. "I also don't give refunds. But you're welcome to shop for something new. I'm sure we can find a suitable replacement."
She looked over the row of items he'd set up on the counter. The weapons ranged from large too small to heavy to intricate, and they all look dangerous. She looked at the man again, his glasses hanging on the tip of his nose, the trench coat hiding more goodies on the inside. "Why wouldn't I just take them all?" she asked.
"That would cost you" he chuckled, doing the math in his head.
"What if I just took it from you?" she asked, standing in front of him coldly.
The man looked up calmly as her friends took positions surrounding the counter, their baggy hoodies and gold masks staring blankly at him as they held guns and bats and metal rods and knives. He was outnumbered fifty-seven to one. He counted them. But he remained calm as he leant against the counter and explained to the woman "you could. But why would you? I'm your only source for this particular type of merchandise. Especially the kind you've been asking for. But if you did decide not to pay, I wouldn't accept that. And if you kill me, I know my other clients will be very unhappy to lose the only man in the world who can make kryptonite weapons." He flashed her a smirk as he straightened up, staring her down curious to see what she'll do. Wisely she chose to stand down, wordlessly signalling her men to do the same as she stepped up to examine what he had brought to offer. "You're a bold one, I'll give you that" he remarked admirably.
She looks over the stock, all well-crafted and compelling. But she turned to the Blacksmith and informs him "I need one of those kryptonite weapons to replace the other one."
The man nods. "Understandable. That gas dispersal unit was potent. However" he smirked, kneeling down to rummage through the shelves behind the counter to pull out a similar model with distinct differences. "Lucky for you I wasn't entirely happy with that old design. The liquid formula wasn't as efficient so I modified the mechanism to dissolve these pure crystals straight to its gaseous form." He demonstrated by loading one of a box of green cartridges, each holding a sliver of kryptonite and locking it into the device. Disengaging the safety the crystal dissolved and the cartridge was filled with gas and the device hummed. He pointed it at the ceiling and twisted the handle, the gaze spraying upwards from the nozzle filling the space. No one was affected but they all felt a tell-tale tingle on this skin as it passed harmlessly over them. "Each cartridge produces a cubic galleon of gas that should cover a football field. The effects won't linger but should the right alien inhale it it'll give them quite the burn."
The woman nodded approvingly, looking the weapon over with her eyes asking "how much?"
The Blacksmith bobbed his head in thought. "For you, right now, I'll be generous" he decided, holding the weapon out to her. "On the house, for your loyal patronage" he smiled, even throwing in the bow of cartridges.
The woman was sceptical, but she accepted the gift and tested it herself. "How potent is it?"
"As potent as the last one" he replied.
She scowled. "So it won't kill any of her kind?"
"I'm afraid not" he said regrettably. "None lethal only."
She shot him a suspicious look. "But you could make it lethal?" she queried.
He shrugged. "But then I wouldn't be able to sell it to you." she narrowed her eyes, considering threatening the man again. But he was courteous enough to suppress that by explaining "conditions of our business."
"You mean your friend wouldn't like it?" she said. "Rumour is he isn't in the country right now? He's on the run while the DEO are chasing him."
"He may not be available but his eyes ae still very much open" the man warned, leaning over the counter telling her "so bare that in mind when you start using this stuff out there."
She leaned over the counter mirroring him, arguing "that wouldn't be an issue if your friend would just agree to work with us."
"My associate made it clear his goals align with yours, Miss Oakridge" he reminded her. "he doesn't care how many aliens you kill, as long as Supergirl isn't one of them." she scoffed, irritated by the reminder of how fruitless her last talk with the man in red armour proved to be despite how well they worked together. The Reckoning would've been an asset to their group. The Blacksmith noted her frustration and smiled. "Don't worry. With these tools she won't be a problem. Speaking of tools, that item I promised you is also ready" he said, guiding the woman over to the side with a large case sat waiting.
Oakridge followed the Blacksmith to the case and let him open it to reveal the weapon he'd designed and built just for her. She smiled, taking hold of it and lifting it out of its case. It was large, the handle as long as her, the heavy casing at the end blunt and flat on one side and curved and sharp on the other. She was surprise to find it lighter than she was expecting, but heavy enough to keep its heft. She twisted the brace on the handle and felt the metal hum from within, like a Taser charging up. She looked over at a nearby jukebox, old and unused for months, swinging the blunt end down upon it watching the energy discharge in a concussive blast that shattered the jukebox to pieces.
The men and women around her applauded as she stood over the wreckage with the weapon proudly in her hands. The Blacksmith smiled. "Just think, a year ago the Children of Liberty were running around the spray cans" he chuckled.
Miranda Oakridge had to agree, turning around and scanning those who answered the call on the chatrooms, once more donning their gold masks and re-joining their brothers and sisters in a righteous cause. She had been concerned if any would answer the call, but when they did it only emboldened her further. Now was the time to finish what Ben Lockwood started.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a photograph and passing it to the Blacksmith. "I have one more request. And I need it immediately" she said.
The man took the photograph, a picture of Ben Lockwood himself. But not of the man but of his persona, the Agent of Liberty, his armoured suit and foreboding mask standing proudly on a stage in front of his followers. The man looked at the woman making an educated guess for what she was asking. "Any bells and whistles?" he asked. She shook her head. He nodded in understanding. "This won't take me long" he assured her.