1.5
"Pull into that alley on the right," I commanded my driver, a squat girl with short black hair and nervously bitten nails. She flinched, my voice cutting into the tense, silent atmosphere with unexpected authority, and wordlessly did as she was told. As the SUV slowed to a stop, I continued thumbing through a map of the area that I'd pulled up on a smart phone requisitioned from someone in the back seat.
The part of the Docks we were in was an old commercial strip, just a mile or two southwest of my own neighborhood. It was closer to the Downtown area than a good ninety percent of the rest of the Docks, which might have been why it still had a few straggling businesses able to pay their leases. Unfortunately, that also made it a prime target for the gangs as they ravenously searched for even the smallest scraps of wealth to sink their teeth into. The area was effectively a border, a no man's land, between territories claimed by the ABB and the Empire 88, the ABB's, well, our primary competitor.
The Empire were a gang of white supremacists, proudly sporting all sorts of Nazi iconography and spouting Aryan rhetoric. They were also one of the single most powerful entities in Brockton Bay, able to field over a dozen capes on any given occasion, more than even the Protectorate team in the area, and possessing an expansive roster of unpowered gangers.
I guess it was sort of unfortunately understandable that so many would get sucked into their propaganda in a languishing city like Brockton Bay. When your world was collapsing around you and it seemed like everyone else was out to get you, it was sickeningly easy to become enraptured with the first cause that promised to have your best interests at heart. So many had grasped at their bullshit like a life preserver in a stormy sea, and then once they'd been pulled to calmer waters the things they had to do to stay there didn't seem quite so bad.
In a way, I felt that Lung's recruitment technique was far more honest than theirs. He didn't use your misfortunes to brainwash you or sell you on some cultish agenda. He was upfront: direct. You did what he said because Lung told you to. You got to keep your fear, and at the end of the day it was still there, not used to twist your beliefs into something else.
I pushed away those thoughts so that I wouldn't call myself out on my own bullshit.
It was time to shore up the trenches.
Thinking I had a pretty good idea of the area, I turned in the passenger seat and held the phone out to the small crowd in the back. They were a younger group, mostly nerves and false bravado, save for one older guy with greasy hair who'd probably done something to find himself on chaperone duty. Caught up in their own internal dilemmas, most didn't notice me waving the bright phone around in their faces.
"Hey!" I called out sharply, feeling a bit badly as a few visibly flinched. Hurriedly, a boy with a pierced lip and spiked hair in the second row of seating reached up to grab the phone. "Thanks," I said, meeting his eyes as he took it. He gave me a little nod before sinking back into the upholstery. Fighting down a sigh, I decided to get right to business.
"Alright, listen up. Whatever else might be going on, technically we're here on protection detail. We're not looking to start a street brawl, so you guys need to stay here and try not to draw too much attention. If something starts to happen and I need you, I'll call and tell you what to do. Got it?" I was answered with a couple of half hearted nods and a quiet yes. "Got it?" I pressed.
"Yeah," was the general mumbled chorus. It would have to do.
"Does anyone have a lettered phone?" I asked. It was the older guy who spoke up.
"Yeah," he replied in a clipped tone while absently staring out the window.
"What letter is it?" I pressed, ignoring his attitude. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out one of the disposable phones, sarcastically waving it around.
"M~," he drew the sound out, before casually flipping the phone to the teen next to him. The boy fumbled to catch it, then fearfully glanced back and forth between me and the older man.
'Don't make me do this,' I internally sighed. Outwardly, I fished my own burner phone out of my sash and held it up for everyone to see. "I've got G. If something happens or you run into some trouble, call me and I'll be here to help you out. Any questions?"
"Yeah, Miss Samurai or whatever the fuck you are. Can we turn on the radio, or would that be blowing our cover?"
I couldn't hold in the sigh this time, a short huff through my nose. Lung expected his parahuman lieutenants to be respected, feared. This jackass was setting a bad example for the rest of the 'new blood.' What was expected of me aside, if they imitated his tough guy act to Oni Lee or fucking Bakuda (I didn't count Lung as a plausible option,) they'd be in for an awakening far worse than rude.
Grabbing my sword from between my legs, I flicked it up and flipped the base of the scabbard to be pointed back into the car. With a quick move, I thrust it back straight into the base of the man's neck right above his sternum, and pushed. He was forced back in his seat with an audible choking sound and reflexively reached up with both hands to pull the scabbard away. Even with the poor leverage of gripping the far end, I was more than strong enough to hold the sword steady against his frantic struggles. Finally, with an icy glare I met his eyes. He froze instantly.
I remained silent for a moment. When I did reply, I spoke in a calm, quiet, and smooth tone, the same way my mother used to when she'd finally lost her temper.
"As long as you keep the volume down." After holding him back for a moment longer, I suddenly pulled my sword away. He lurched forward, gasping sharply before breaking down into a fit of coughing. Glancing to the rest of the car's occupants, I noted that they all seemed suitably cowed and decided to escape. Pushing open the door, I calmly stepped out and without another word, shut it behind me.
I walked quickly down the alley, back onto the street we'd pulled off of, and took an immediate right. About halfway down the block, I could see a burly looking man sitting on a stool on the sidewalk. He seemed bored, fiddling with a flashlight and flashing it on and off at the ground. Since he wasn't paying attention anyway, I figured it probably wouldn't startle him too much if I quickened my trip a bit, and with a brief burst of speed I closed the distance to within a dozen feet. Taking a few quick steps to slow down, I transitioned into my confident 'Battousai walk' and approached him.
Hearing me coming, he looked up. Immediately, I saw his entire body go tense. He sucked in a sharp gasp and reflexively his right hand shot towards his waist. Time seemed to slow down to my senses as my eyes snapped down to his side. On the outside of his belt, he was openly wearing a pistol in a holster. It was something I probably should have expected, given the area.
I pushed off from my position and crossed the remaining distance between us in a single, near instantaneous step. I whipped my still sheathed sword up and around, realizing that I'd stupidly kept it ready in my left hand and must have looked pretty threatening, and let it gently come to rest on the man's right shoulder next to his neck. He froze and I silently met his eyes.
"Uh, s-sorry. I-" He stuttered out, slowly raising his hands into the air, palms facing towards me. "Sorry." I felt badly for him and tried to hide my grimace. It hadn't been my intention to scare him. Slowly, I pulled my sword back and slid it into my sash.
"Is this the 'Heat' nightclub?" I asked, deciding to get right to the point. The man swallowed thickly and gave me a little nod.
"Yes. Uh, sorry. Wh-ho are you?"
"I'm Lung making good on his word," I replied, trying to sound suitably 'gangsterish.' The man blinked at me, looking confused. He opened his mouth to reply but stalled, silently mouthing unformed words. I tried to will myself not to blush as I dug my own grave a bit deeper. "It seems you've been having some trouble with the Empire."
Take the hint. Please take the hint.
Fortunately, his face lit up in understanding.
"Oh. Oh! The- You mean the protection money!" I nodded even as internally I tried to discover the secret to blocking out my own memories in an effort to save myself from years of minor self-reflected embarrassment. "Uh, if you'll give me a second, I can go and get the owner. He's the one in charge of that kind of stuff. I guess." As he spoke, he pointed to his left towards the door he was sitting near. I nodded again and he slowly rose to his feet, as though he was being watched by a wild animal and didn't want to make any sudden movements. "Then I'll... be right back."
As he opened the door, the slight, ambient throbbing of the club's music temporarily surged to a steady roar and with a final glance back at me, he disappeared into the building. I sighed and stepped back to get a look at the place.
It looked relatively normal, though maybe a bit too well kept for the standards of the Docks. The outer brick facade joined with other buildings on either side, broken up by two large metal frames that at one time must have held display windows on either side of the door. The windows had been replaced with large sheets of what was probably wood, covered with a black, vinyl paper. On top of them, small neon light fixtures had been bolted down: an open sign, and two little wavy tubes of red and orange along the bottom of each window, probably meant to represent fire. Along the bottom of the frame, I was able to spot little shards of glass: evidence of what was most likely prior vandalism. I couldn't help but wonder whether or not it was worth it to keep replacing the bulbs.
Thinking of vandalism, I turned to the left and stared off down the street into what was Empire territory. I didn't know what I expected to see: maybe a group of violent thugs working their way down towards me. Instead, the scene that greeted me was rather mundane: the headlights and taillights of cars, coming and going in the distance; a few groups of night goers, walking together in huddles for relative safety as they made their way to their destinations for the evening.
I snorted to myself; maybe I was a bit pessimistic.
As the club's music surged again, signaling the opening of the front door, I turned and got my first look at the owner. I felt a bit bad about profiling him on sight, but my first thought was: 'I think I know why the Empire's goons have been giving him a hard time.'
The man, who couldn't have been older than a young thirty, was for lack of a better word, a bit flamboyant looking. His dark hair had been styled into what I could only think of as a 'swoop' from the left side of his head to the right, the leading edge dyed a bright fluorescent green. His eyelashes were long enough that they had to be fake, with a number of thicker, bright orange ones evenly spaced throughout, and his eyes had been thoroughly surrounded by an artfully designed green, orange, and blue eyeliner. His clothes were a bit more tame: some sort of suit jacket or blazer left unbuttoned overtop a tight shirt, rounded out by a pair of slacks that weren't indecently tight.
Ultimately, I blamed being forced to learn at-a-glance profiling as a Brockton Bay survival skill for immediately and irrevocably deciding that he had to be gay. He stormed out onto the sidewalk, the bouncer sheepishly following behind him, and stopped ten or so feet away from me, tightly crossing his arms. When he spoke, the slight lilt to his tone only cemented my initial thoughts further.
"Ah. Well," he announced in a clipped tone. "Thanks for coming. I don't mean to sound rude, or ungrateful, but," He pointedly looked me up and down. "I didn't think our cozy little club warranted the personal attention of a cape." I blinked, caught off guard.
"Ah, I have some guys waiting nearby too, just in case." His mouth and eyes opened theatrically wide and he briefly turned to gesture to the bouncer.
"She's got guys nearby too! The footman to mop up whatever's left after the bomb's been dropped, no doubt."
I was left dumbfounded. Of all the receptions I'd imagined myself getting, ranging from fearful to silently hostile, this sort brashness was certainly not in my mind as an option. Eventually, the only response I managed to give was: "Excuse me?" His mouth opened back up and he seemed intent on furthering his tirade, but was interrupted when the bouncer slapped a hand down on his shoulder.
"Uh, Mitch?" he began with a nervous waver, glancing over at me. "Maybe you wanna step back and take a quick breath?" The owner, now identified as 'Mitch,' snapped his mouth shut and pressed his lips tightly together, breaking our eye contact to stare at the ground. Meanwhile, the bouncer had locked onto me with a look like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, obviously worried about how I'd react.
Unfortunately, I had no idea what to do or say. I mean, I probably should have pressed back at him, laying on the intimidation and demanding respect; or at least that's what would be expected of me. On the other hand, I could sympathize with the poor guy. He had every right to be angry and suspicious. After all, there was more going on than me coming here just to protect his club and in an ideal world, he shouldn't have to pay or beg anyone else for a modicum of safety.
Looking at him, I even saw a bit of myself, my old self, in his body language: legs and arms crossed and wrapped into himself, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller. Now that I was looking at him more closely, I noticed other tells too. He was trembling, in spite of how much he was tensing up to try to hide it. Listening, I could make out the sound of his heartbeat, pounding just about twice as fast as the bass to the dance music emanating from his club behind him.
He was terrified, and getting angry and lashing out must have been his defense mechanism: the way he tried to hide his own personal weaknesses in a city that was as ruthless as a ravenous beast.
I didn't think that sort of coping mechanism was smart, especially in the face of a possibly short-tempered parahuman, but in retrospect I couldn't look back on any of my own methods of dealing with problems and say that they were any better. He'd gotten this far, managing a business that he seemed to be able to keep afloat, presumably doing exactly as he was doing now.
How was I supposed to tackle this in a way that I wouldn't deeply regret later on? I had so many memories like that already that I could make a little bit of effort to avoid one more.
After regarding him for a few more moments of silence, I decided to try walking something of a middle ground.
"Maybe I just haven't been around long enough to pick up on all of their methods and attitudes, but I can't help but think that if you'd spoken this way to one of the ABB's other parahumans, they wouldn't be nearly as calm as I'm being right now. If I forget that the past two minutes ever happened, would you like to try again?"
His eyes closed and he brought up one of his hands to press into his forehead. After a moment, he raked his fingers through his hair and looked up at me with a nod and a tight smile.
"Yes. You're right. I apologize. I- I just-" He paused, looking down at the sidewalk and clasped his hands nervously together. "It's a little weird, and when one cape shows up, more are sure to follow, so I'm just- worried, that my club may turn into some sort of warzone!" I had no response for that, and when he looked up to meet my eyes again, shaking his head a little as though asking me for some sort of reassurance, all I could do was remain silent.
He spread his hands apart, gesturing sharply as though he were about to start speaking again but cut himself off. His eyes once more darted down to the sidewalk between us and he pulled his hands back together, rubbing them rhythmically and blowing out a worried sigh. Finally, he met my eyes again and with a few quick gestures to punctuate his words, he asked the million dollar question.
"Are my patrons in danger?"
Placing my hands on my hips, I looked away, down the street into Empire territory. After a moment of thought, I gestured off down the street and turned back to him.
"It sounded to me like they already were in danger." His mouth twisted into an unsatisfied frown and he tilted his head forwards, raising his eyebrows to give me a slightly patronizing look.
"That's not the sort of danger I'm talking about, hun. Is there a forecast for, I don't know, rampaging dragons and leveled buildings." I sighed, and brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of my nose like I used to do when I still wore glasses. Eventually, all I could do was reply with a shrug.
"I don't know." We both stood there for a moment, staring at each other with dissatisfaction and a pregnant pause hanging in the air. Finally, I got fed up and asked the primary question. "Do you want me to stay or not? I can't honestly say that nothing's going to happen, but the whole reason I'm here is to fight off the other guys if it does. You paid Lung his protection money, so the least I can do is try to keep your business safe."
His eyebrows shot up and he blinked at me in obvious surprise. For a moment, he turned back to glance at the bouncer, who answered his look with a noncommittal shrug. Turning back to me, he passed the shrug on while spreading his hands apart, as though he were saying 'what can you do?'
"Well, then yes, I suppose I'd be grateful if you'd look out for us." After a moment of indecision, he took a few hesitant steps closer to me and held out his right hand. "I'm Mitchell. You can call me Mitch or Mitchy or whatever else suits your fancy." Taking a step forwards to meet him, I reached out and accepted the handshake.
"Battousai."
As we pulled apart, his lips pursed together and he made a show of shaking out his hand.
"Woo! Damn hun, you sure do have a steady grip. Firm and tight, like a sailor's-"
"Mitch!" The bouncer yelped out, stepping forwards to slap his hand back down on Mitchell's shoulder. The somewhat flamboyant man turned back to him with a scandalized look.
"What?! What'd you think I was gonna say, Ken? You dirty thing, you. Get your mind outta that gutter." The bouncer, Ken, gave an exasperated groan and not-so-subtly gestured in my direction.
"Can we not? Please?" Mitchell waved him off before he planted his hands on his hips and turned back to me. Once again he made a show of looking me up and down and met my eyes again.
"So. How does this work?"
