Dreaming of Foxfire Part 2: Kitsune Bias
Kitsune Bias 1.1
"Run," I said, manifesting my ball. Hookwolf noticed, retreating, jerking his head. "I'll hold him off."
"Sierra, now is not the time for heroics!" Villers said, running to my side. I pushed him away, a long clawed limb swinging through the hole, flinging blades throughout the room. Hurried, blind, they struck no one, impacting on the far right wall. Don cocked his gun, firing at the arm. As far as I could tell that did nothing.
"We should listen to her," he said, holstering his gun. "We won't be of any use here."
"And she will?" Villers said, struggling himself upright.
"I've fought him before," I said, backing away as the claw searched the room, randomly throwing furniture and debris. "I'll be fine."
"When?" he said, gritting his teeth. He stood, stopped, and stood again, hand on the wall, catching his balance.
"Today," I said, taking a breath. "When he first came here, he was running from me." Villers stared. I met his gaze, nodding slowly.
"We don't have time for this," Don said, facing the slowly caving wall. "Make your decision Officer, and make it quick."
"Go," I said, nodding towards the clawed appendage. It grew closer as Hookwolf broke further into the building, starting to tear into the infrastructure. "We don't have much time." He frowned, eyes narrowing, but didn't respond, nodding towards Don.
"I'll handle the civilians. You have the go ahead," he said, jerking his head towards Hookwolf. "Where there is one, there might be another."
"Agreed," Don said, striding out the door, closely followed by Villers. He didn't look back. Villers paused, nodding back at me, gaze serious.
"Good luck," he said, stopping just before the door. "Be careful, don't try anything too heroic."
"But isn't being heroic what heroes do? Why people admire them so much?" I said, grinning weakly.
"Yes," he said, shaking his head sadly. "But few live long enough to enjoy it." He left, marching towards the lobby. I frowned, pushing his words away, turning towards the searching paw. The hole his head had created widened, metal rent, wall crumbling. The building creaked, foundation buckled. I took a breath, focusing, leaping through the wall over the limb of deadly metal. First goal, lead him away.
Once outside I looked up, catching his eye. The screeches stopped, the arms retracted. He removed himself from the hole, building forgotten, turning to face me. I leapt away, feet pounding, jumping over cars, holding my ball as a beacon. He followed.
My hand raised forming white and blue flames, ready to fling at a moment's notice. I waited, gathering five before turning, flinging them behind me. They flew, curving in their path, powerful bolts of burning flame searing his dark metal eyes. Well, that's what I expected.
Hookwolf laughed, a grating, screeching, yet somehow deep sound, feet pounding as we reached the open street. I stumbled as I ran, the weight of his footsteps shaking the ground, getting closer by the second.
This isn't working. He's gaining quickly, I expected, remembered being able to outrun him. It had been more of a game than a chase. Effortless. Easy. It wasn't the form though; I'm just as fast now, more or less. Is whatever is making him immune to my fire now also making him faster?
No. His legs aren't moving any faster than earlier. Before I'd led him on a chase through alleys, on rooftops, changing directions frequently, mostly on a whim. Now? Flat ground, open road. Wiping my eyes I peered through the drizzle as metal tore the road, only getting closer. Just two more blocks till the ambush but I'm not going to make it. Not at this rate, he'll catch me first. Metal screeched, claws rent to the ground. I leapt to the right, curling myself to a ball, springing myself upright, narrowly avoiding the giant claw aiming to take my head off as Hookwolf leapt past, crashing into the streets on four limbs as he turned to chase me.
I leapt up, catching a sign, pulling myself up the frontal advertising of the small local store. Caught a flag, jumped a balcony, stepped on a windowsill and I was up, turning to face the metal wolf sitting three stories down. He wasn't clawing a wall, attempting to climb. He merely stared upwards, prowling around the front. I slumped, resting on the balcony. More mental than physical, but it felt right, needed.
"You are different than before, weaker" he said, scratching and clanging. I winced, barely stopping myself from covering my ears. "You acquitted yourself well for a yellow skin with cunning, presence, and strength. Where has that warrior gone? Why do I now face a child?"
"A child?" I said, standing up straight, twinging at the reference, "I was good enough to distract you from your goal."
"My goal," he said with a screeching metallic laugh, "Is you. We have unfinished business, warrior, our fight was never finished."
"So," I said, mouth dry, heart pounding, "You weren't there for Naoko or the Hospital?"
"No. I wasn't. In fact," he said, prowling past the corner, circling the building, forcing me to move with him. I turned, navigating around the rooftop, leaning over the edge. He smiled, wolf face stretching into a sharp toothed feral grin. "If you weren't there I would have done nothing."
Implying others would have. Stil…
I breathed, closing my eyes, hugging myself to get rid of the sudden chill. Calm down, it's not my fault, I couldn't have known. I had good reasons to expect an attack. No one got hurt, anyways.
But it could have been worse. Much worse.
"Well, if I am your goal," I said, raising my chin as I leaned on rail, "Looks like you have just failed. I'm too high up and not about to fight like a 'warrior' for the sake of your twisted pride." I turned away from the edge, reaching for the phone. It should still be on speaker, so Seka and Lung will be here soon enough. I could speed things up by telling them where I am and what I know, to send someone to check the hospital.
"It seems," he said, voice echoing through the roof, "that I was wrong earlier. You aren't just weaker. No matter how you look, how similar you seem, you are another person entirely."
"What," I said, trying to figure out how to make the phone work, "makes you say that?"
"The woman I fought before was experienced. She had seen battle before, treating our chase like it was a game. She taunted me, mocked me, and led me along, forcing me and my allies to react to her. With cunning, skill and power she predicted us, nearly defeating us with a single blow," he said, shaking his head, voice growing harsher, stronger. "Though you have power you show more luck than skill, more instinct than cunning. Where she planned you merely react, stopping as soon as you perceive a weakness or a way out. Even as she stepped aside she never let her guard down, watching me as an eagle does its prey." That sounds…Ominous. I put down my phone, replacing it in my pocket, moving to the side where Hookwolf stood, staring up at the roof, head lowered.
"I'm sorry," I said, manifesting the ball in my right hand, studying Hookwolf where he stood, "but that was me. There was no mistake. " What had he done? Something changed. He sounded too confident, too smug near the end.
"I don't believe that. You may have similar powers but so do Fenja and Menja. Same powers, different people," he said, head still unmoving. "And she would not have been surprised so easily." My eyes widened, I moved back even as his head snapped upwards, spears flying from his mouth. I moved, leaping backwards, hand to my mouth, muffling a scream as his spears pierced the rooftop, ripping, tearing my right hand off.
"You see," Hookwolf said, voice nearing, "That is the difference. She would have predicted this, expected this, or at least been ready to dodge away from the spear, not towards it. You jerked, you panicked, you moved by instinct. I tested you earlier; your move too fast. I would have never hit you had I aimed for you. Instead of aiming where you stood I aimed for where you would be."
Ignoring him, I focused on my arm, on stemming the flow of blood. With one hand I untied my hoodie from around my waist, fastening it to what is left of my right arm. The blood didn't stop, the tie wasn't tight but it helped, helping me breathe, letting my mind resume focus. Back during the kidnapping when I was hit by a grenade I'd healed myself. The details were vague and the memories blurry but one thing was certain. It required essence. Lots and lots of essence. I looked inward, checking my meager reserves. Though some had recovered from my earlier fight it wasn't a lot, maybe enough to heal my hand. But I have to try. I reached inside myself, focusing, willing my hand to heal.
All but a flicker of my essence disappeared, my tie came undone and I breathed, slowly flexing my hand. It was back, just like that. I got up from where I fell, moving feeling a distant tug. I know the distance, know the location, and know the item. My ball, waiting to return. Hookwolf pulled himself over, thinner, bipedal, his head still the visage of a wolf. He paused, studying me a second.
"I didn't think I missed."
"You didn't," I said, breathing heavily, moving closer to the right. The tug came from down and to the left, stronger, more insistent.
"That hand was yours? Ah, a healing factor. I'll remember that when I next face your sister," he said, looming over me, twenty feet of plates and blades. His arms rippled with faux muscles, similar, big, but something just wrong about the movements. He stood, tensed, exploding into motion.
I dodged his first fist, leaping into the air. His second burst out, moving to intercept even as the first was recalled, grasping through air. My essence turned to a spark as I didn't quite fly but I moved, twisting in the air, running up his arm to the head. His head bucked, arm turning to a mass of blades. I stepped upon them, shifting, twisting, somehow finding semblance of true footing in a dance of death. As his other moved I leapt, shoes in tatters, calling for the ball. There was a roar in the background, Lung noticing the fight. My essence burned, past my spark, into my veil. One tail. Two. Threefourfives-
The ball flew to my hand, a round hole through the roof, blasting through an arm, tearing through his head, falling apart in a mass of plates and blades. I landed, breathing heavily, waiting for him to fall, to topple, to gasp, anything.
He just laughed, headless, arm gone, both steadily repairing, head slower than the arm.
I missed. He was lower.
"So," he said, a pleased note in his voice, "That was a trap. It is you after all. I was wondering where the tails and ears went, if they were just part of a costume. Changer as well. Nice attempt, but it failed. I wouldn't want to put my actual self in anywhere as obvious as the head."
"It's the right leg isn't it," I said, baring my teeth. He paused, looking down at me.
"You noticed the growth of my blades," he said, shaking his head. "Your right. That's where I was."
I'd underestimated him before, back when I first fought him. Strong. Versatile. Good in a fight.
I should have finished him when I had the-
I slapped myself, breathing harder, eying my seven tails. The ball had taken everything, I barely had enough left for my veil. It would regain, but for now if I used the veil I had left I could maybe send a volley of foxfires. Three, no more. He already demonstrated how ineffective they were. Lung roared again. Closer, but too far off. I'm too tired, too out of energy. I can't run, and he wouldn't get here in time. He must have gone to the hospital when the fight first started, hearing a crash in the distance.
"Goodbye, warrior," Hookwolf said, nodding his head, limbs fully regrown. I stood, readying myself to move. I have one last leap in me, one last attempt to escape. I crouched, tensing. When he charged, I was ready.
I threw myself to the side as far as I could manage, air rushing by as I released the last of my veil. Eight. Nine.
Over the edge.
The ground loomed as I fell from the roof, grey cement and black road. A tree, old, dead, and wild stood in the path of my flight. I reached out, making a grab for a branch. It broke. I did it again. Same result. Five tries, five broken branches. Closing my eyes from the stinging branches I neared the ground, rushing head first.
I stopped, maybe two feet from a concrete death. My tails stretched behind me, taking ahold of the center of the tree, using the opening in the branches I'd made on the way down. They burned, my entire body in pain, but that doesn't matter. I pursed my lips as my fingers reached my mouth letting out a high, piercing whistle before my tails let go and I tumbled to the ground. I rolled, bringing myself upright, panting as I ran.
The ground rumbled behind me, earth shaking. I stumbled, a bolt of steel piercing through where I'd been, hitting the cement, glancing off towards the road. Hookwolf roared as I turned the corner of the store, claws ripping and stone crumbling as he tore his way from the alley, spears protruding, head first. A burst of heat, a flash of silver on high. Lung dropped down and the steel wolf buckled.
I slowed, turned, but kept my distance, waiting, watching, looking for an advantage.
Lung may be taller but Hookwolf is still bigger, full grown at twenty feet long. His head is huge, his shoulders wide. It would give him an advantage in most situations, though in this it only serves to restrict him. The alleyway can barely hold him, restricting his movements, boxing him in. Still, he kept the form, kept the size, stubbornly clawing with his small, restricted motions. Idiotic, considering how variable he seems to be. Luckily, Lung seemed to share my opinion of his chosen form, and caught on right away.
Lung dropped off Hookwolf's bulk, occupying the entrance of the alleyway. He struck the ground, tearing up the cement, an attack meant to hem, not to harm. Then he stood, roared, raising his claws, striking downat Hookwolfs rising form, buying himself more time to grow, to shift, to turn the fight further in his favor. A good strategy, a solid plan. A shame it didn't actually work.
Hookwolf surged upwards, throwing off Lung. He broke through the cement, ignoring the searching claws as he forged his way forwards, steadily pushing Lung back. Lungs clawed him, hammered, blasted him with fire, all seeming to do nothing to the surface of his blades. That hadn't happened earlier. He hadn't been immune to my foxfire either, though Lung seemed to take it in stride.
He shifted from attacks to deterrents, focusing more on pushing or redirecting Hookwolf while giving himself time to heal. Not panicking or faltering he started a steady retreat, backing away towards the entrance of the alley. Familiar. Rehearsed. Both for Lung and Hookwolf. Not really winning, but not afraid of losing. A side ability? A timed effect? Another, varied, Parahuman effect? Whatever the case, I have pressing issues.
Once again I whistled, this one higher, softer. Lung shoved Hookwolf backwards, turning briefly to grasp at me. He took me in, my ruffled clothes, bare feet, and barely glowing ball. I moved closer, holding out my hand, open, palm up, fingers curling in invitation.
He nodded as he turned back to the fight, letting his fires die low. I leapt on his back, laying a hand on his shoulder, and pulled. Lung sagged, staggered, falling to his knees. I leapt off, landing on the street. Hookwolf saw, and surged.
He stopped moving conventionally, a shifting mass of steel. His head, claws and part of his torso dissolved. A moving, scratching, invincible tide of blades. Lung rose, trying to escape but they surrounded him, whirring, spinning, digging into flesh. The back of the wolf stopped coming apart, more blades seeming to simply appear. Lung clawed, growling, biting, throwing off his weakness, but it did no good. I watched. Nothing else unraveled, yet more blades came. Same spot, same pattern, same general direction.
Perfect.
I surged through the air, flying over blades on a wave of essence. Controlled, directed, near instantaneous, by the time he noticed I was at the center of his torso. He acted, pulling in, recalling all his blades.
"Tsk," I said, grinning, holding my ball to his torso. The blades froze, attacks stopped. Lung got to his feet behind me, backing away, his blood dripping. "When I asked your location earlier I didn't expect a lie."
"What reason would I have to tell you the truth?" Hookwolf asked, his voice deep but normal, gruff and recognizable. His blades didn't move, staying where they were.
"Well, none at the time," I admitted, brushing back a stray lock of hair, "But for now you should be deeply motivated. You see, I'm here looking for answers."
"Answers I will not give," he said, steel scraping behind me.
"You don't really have much of a choice," I said, patting him gently as his blades began to spin.
"Settle down, rest easy, it's nothing about you," I said, moving closer with a grin, "I'm far more interested in your little partners in crime. The ones sent to kill Naoko of course."
He clammed up, silent. Not a movement, not a word. Lung stirred, walking away, footsteps heading in the direction of the hospital. Well. Looks like my guess was spot on after all.
"Thank you," I said, smiling at Hookwolf, patting his torso. Something writhed, roiling under the skin but stopped after a moment. "You have been most helpful."
"I didn't say anything," he said, blades rising, the metal around me writhing.
"Your silence was answer enough," I said, tracing my ball against his torso. The metal stopped, lying quiescent, a loose circle of deadly knives and blades. I smiled, ball alight, shaking my head. "Well this was fun, but it's about time to end."
Metal crashed at my back as the noose of blades tightened. Blades lengthened and thickened as my ball shed a glow, a whirl of death next to Hookwolf's torso. He moved, desperate, noose still tightening, his body moved up, away from my glowing.
I smiled, I laughed, time running away, "Goodbye, Warrior," I said.
And then leapt away.
x-x
Kitsune Bias 1.2
"Kenta,"
"Foxfire," he said, nodding to me as he shouldered on a duster. "Or is it Sierra right now?"
"I guess," I said, rubbing my arms. His car hummed across the road as we approached the hospital, "Uh, you wouldn't happen to any spare coats, would you?"
"I do not. There is a towel in the back, under the seat."
"Thanks."
I moved to the back of the car, the old-style leather seats smooth to the touch. Actually getting the towel took a few tries, there wasn't much room under there and I didn't want to ruin his leather with my dripping wet clothes. Well, more than I already had. Green, worn, faded with age, it didn't really match what I expected from him. Then again, he'd be kind of stupid to go around with an ABB towel in his civilian car. I toweled myself off best I could, spending some time trying to shake the water from my hair. Light rain is still rain, especially when you're running.
"I assume you took care of Hookwolf," Kenta said, eying me through the rearview mirror.
"Sort of?" I said, cringing, "I got him scared and…threatened him I guess, but didn't kill him or arrest him or anything. Um, though I'm pretty sure he didn't follow, I watched him run away. Towards empire territory this time."
Kenta moved, pressing a few buttons on the dash. "Hookwolf has escaped towards the Rat district. Do not engage, fall back for now."
"Well at least we had to only deal with the mooks, not the end boss. Yeah, I read you. Frank out."
Kenta pulled his hand from the button, letting it rest on the wheel. Not pushing it, but it was obvious. He'd made his point. "What else should I know?"
"Well," I said, watching him park, "I think I might know one of their capes, or at least an infiltrator. There was this girl treating a greasy hair blonde man, who I'm pretty sure is Hookwolf. Anyways, she was a little out of place. Medhall, not Crosses and Suns, about the only one that Hookwolf seemed comfortable with. A little taller than me, blond hair, eye patch hidden beneath it, draped over her left eye."
"Othalla."
"That's my guess," I said, nodding my head.
"Victor, too."
I paused, thinking, staring out the window. "I didn't see any evidence of another empire cape. How can you be so sure?"
"I have never seen one without the other," Kenta said. "Their powers work to well together. I have little proof but believe them to be behind most sabotage centered on my group. He is a skill vampire. What he doesn't have, he steals."
"Could he have stolen someone's identity?"
"Possible," he said, tapping the wheel, "But also unlikely."
"But he could have stolen their skills," Mind racing back to earlier today. "Their clothes. Their codes."
"Their actions," Kenta said. "He impersonated Oni Lee to get our shipment charts. It failed, as he could not teleport."
"Mmm," I said, trying to not think about what he might be shipping, "Chief Villers mentioned something about several PRT guards going missing, and just recently mentioned a communication blackout."
"Ah, then this is why your phone cut out," he said, shaking his head as he moved out the door. "We were unable to hear anything but static as you moved further in, closer to the building. Seka grew worried, going in after her mother."
"Really?" I asked, heart pounding a bit, "But…that's big, that's really big! How would they do it?"
"Pay a specialist," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Pay a specialist," I echoed, giving it some thought. Obviously he meant a tinker. But aren't they expensive? "This operation must mean a lot for them."
"Indeed," he said, opening the doors. "Upsetting it will mean more to me."
We walked in, wading through the press of bodies. I raised a hand, signaling to Ned. He saw us, nodded, and waved us in. Easier and faster than last time we found ourselves in the halls, walking through the corridors of blue and white. Kenta strode ahead, head high, intense, casually studying every Medhall employee we may have passed. Most ignored him, carrying on their jobs, though some shied away, looking frightened. I observed them from the corner of my eye, tuning my ears to whatever they did.
Where one was, there might be others.
Ned is leading the way of course, though earlier he had actually offered me his jacket. I declined because I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go around dressed like the police. Honestly I'm just glad he didn't bring up what happened earlier. About the only good thing that came from the phone interference is that Seka hadn't heard what happened. Probably. Maybe. At least I hope we were deep enough…
"Sierra?"
"This is about the second time you've used that name as a question," I said, sighing as turned to Officer Villers.
"To be fair the first time I was merely surprised to see you. This time you're simply so wet I could have been mistaken," he said, frowning. No sign of his headache, he seemed much better than before, eyes shining, a spring in his steps, a twist in his gait. He turned sharply, motioning to one of the men beside him. "Get a sweater for this poor girl, would you Steve?"
"Sure," said Steve, grinning as he moved closer, "What's her size?"
"Steve," Villers said, pinching his nose, "Stop that. She's fifteen." Steve blanched, backpedaling, looking away quickly.
Shaking my head I motioned Villers over, trying to ignore Steve as he backed away. "Maybe another time, but for now we really need to talk."
"Is Hookwolf still on the loose?" Villers asked, his brows furrowing concernedly.
"No," I said, "but it might be worse. We need to talk, in private. It concerns Naoko. We think there might be another attempt on her life."
Villers stared, nodded, turning towards Kenta. "I assume 'we' includes this gentleman here?"
"Naoko and her daughter hired me on as a contractor," Kenta said, arms crossed and voice rumbling. "I am here to protect them from threats."
"Trust me," I said, "He's been a lot of help."
Villers leaned back, hand on his chin as he took us both in. His eyes roamed, studying our appearance, our clothes, lingering on my bare feet and torn up jeans. He sized Kenta up, meeting his gaze. Kenta remained still, appearing calm, professional. Nodding sharply Villers turned, motioning us to follow. "Come along then, there's a secure room not too far from here. Best not dally too long, movement keeps the body healthy. And Steve, please do get Sierra that sweater. Can't have her catching pneumonia from something like this."
"Right away sir!"
I sighed, looking away, rolling my eyes. Villers walked ahead briskly, long legs eating up the corridors distance. He paused, reaching for the door, nodding briefly towards the both of us, disappearing inside rather shortly. Kenta turned towards me, an amused look on his face as we moved down, sole occupants of the hallway. "Fifteen."
I looked away, blushing fiercely. Really! It can't be that hard to believe!
x-x
Kitsune Bias 1.3
Villers closed the door as we entered the room, taking a seat across from us. Pretty sure this isn't a security room, it looks more like a break room. But seeing how empty the hospital is, well, it's probably more secure than the actual security room, not even counting the giant hole Hookwolf put in the wall. Villers walked to the windows, closing the blinds before he sat down, glancing between Kenta and I. "Well then, does someone want to fill me in?"
I nodded. "We know who's out to kill Naoko and how they might do it."
"Othalla and Victor have infiltrated the hospital," Kenta said, waving a hand. "Sierra knows who Othalla is, or has a close guess. Victor is a disguised PRT agent."
"Might be," I cautioned.
"Most likely," he said.
Villers raised a hand, a silent call for peace. He reached into his pocket, taking out a notepad and a pen. "Explain."
"I saw who I think is Othalla earlier, treating who I know is Hookwolf," I said. "I recognized his voice, and he freaked out when he saw me earlier, had a really intense conversation for our Othalla suspect."
"I can see why you would suspect Hookwolf, but what makes you suspect Othalla?" Villers asked, jotting down notes, eyes never leaving my face.
"When, uh, when I fought Hookwolf before I came to the hospital I was able to damage him. Foxfires, spare debris, everything I threw at him caused some kind of dent or damage to his blades. This last fight? I couldn't hurt him with anything besides my ball, which I think just straight out disintegrates matter."
"Fair enough." Villers said, inclining his head, "I'll concede on the possibility for Othalla, and the definitive of Hookwolf. What about Victor?"
Kenta shifted in his seat, sitting straighter. "I suspect Victor to be here because Othalla is never without a partner. Hookwolf was too removed, fighting in the ABB district at first."
"You were there to witness this?" Villers asked, raising a brow.
"Yes." Kenta said with a nod, "I drove Sierra here from that fight, chasing him. He was wounded."
Villers blinked, shaking his head. "Well, can't say I've ever heard of Hookwolf being wounded before, but that's sufficient argument to argue for an increased defense detail around Naoko, though I'm not convinced about the PRT." He rose from his seat, walking to the door at a fairly rapid pace to pull someone in and whisper a few orders. The man nodded, leaving quickly. Villers retook his seat, motioning for us to continue.
"I have no direct proof," Kenta said, tapping his leg, "But I have dealt with Victor on occasions."
"With? As in…"
"Against."
"Ah," Villers said, nodding. "I take it you have ways to identify him?"
Kenta leaned back, cracking his neck. "Not him, exactly, but a few of the effects of his powers. Headaches that appear or disappear with surprising suddeness, lingering clumsiness in certain areas, mental blocks, the inability to think in certain ways or patterns."
I stopped watching Kenta after a while, turning to Villers from the corner of my eye. As Kenta spoke Villers frowned, lines growing darker and deeper at every word. I saw it, and he got it too. This was him not too long ago. Villers tapped his pen, putting the notebook away. "This happened to me earlier today. A sudden headache followed by what seemed to be a growing mental block, independent from any other symptoms. It also disappeared rather quickly after Hookwolf appeared, but was at its strongest just before. It lingers still, but not nearly as bad. Why do you suspect that he's impersonating the PRT?"
"Because of the dead or missing PRT members," I said. "They were all located-"
"Yes, yes. Come, walk with me," Villers said, moving quickly for the door. Kenta followed, with me a moment behind. We rounded the corner, bumping into Steve, who turned to face me.
"Hey, so got that sweater you needed. Listen, I'm very sorry about earlier, really wasn't-"
"Steve. Now is not the time, though thank you for the sweater," Viller said, taking the offered garment. "But I need you do something important for me right now. Keep an eye on Don, make sure he's not alone with Naoko. Try to keep them seperated, call for backup. Don't be outright accusative as this is not an arrest."
Wait. Don?
Steve nodded, serious, but there was a small grin tugging on his face. "So I take it you're taking command again?"
"Yes," Villers said, rolling his eyes, "I would hardly leave it in the hands of a suspect."
"Good to hear Chief," he said, saluting as he walked away. "Anything else I should be aware of?"
Villers hummed, nodding. "Expect Master or Stranger influence. Decrease in ability and skill, headaches or the like. The range should be thirty feet."
Steve nodded as he disappeared around the corner. I hurried up, turning to Villers as we walked. "Don? Really?"
"Yes."
"What makes you think he's Victor?"
Villers inclined his head as we passed through the door. "He was with me during the duration of my block, and there when my headache was at its greatest. He is also the only PRT Officer on the premises."
"There could have been any number of reasons this is wrong though! Maybe Victor doesn't need to even be in the room, just see you. He could have had the place bugged. He could have had spy cameras. Maybe just a hole in the wall, enough to see you by. He could have been looking through the window, or something like that. I mean, he's probably not even PRT if it's that obvious that he could be one!"
Villers paused and I stopped, arms trembling, breathing heavily. He turned to face me with a concerned look on his face, his eyes roaming, if just for a second. "Ah, right. You know Don, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. The same Don that's here," I said,
"Are you positive?" Lung asked. "Victor is a great actor. He could have fooled you, easily.
I turned to glare at him. "Even if he could, he wouldn't have known to call me Tays."
"I overheard you, as did Seka," Kenta rumbled.
"That's just because you were right next to us! I mean Goonies is busy during the day, I doubt anyone else was paying attention, but you guys literally just took over and jacked his spot. At that distance, it would be hard not to!"
"Oh?" he said, sounding amused. "That's not how I remember it."
My hand waved to cut him off as I took a breath, steadying myself. "Look, that's not exactly how it happened, but it's close enough to be the truth. The point is, Don isn't Victor."
"While I'm not usually inclined to take passion as evidence," Villers said, chuckling, "You certainly sound like you knew each other rather well, so I'm inclined to trust you on this one."
"Yes. I mean not-" I stopped, breathing in a calming breath. In, out. In, out. I did this for a while, opening my eyes, a little bit calmer. "I mean we didn't know each other long, but I know for certain that he is Don."
"Really now?" Villers said with a grin, resuming his steady walk down the halls, "Interesting. I must admit I don't know much about the man myself. Would you care to describe him?"
"Well," I said, thinking back, "I mean, I maybe don't know much about his personal life, but let's see. He's a PRT captain of course and he's nice, intelligent, funny, tells these really great stories, has some amazing insights on-"
Kenta snorted, cutting me off. I eyed him, expecting him to have that more amused expression, but he looked more contemplative than anything, shaking his head at some inwards joke, probably at my expense. Sighing, I faced back to front.
"So," Villers said, eyes seeming to twinkle as he reached for a door, "when did you two meet?"
Kicking my feet I avoided his gaze, which seemed way too knowing. "Just today actually, around 12:30 for lunch. I caught him at the start of his break, and, well, we'd been talking before, so…"
"Wait," Villers said, turning quickly from the door. "You said 12:30, right?"
I blinked. "Yes, and?"
"Sierra, according to our investigations the PRT squad disappeared fifteen minutes before that. We haven't been able to get ahold of them, what with this blasted Radio silence, but…"
Beat
"Then he is the traitor, or the one who did it," Kenta said as I hurried to catch up with him. Kenta outpaced the both of us, long legs easily eating the ground. His movements seemed to change somewhat, though nothing else did, somehow reminding me more of a predator than anything human. "The solution is obvious."
No. "…Yes," I said, pushing that though away along with the lump in my throat. "Yes. I guess it does."
While I tried to make sense of my feelings Steve rounded the corner, almost bumping into us. He stopped when he saw us, backpedaling, but his uniform seemed rumpled, his hair in minor disarray. He'd been running.
"Naoko's gone. Seka too," Steve said, pausing to take a much needed breath. "He took them, I saw them outside. They're heading for the van."
x-x
Interlude: Bakuda
We hummed along at a decent pace, slowly winding our way through the damp grey lot, the other cars our obstacles, company and rivals. Shifting in my seat I looked out the window, staring back at the hospital, hoping to somehow halt my thoughts.
Seventeen. Seventeen ways to turn this van into a bomb. Seventeen ways to die messily. Doing my damndest to ignore them, I resorted to counting the cars as we passed.
"Ninety-nine bombs with four wheels in the lot, ninety-nine bombs with four wheels…"
"Seka," mom said, coming from my side. Her hands were clenched, her body seemed tense. "Not helping. Stop. Please."
"Sorry," I said, stopping.
I'd been hoping to rile the asshole up front, not make my mom's anxiety worse. She'd been jumpy ever since we hopped in the van, eyes roving, searching for threats. I'd seen her like this a few times before, and bothering her now is a bad idea.
Kicking back in my seat I tried to relax, fiddling with my phone. No bars. Service throughout the city had been pretty shitty, so it wasn't surprising. Empire 88 made their move; this must be one of their precautions. Funny how it only seemed to kick in after the fight.
Reaching down, I felt along the bottom of my purse. The folds were hidden, artfully at times, made to resemble patterns and feel like patterns unless you knew what to look for. I picked the oorb located off to the side, hidden under the vast piles of junk.
Flick, click. Flick, click.
Don shifted, twitching in place."What are you doing?"
"Just playing with my compact."
He turned in his seat, face inscrutable under his full head helmet. "Can I see it?"
Rustling my bag a bit, I pulled out my compact. Flick, click. Flick, click. "A little jumpy there. I thought you said we'd be safe."
"We're not out of the danger zone yet," he said, turning back to the front. "You can never be too careful."
"Such wonderful fucking words of wisdom," I said, clapping with aplomb. As obvious as I could make it, idiots like him need all the help they can get. "One must always strive to protect others from themselves."
Don ignored me, tapping the wheel as we reached the main roadway. It was a quick staccato. Morse. I learned it in history class, back when I had a teacher who didn't just ape the book. It made for an interesting few days, but I barely remember any of it. Let's see… I, C, K, E, T, Stop, D, E, T…
Mom rose up, squinting out the window. "Is that Sierra?"
"Yeah, that's her," I said, turning to look. She was leaping around like a jackrabbit, tails streaming out behind her, quickly gaining on the van. Wait. One, three, five, nine…
She's serious. Totally, bitchingly, amazingly, serious. I'd only seen her pull that out whenever she needed to, when all hell starts to break loose. Ladies and gentleman, this is official. We're up shit creek and we've lost our boat.
The tapping resumed, having stopped when mom turned. Don seemed to be humming something under his breath, a bit of an anthem. It sounded German.
O, N, A, T, E, Stop, C..
And here I was beginning to think he was only an idiot.
I dove for my purse, tossing my compact as I went. It glanced off the back of his helmet, breaking to bits, but just sat there, tapping away at the wheel, his fingers moving with ever greater flourishes. Unnecessary. We both knew that. If there was a charge, someone else blowing the charge, they would damn well blow it anyways! Not this Morse code bullshit. He's toying with us.
That fucker.
My hand reached the purse, mind racing furiously. Sierra's coming. I have three options. Electro bomb, explosives, and time bomb.
Electro bomb, three settings. Search, stun, and lethal. Search is useless, stun might be an emp. Stop the bomb? No guarantee, could be mechanical. Using lethal is admitting I'm about to die, trying to take out someone who didn't seem worried about a bomb along with me. That's out.
Explosive, same problem as lethal. Useless.
Time bombs. Slow an area of about thirty feet in diameter in time. Useful, sure, but not if you're in it. From the outside you're slowed. People looking in will see you moving in stopgap motions. It would help buy time, but that's all it would do. When you're in the bubble everything moves at normal speed, everything not outside. Up to, and including, giant fucking explosions.
I'd built this thing as a weapon, not a life support. Something to buy me time while simultaneously letting my enemies know just how screwed they truly are. I didn't make it so the people inside would survive. The way I designed this was effectively the opposite. Let loose whatever I wanted outside, and laugh at the idiots inside.
This time, I might just end up one of the idiots on the inside. And I really don't like being played the fool.
There's still a chance. A small, micro biotic, singular chance.
Using the bomb would buy time. Precious, precious time. If he's close to finishing as I think he is? Two minutes. No more. Less if the bomb's located inside the van. No one in Brockton Bay could breach my time field, that I know of at least. Maybe someone in the greater Protectorate could, but no one available. No one here. Even if the local Protectorate got off their asses and decided to move their collective behinds, Velocity is the only one who could get here in time, the speedster who can barely even affect reality.
Only a trump, time cape, breaker or teleporter would be able to help us here, and the closest Brockton has to that is Clockblocker.
But if the jamming ever stops, if my field somehow disrupts the signal… Sierra could make the call. Someone might actually come. Still a chance to live, up for gamble. And I've never been a quitter.
H, A, R, G, E, Stop, N, O, W, Stop.
Time bomb it is. A twist, a squeeze, and my hands began to slow. I leapt for mom, moving her closer to the effect, holding a last, frantic, desperate embrace, she turned, confused, but returned it all the same. The floor bucked beneath our feet as the effect began to spread. I closed my eyes, taking a breath. Long, deep, and possibly my last. Whatever happens outside will be done before it ends. Heat, a flash, inhale…
Exhale. Bracing myself, I cracked open my eyes.
"No shit," I breathed, taking in the scene. "You can move through time."
Sierra stood before me, tails orbiting her body. Shrapnel and fire flew in the background, highlighting her profile as she glared through the van. She didn't seem playful or amused, unlike what I've seen from her before. Her face was hard, a snarl of rage. Canines were prominent, her eyes narrowed to slits. A tail encircled my mother and I, another seeming to waver both to and from Don. She turned at my voice, her expression outright changing. Anger to amusement, her tail snaking back.
"Time? Is this what you call this?" She said, waving a hand at the field. Dragging a finger across a piece of metal she minutely changed its path, somewhat further away. "I suppose it is similar to the force I control, but time? No. Too mutable, too easily resisted."
I let out a long, shaky laugh. My mother lurched drunkenly beside me, glancing around, trying to take everything in, yet her gaze kept returning to Sierra, eyes asking the questions she couldn't put in words.
"Every time," I said. "Every damn time. Does doing this amuse you? Do you like to jerk me around like this?"
Her expression didn't change, though she did raise a brow. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
Sighing, I took one last look around the slowly crumbling van. "Of course you don't. Of fucking course."
x-x
Interlude: Lung
I tapped my chair, folding my arms, letting my annoyance show. "Is this is an interrogation?"
The man sitting across from me shook his head as he smiled, taking a sip of his tea. "Not at all, I merely have a few questions, and I think you might have answers."
Meeting his gaze, I jerked my head at the door. Police stood in the hallway, talking calmly to each other in low, even tones.
"Oh don't mind them," he said. "They are just waiting for us to be done. If they needed something important they would have already barged in."
"They can wait someplace else."
He set his cup down. "Now this is hardly reasonable-"
Stand up, I placed my hands on the table. "You have questions, I may have your answers. Not with them around. We do this alone."
He held my gaze for, signs of age disappearing. His smile seemed almost nostalgic when he eventually stood, giving me a small nod. "I'm sure they won't mind."
Closing my eyes as he left the room, I listened, waiting. The men went away, stopping further down the hall. Their breath gave them away, though they said no words. Not a fool after all. More difficult, but workable.
I took a seat, waiting. He entered, taking his own, extending his hand across the table. "I know we have met before, but I feel reintroductions are in order. Cedric Villers, but please call me Cedric."
"Takimoto Kenta. Kenta is fine."
Cedric nodded. "A pleasure. Most people in your line of work prefer not to give their names."
I took out a phone. "I deal in a safer way."
"Bodyguard and information?" he said skeptically. "Mixing the two seems hazardous."
I nodded in consent. "I lack the secrecy of the broker, or being as unassuming as a guard. I do, however, make up for that with a network."
"A network?" he said, raising a brow.
"My customers do not target me, and I have many customers. I do not give out information of them, they do not ask for information of the others," I stated. He nodded thoughtfully, as if giving it some thought, but a spark of recognition already flashed in his eye. Had he found my allegiance, my cover, or both?
"Ah, I see why this would work in a town like Brockton," he said, nodding along without a hint of something wrong. "I take it Empire 88 makes for frequent business?"
"Yes," I said. "They do indeed."
Cedric nodded, contemplating the phone for a moment. His wrinkles began to show, but didn't detract from his focus. A strong mind for one so aged. "And what do you want for this…information?"
"Nothing," I said, spreading my hands.
"Nothing?" he asked.
"Indeed. It is in my best interests to give you this information. The more people who know of this, the easier my job."
He merely stared at me, waiting patiently. It was the gaze of a predator who had found a weakness but didn't pounce, choosing instead to let it's prey unveil it. I gripped my seat tighter but let out a sigh. "Paid for along with the guarding."
"Ah," he said, scrolling through the phone with surprising ease. "Perhaps we could come to an agreement for further dealings. I will have to verify the facts, but this appears quality information. Though we do not have coin to pay…"
I shrugged. "An exchange then. Information for information. If you lack funds, I can find those who don't."
"Nothing involving government agencies," he stipulated.
I nodded. "Agreed."
Smiling, Cedric extended his hand. "We may need you sooner than you think, the protectorate is looking for all sources concerning the death of a cape."
"I would be happy to help," I said, doing the same.
We shook.
-
"He thinks you're an information broker?" Seka asked. "How'd you manage that?"
I closed my eyes as we walked, contemplating my response. One of the newest and most intelligent additions to my forces, the most mercurial by far. Bakuda thinks herself smarter. In some ways she is. My schooling was not complete, it was not where my attention lied. She looks down on me for it, while still respecting my strength. While not questioning my authority, she challenges my decisions. In public? Once. But many in private. This needs to change.
Better for her to question herself.
"People see what they want. Some roles are expected," I said, gazing down at her as I sat in my chair.
"Ah," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "I guess that makes sense."
We paused, coming to a stop at the door. Seka just stared, lowering her head. "Of all the dumb things…"
People thronged the hallway, the doors, and the rooms beside it. Most just seemed to be talking, contemplating their day. Some were injured, some stood at the window. All glanced outside, staring at the bubble of slowed time and the one who stood beside it.
Seka blinked, staring. "She still hasn't moved."
Grunting in agreement, I took a quick look around, taking notice of the people, police, and outside environment.
Shaking my head, I moved to the door, tapping Seka on the shoulder as I passed. "Come."
Seka hesitated, but followed. "This better not be one of those roll things you were talking about."
"I will explain later," I said, brushing her off. A small, strained noise came from her throat, but she followed. There were many reasons not to, her complaint remained clear. She did not, however, question my decision, holding her tongue. Progress, however small. The rest will come with time.
We walked towards where Sierra stood, her tails lashing in the rain. Someone had given her an umbrella to shield herself in the drizzle. Resting on her shoulder, it protected her from the majority, though, much still came through. I lent weight to my steps, moving to her side.
"Your feet must be cold," I observed. She turned to me briefly, a light smile on her lips.
"Warmer than a winter stream, colder than a summer day," she said, her smile remaining still, though her eyes took on a downward cast. They strayed back to the bubble, she fell silent once more.
Seka shifted from foot to foot, wanting to act, but reluctant to do so. She settled on a middle ground, moving closer but not touching, more respect in that movement than she had given before. Heat rushed in my veins, and fire through my throat. I forced it down as the rain began fizzle, suppressing a growl. It wouldn't do to lose such a powerful ally, not to a petty fit of anger. I will fix this problem, given time. Sierra shifted but didn't turn, eyes remaining on the wreck.
"I met his wife earlier, she works as a nurse," she said. "I told her his involvement, my part in it too. She asked me to free him, worried and distraught. I agreed, of course, without a moment's hesitation, but by then it was too late."
Sierra raised a finger, pointing to the wreck. It made for a macabre sight. The man inside was bent like a ragdoll, his neck at an odd angle, a shard of shrapnel penetrating his head. Droplets of blood spotted the air, a trickle of it flowing down his neck, highlighted by the ever red glow of the encompassing blast.
I just shook my head. The girls did not turn away or complain, just standing together. Sierra with a look of melancholy and regret, though if surprise was there it was not evident. "You are familiar with this kind of situation?"
"Hmm?" she said, glancing at the van. "I suppose something similar."
Nodding, I thought back to our conversation earlier. Fifteen, she had said. As serious now as she had been then. But more embarrassment, less reason, contemplation. It is easy to fake loud emotions. The softer takes subtlety.
"Hey, look," Seka said, "You know this guys an imposter, right? He might look like the real deal, but that's probably why he chose the guy. He's single, by the way. Doesn't even have a wife."
"The real man's name was Donald Abrams," I said, speaking in a low, respectful rumble. "They found him dead four blocks from the site, buried beneath the neighborhood compost."
Sierra tilted her head, looking up at me. "While they are killers, while their story is false, the feelings were true. I ended it all with a last act of spite. There should have been mercy, imprisonment, not death. It would have been simple to drain his life force, taking all but the dregs."
Sighing, she turned to Seka. "Do you have the mask with you? Just for a quick trip inside."
"Yeah," she said, before waving a hand, motioning towards the hospital, "But isn't it kind of useless at this point? Plenty of people have already seen your face."
Sierra expression shifted, changing to a smirk. Fast, mercurial. Dangerous to predict. "While I have more than one face, I am partial to this one. I hear police moving in the background, cutting people off. The ones currently at the walls I already exposed myself to, running to save you, and coming out after. If we keep this small, silent, and make it obvious I don't want my identity known, most people will know to keep quiet."
"So that's why Kenta seemed so confident," Seka said, rolling her eyes while pulling out the mask. "Fucking super senses."
I chuckled.
"Your offer from before, that place to cut loose." Sierra said, turning to face me. "Is it still open?"
Smiling, I nodded. "Of course. We have much to discuss, some rooms are secure for this."
"I will be coming in my other form," she said hesitantly, donning the mask. "I need a way to feel…more human, somehow. But first…" she extended her hand.
Nodding, I took it. That familiar drain, the brief sense of being less. My fire rose in response, moving to fill. I wavered as she let go, moving for the bubble of time. "His wife is still around. Though she swore vengeance, seeing him like this would cause needless agony. You may wish to stand back."
I snorted as Seka stepped behind me, moving back as we went. If she were to just finish him off, we wouldn't need to this. Curious. "She lied to you, knowing her husband was attempting to kill. She does not deserve the luxury of mercy."
Sierra placed a hand on the bubble, closing her eyes. The slowed debris went faster, but not as it should. She unraveled the layers, the slow bit by bit. The charge released gradually, slowly blasting the air. Insignificant metal flew out, bouncing of my skin. Some stings but I ignored them, preserving my image. She swayed with the force of it, bending in the breeze, as the corpse settled peacefully among the debris. She turned and moved past as my blood burned with challenge.
"Mercy is a human luxury...and responsibility."