Better Days
Port Authority, the bus and subway terminal of the west side, remained oddly vibrant and full of motion. In a way, it was a little disconcerting after the zombie-like walking of the patrons in the tunnel. The people here still had purpose, pursued jobs, and even possessed some hope.
Perhaps because there's electricity. A small reminder of better days.
Lights overhead pushed back the gloom of early evening as Tori approached the building in search of an entrance to the subway. Carefully guarded lines powered the station, and the Foot were everywhere. Reminding everyone who was ultimately in charge.
Privately, she had been surprised the trains still ran, but apparently, mass transportation was encouraged. After all, Shredder's workforce had to have some way to traverse the city. Luckily, she did not stand out. Many here wore the same type of threadbare clothing, but she did duck into a restroom to wipe her face, for these people lacked the dingy look of their homeless tunnel counterparts.
A bathroom attendant handed her a towel soaking in a bucket of mild detergent when she entered and made sure she gave it back for disinfecting when she left. There was no running water here and this was the best they could do to prevent the spread of germs.
Back on the platform, the 'A' train arrived promptly and Tori chose a car in the middle of the span. One with functioning lights that wasn't too crowded so her undercover contact might identify her. She sat down to wait.
An hour passed at a snail's pace as the local train made every stop. Each time a new person entered, she scrutinized them before dropping her eyes to her lap, but none approached her.
However, someone was making her skin crawl. Several rows behind her, another passenger was staring a hole in the back of her head. A nonchalant glance as she shifted position revealed a problem.
The problem was a heavily muscled man in his forties. His face was dark with soot, he sported a silver beard, and greying dreadlocks. He obviously worked for the usurper. Probably in one of the few remaining power plants. He wore a cruel expression of entitlement. One she'd seen far too many times.
When the train started off once again, the problem stood and wove his way to her seat. For a while, he simply loomed over her in the aisle, watching for a reaction as he held on to the handrail above her head.
Tori ignored him, knowing if she flinched or shrank away, he would assume she was 'unclaimed' and make a move.
If he does, I can take him.
The only time she'd ever lost was when she was so sick with hunger she had no energy left to fight. That man had marked her cheeks with his blade in punishment. Eventually, though, she recovered. She stuck a dagger in him as he slept and ran.
But fighting on the commuter line had consequences. The Foot on patrol in this area would love an excuse to engage and she would have to leave, missing her rebel connection.
Getting another might be next to impossible if I have a reputation for disturbing the peace, even with the tattoo.
She couldn't risk it. Not when she was so close. Her only option was to play along, stay on the train as long as possible. When her rebel friend appeared, she could extract them and leave this idiot behind.
Tori sighed as trouble with a capital 'T' leaned in. The stink on his breath made her wish she dared hold her nose, but a fearful woman wouldn't. He eyed the scars on her face and the other passengers began to shift away, abandoning her to her fate.
He reached out—without her leave—and ran a calloused finger over the slash on her right cheek. She flushed and turned to stare up at him, steel flashing in her eyes. Under her cloak, she shifted her grip to the handle of the knife. She might not be ready to fight, but it raised her confidence.
"Oooo. I can see why he marked ya, kitten," the man said with a smirk. "You're all fire."
"He regretted it," Tori snapped. "For about twenty seconds, then he finished bleeding out."
The bastard laughed as he clamped a hand on her injured wrist and pulled her roughly into the aisle. She winced and whimpered in response. Her cloak fell back and he noticed the knife. Drawing it before she could protest, he waved it to the crowd. "This kitten's got claws."
The blade was a short, obsidian and lodged in a decorative handle of blackened ivory. Just long enough to reach a man's heart, it was designed to pass through all types of security—even metal detectors, though there were few of those left.
The thug had never seen its like or he would have dropped her, for it was an assassin's blade. It had been a gift. A warning and a sign of protection in one. It had never truly functioned as its giver intended, but it was sharp and she'd used it more than once.
Tori shrank back to distract him, her eyes wide. Tugging ineffectively at her wrist. Still laughing, the man carelessly let her dagger fall and threw his other arm around her waist, pulling her close. He sank his face into her raggedly chopped hair and inhaled.
"You smell wonderful, darlin'," he said into her ear as he groped her behind with his free hand. "I do believe you've had a bath this week. That's perfect. We'll get off at the next stop an' I can dirty you all up again."
Tori's mind raced as he planted sloppy kisses up and down her neck. She had to stay on the train. Her ploy had backfired if he was going to drag her off.
She struggled a little to keep him engaged as she thought, but not hard enough to break his grip. If she remembered correctly, there was a 'dead' space coming up. One where the lights of the car would flicker and go out for a few seconds.
She could use that. Incapacitate the man, escape to another car and hide among the populace.
If I can pull it off, I might still salvage this meeting.
"You ain't so bad," the asshole said with a smirk. "You talk big, kitten, but you settled right down. I'm almost disappointed."
She tensed involuntarily at the insult. It was the wrong move for it telegraphed her intentions.
Before she could twist away, he yanked her hard against him and leaned in, biting at her neck aggressively. Tori cried out, not expecting the pain. The lighting flickered and went but she was too shocked to implement her plan.
"You're mine now, kitten. Yowl and hiss all ya want," he whispered in a harsh voice. "I don't mind. None a' these folks are gonna help."
When the power blinked back on, someone new stood in front of them. A bulky form concealed under a long cloak of mottled grey, green, and brown. Tori couldn't see much as the thug smashed her face into his shoulder, but she sensed the increased tension as the two locked eyes.
She was surprised someone else decided to get involved. Most people avoided conflict these days unless they were sure to win. Of course, this guy could be poaching in another's territory. That would make it a different kind of fight altogether.
Tori considered breaking away while her captor was distracted, but it was better for her reputation—and her mission—to see how this played out. She didn't want to expose her talents, or leave the train, too soon.
The newcomer shifted audibly. Cloth rustled as he pushed back his hood and the thug gasped in her ear. A sound echoed by the remaining patrons of the car.
"She's mine, freak," he shouted and his hand squeezed her backside possessively. "I saw her first."
Tori's frantic eyes flicked from passenger to passenger over his shoulder as they stared past her to the new arrival. They shrank back as far as they could into the corners and began to flee to the adjoining cars as the hostility in the air became lethal.
In moments, the three stood alone.
Shit, who could it be? One of Shredder's hench mutants?
That would be worse than the Foot. She'd been so careful coming in, but if they knew she was in the city, they would hunt her.
Shit, Shit, Shit!
She needed a new plan. It was two minutes to the next stop. If her attacker stalled long enough, she could break his hold and run soon as the doors opened.
Damn the rebel for waiting so long. My only option now is retreat.
"Move away from her," a calm, authoritative voice commanded.
Tori froze as her body vibrated from head to toe. He only uttered five syllables, yet every rise and fall of tone caressed her skin. She flushed, hot then cold in an instant.
He was her contact? She hadn't expected one of them. She'd anticipated an intermediary. Someone she would have to argue her way past.
Never in her wildest dreams had she thought Leonardo would come to greet her.