Chapter 5: Dealt With
The city spread out before him. The endless sprawl of workhouses and factories belching smoke and innumerable filthy slums stretched out forever in one direction: Imp City. The lurid red glow of apartment complexes, whorehouse, casinos and other dens of sin reaching the glowing horizon on the other: Pentagram City. A disgusting luminous amoeba reaching out in all directions, consuming whatever it could in creeping tendrils. Soon this neighborhood would fall under its sway and Sinners flush with capital would move in, leveling the humble living accommodations of the Hellborn and in their place would spring up complexes and skyscrapers and the like. A few Hellborn would cling on, usually the enterprising type, or those bold enough to compete in the lifestyle with Sinners. The rest would be pushed out to the extremities once more and the cycle would repeat.
But that was the plan, or rather, part of it.
Red set his hand to his chest, feeling the dull thrum of the arrow in his breast pocket. The sheer potential of this place, it was alive with it, the energy that hung in the air had only one name: youth. These children were wretched, downtrodden, crushed beneath the heel of Hell, like he had been. Many of the children who came here 'failed to thrive' in Belladonna's own words, they stopped eating, interacting, and wasted away. These ones were usually put up for the nominal 'adoption' program, handed off to the highest bidder, or… well, one way or another they left the premises. This left only the scrappiest, toughest stock. Those who would work however they could to earn their keep and stay on at the 'Donna, off the streets or out of the clutches of 'lowest bidders'.
Lady Belladonna's Institute for the Enrichment and Education of Dispossessed Hellborn Children was positively dripping with Stand potential.
Perhaps, even, one of them would manifest a power that could help with his… affliction.
He bared his teeth and set his hand against his forehead, to the placid little face there, usually hidden beneath his playful cowlick. It was more a tattoo or absurd birthmark than a feature, it was small, perhaps the size of a large coin, and gave the impression of a stylized rendition of his own face, it looked to all the world to be asleep, placid.
But he knew better.
This thing had a name. "Solido… please…"
How powerful he had been. Untouchable. And only tapping into his true potential as one of Royal blood. He felt it, an unshakable conviction from deep within his soul, he hailed not from the petty, scrabbling Goetia, but higher! The Seven. Asmodeus? Beelzebub? Leviathan, perhaps? That would fit his 'sea-thing' theme. Perhaps even Satan himself? Not that it mattered, really. He had been on the road to greatness, and Hell would tremble at his feet, squirm under his heel as he had squirmed, know his cruel joy as he ground its collective face into the asphalt!
But then…
In a single moment of weakness, he had lost it all.
A brief relapse into old habits had caused his concord to fall apart, his mind to split, his power to halve, locked away by that damned thing in his head. He could feel him there, like a tickle in the back of his throat. A curious pressure that would arise whenever he did or saw something…?
Red shook his head in frustration.
It didn't make sense!
There was no rhyme or reason he could discern as to what would or wouldn't upset Solido. His pulverizing of the staff-members earlier that day, Eye Watkins and that other one, prompted nary a flicker. Nor did his playful brutalizing of that gangster rabble. If anything, such actions filled him with a nostalgic sense of wholeness! Was violence the answer? No. Whenever he sought to vent his frustrations on passersby, like that pizza boy, there he was again, Solido, pecking at the back of his skull like an irate little bird! To say nothing of his precautionary slaughtering of the Happy Hotel! That's what had caused all this trouble in the first place!
He thought back to that day. Rending Alastor asunder was a reward unto itself, ripping through his arcane defenses, literally punching that self-satisfied grin - along with much of his jaw - right off his face and pulling the top half of his head from his neck as slowly as possible. That was sweet. Razzle and Dazzle he was indifferent to, rather liked them, even, but they would not have stopped trying to impede him, so they had to go. Vaggie was… difficult. She was gruff and sour-faced, but he admitted that he admired her resolve and tenacity, and was touched that she actually cared about him, somewhere underneath it all. He had made it quick, breaking her neck as to completely destroy her brainstem and twist her arteries shut. Unconsciousness and death in seconds. Clean.
Then… There was Charlie.
He had struck her first. He had to. Out of all of them she was the only one he did not know he could defeat in a fight. While it had been a suckerpunch, there was something viscerally satisfying in impaling Charlie, in laying low someone so powerful in a single stroke. But… he could not deny a strange sort of… feeling? What was it? Part of him sincerely wished that he hadn't done that. No! No, why would he not tie up the loose ends? She understood his power, they all did, they had to go. Perhaps he simply wished the circumstances weren't such that he had to? Because he did have to, didn't he?
…Didn't he?
Moving on.
The insect he did away with quickly, as she did not warrant consideration one way or another, though he did feel a surge of relief when he felt her single eye pop as her skull crunched beneath his boot. Honestly confused that she didn't leer and say 'step on me, daddy' before he did. Confused but relieved, as it would have tainted his triumph over the perverted little pest. And speaking of perverted…
Red grimaced.
Angel… he hadn't wanted to kill Angel. Angel was his friend. Angel knew his secrets, but Angel understood. Knew what it was like to be… used. Why hadn't he taken his offer of friendship? Red could understand why Angel was cross with him, he rather liked Charlie and Vaggie despite his ragging demeanor towards them, and perhaps held some sort of attachment to the others. But why let that get in the way of their ascension together? Red had promised the spider-demon Hell itself on a platter! The opportunity to have Valentino over a table and taken again and again as he had done to him! All the drugs and men he could consume, but on his terms, with his say-so! How could he have turned that down? Why did he attack him? He didn't want to kill Angel… but he did anyway. And that feeling got stronger, still. And then…
"Husk…" he said aloud.
He… couldn't. He couldn't kill Husk. Husk, a surly, self-pitying, self-loathing drunk. Husk, a cardshark and a cheater and a degenerate. Husk, who had tried to exploit him, used his powers like a trick ace to win hand after hand after hand! Husk… who had talked him out of a mad rampage, proclaiming himself his friend and declaring his support, allowing him to, for once, reign in the madness that had ruined his life up until that point. Husk, who figuratively - and literally - took him under his wing when he was at his weakest. Husk, who had helped him feel like an actual person and not a pretty piece of meat or useful appliance. Husk, who taught him magic tricks and cheered him up when he felt alone, making him feel… real, truly real. Husk, who stood in defiance against his full power, prepared to fight to his last out of spite. The hatred in his eyes… hurt. Hurt more than almost anything else. Hurt like when Solido lost… her.
'Her…' He thought, bitterly. 'You can't even think her name, can you?'
He sneered at the clenching in his chest, the burning in his eyes. This lingering weakness for the girl was not his only inherited shortcoming. He couldn't do it. With all his strength and power, all his will, he just couldn't bring himself to harm the surly old drunk. Fittingly, it ended where it began, with Charlie. Wounded and bleeding out, she begged him. Yes, begged him to let her help him. To make him a better person. To redeem him.
'There's… still good in you…' she had said.
The fool.
A hot tear rolled down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away.
It was then that Solido came to be, not as a personality, at least not as he had experienced in his time as a divided soul. But there was definitely something there. A pressure, intrusive thoughts and feelings that could sometimes spur action. Just as he had undone his rampage at the happy hotel, Solido would intervene, not as an identity, but as a wall against actions, or sometimes a prompt to act. Catching Eye Watkins' hand as it raised against Setty this morning had been such an instance, and returning the ring to Shoresy - he was surprised he bothered to remember her name - despite its value.
It was Solido who was holding him back, restraining his true power from him. The power to erase the past and consequences of his actions and of those anything he touched. Both were locked away from him, both were being held hostage. Had he been at full power, he could have touched that Fat Bitch and erased the moment she set up her plan to divulge whatever she knew, leaving him free to agonizingly exterminate her at his whim.
'Your arrogance is what let her get you into this unseemly Pact,' a voice from within sneered. 'You didn't even bother looking into the future when meeting with her. You assumed she was just as stupid and oblivious as she acted. She fooled you, but only because you let her fool you.'
Wait, what?
"Solido?" He said aloud. "Was… was that you?"
Nothing.
Red growled in frustration. If that obstinate phantom in his head wouldn't help him, he'd have to help himself! It was here, at the 'Donna. The solution he sought. Among one of these kids lurked the potential, a Stand ability that could rid him of this obstructive presence and allow him to continue onward towards his destiny, unimpeded! Until then, he just had to be patient. Calm.
He just had to live with himself a little while longer…
"Damn you…" He growled, setting his talons against the little face. "Damn you, Solido! Work with me here! You're stuck too! Stuck with her! Work with me and let us–"
It was then he heard the dull, hissing crackle of a cigarette ember. An inexplicably chilling sound. He had been so lost in his ruminations that he hadn't been scanning the future, allowing someone to actually sneak up on him! Stupid! Sloppy! He spun around to see Setty standing there on the roof, a disgusting cigarette snug between her full, pouty lips.
(wriggling, tied to a chair, as Belladonna snuffed a cigarette on his tender, child's skin)
Repulsive habit. He should claw the thing out of her mouth along with half her–
The pressure was back. He'd do no such thing. Nothing could make him.
"Ah, Setty…" he said, hoping he didn't sound as tense as he felt. "What are you doing up here? It's past curfew."
"Rule four of the 'Donna," she said in that enviably confident drawl of hers. "Bedtime's for babies and blockers."
"Blockers?"
"Auction block," she clarified. "You know, 'adoptees'?"
"Of course," he said, embarrassed(?!) "What are you doing up here?"
"I could ask you the same," she said, fearlessly strolling up to him. "Talking to yourself? Damn, and here I thought I found the one staffer here who wasn't a piece of shit. You're just as cracked as the rest of us."
That stung… for some reason.
She sat upon the parapet and looked up at him. "Who's 'Solido'?"
On impulse, he lifted his cowlick, revealing the little tattoo. "He's… difficult."
"Difficult to explain or difficult to deal with?"
He chuckled ruefully. "Both."
What was he doing, telling this guttersnipe of his infirmity?!
"Ah," she replied, not a whit of judgment in her tone.
He looked into the future and saw endless possibilities. Breaking her wings and pushing her off the roof. Gutting her. Creatively coercing her into divulging all she knew. It was informative. Most of the children in the 'Donna would wile away the late hours with games and libation provided by the bathtub stills in the basement. Talking about their day, their aspirations, their hopes and dreams. Setty wished to be a popstar like her idol, Verosika Mayday, a succubus who had become a celebrity, powerful and respected. She revealed her not-quite-realized crush on… Syx? Huh. Cute. She would talk with Murci, a deaf hellhound who was her best friend and confidant. She told Murci of… him, as well. Turns out a lot of the kids were talking about him. He had gained quite the reputation among them, and not in the way other staffers did. Pizza went a long way among kids sustained on dogfood and prison-loaf.
Solido was back.
Looking into these futures upset him - Solido, that is - to the point Red could not bear to bring any of them to pass.
"So," Setty said, snapping him out of his prescience. "She's got you Dealt with, huh?"
"I, uh…" Red, quite uncharacteristically, found himself stymied. "Yeah…"
She laughed at this, shaking her head. "Rule one of the 'Donna: don't underestimate the Boss Lady. She's smart as she is mean, and stronger than she looks. Faster, too. She's lived this long by being worse than everyone else. Any staffer who isn't on her wavelength gets Dealt with. S'how she got the Doc and a few others."
"Dr. Habbo?" He said, interested. "Is he one of the good ones?"
"Naw," she grunted. "He's a rotten old drunk, but he does his job. My guess is he tells himself he sticks around to help us kids, but the truth is moral busybodies like him don't get far Out There. He's a coward, like the rest of them."
They both turned back to the view, to the City.
"That what you are?" Setty said, after a while. "A moral busybody, I mean."
"Hardly," Red replied, smirking as he glared out at the City. "I have plans. Plans for this place. Plans for Hell."
"Huh. Cool." She turned back to the cityscape, puffing on her cigarette. "I overheard Emerson in the staff lounge. Said he, Evil Eye, Strokes, and you sent the Vees packing, but that Evil Eye and Strokes got merc'd."
"That's the story."
"So, you killed Evil Eye like you did Strokes?"
"Not quite." He smiled at her. "But yes."
"When'd you do it?"
"About a minute or so after you ran off."
"Shiiit!" She hissed, before laughing. "Can't believe I missed it. Was it quick?"
"Quick enough."
"Too bad," she said. "But I'm glad you showed up when you did. Trell doesn't deserve to get marked up. Ixie, either, but I guess you couldn't have done anything about that."
He could, though. If he had his full powers restored to him, it would take but a touch.
"Look, I don't care if you got a monkey on your shoulder," she said, turning to him. "You did me and the girls a solid today, I respect that."
"I was doing my job," Red demurred, despite knowing exactly what she was getting at.
"That's not what I meant."
"You were listening."
"Of course," she said, smirking. "You got the Old Goat to consider dropping the 'service department'. It didn't pan out, but thanks."
He opened his mouth to clarify, only for her to raise her hand. "You got your reasons, I know. One of those dipshits from today explained it. I don't care why, just get it done. It's too late for me, but maybe the others have a chance."
Red felt the arrow twitch in his breast pocket. Setty had always set the thing off, but then, so did so many of the kids. No, this time it jumped, thrumming. The girl oozed strength, grit, but within her now was something altogether different: determination.
An idea struck him then. A wonderful idea.
"Hey, Setty," he said, a gauntlet flashing into existence on his hand as he reached into his pocket.
"Yeah?" She turned to him, mouth open to ask: "What is–?"
"Catch."
He tossed the arrow at her. On instinct she reached out for it. It spun in the air, correcting its trajectory, and plunged tip-first into her palm, burying itself deep in her flesh.
"Ow!" She cried as black blood oozed around it, spilling out of her palm. "What the fuck?!"
"Oops." Red reclined on the parapet, smirking as he crossed his arms. "Pull it out."
She glared at him and grabbed the shaft. "What's your problem, psycho?! I–"
He saw the anger in her eyes disappear in a flash, replaced by confusion as she found herself unable to budge the arrow. She grit her teeth, pulling in earnest now. 'It's not even in that deep!' She was no doubt thinking. 'Why can't I pull it out?!'
"Tonight, dearie," Red said, airily, examining his talons. "Unless you want to go back to the girls with that thing sticking out of you!"
"Don't. Fucking. Call me…" She snarled, pulling now not with her hand or arm, but with her will, her determination. "DEARIE!"
With that she wrenched it out, her anger at him dissolving as a flash of light exploded from the arrow, streamers and ribbons of spiritual energy danced here and there, surging from the wellspring in her hand. Once it had died down, she was left staring dumbly at her palm, the cut already fading. Her eyes passed between it and the arrow, totally enthralled.
Now, to test her.
Red lunged at her with a respectable percentage of his true speed. His bare fist, roughly the size of her head, streaked for her cheek. For this, he allowed himself the willingness to harm her, to seriously injure or possibly kill. It was the only way this would work.
In an instant her hand was raised, clad in an ephemeral metallic gauntlet not unlike his own - shockingly similar in design, actually - and caught his fist with a resounding 'crack'. Her eyes snapped up to him, utter shock and hopeless confusion radiating out of them.
"Semi-automatic," he said, smiling. "And powerful, too. I suspected as much."
"W-what…?" She muttered, looking at her hand, still wreathed in the wraith-like armor. "The fuck?"
"Let it out, Setty. I know you can feel it in you." Red said, gently at first, his voice becoming forceful and animated as he approached her. "It's your power, Setty. Yours! Call it forth! Show me your Stand!"
Setty's aura flared to life, blazing with her energy, her willpower. Her eyes blazed, furious and determined as she felt her newfound power well up within her. Red recalled the feeling, the first time his [King Crimson] surged forth. The power, the energy, the knowledge that he was on his way to becoming the King of Kings!
Setty felt it now.
She levitated into the air until she was eye-to-eye with him. "[Titanium]!"
The Stand flashed into existence around her with an almost operatic cry. The girl vanished into a second skin of shining plate armor, from the shoulders, elbows, and knees extended long, glowing white ribbons of fabric, interconnected and flowing into one another. Setty looked down at herself, her breath ragged and panting, as though on the verge of panic. She looked up at him, her shock amusingly clear behind her Valkyrie-winged full-helm. She drifted backwards, sabatons a healthy three feet off the ground.
"What…?" She said, finally. "What is this? What did you do?!"
"I did nothing, Setty," Red said, setting a hand on her shoulder. "This is all you. This is your fighting spirit made manifest. You will be the first to earn the gift, but not the last. There are others at the 'Donna, Setty, so many others, and you will lead them. You and me, we'll protect what's ours and take what we deserve! We'll show them all what we can do! Will you join me?"
He extended his hand to her. She studied his hand for a moment, no doubt weighing her options. What was she getting into? It was brief, very brief, the girl no doubt was sick of this life and whatever future life she could have pictured before. This was a gift, and she would take it for all it was worth! She reached out and took it as hard as she could, effortlessly breaking the sound barrier as she did. It smarted, but Red grinned anyway.
'I'll find your informant, My Lady. I'll erase all you've created and make it mine. I'll make you watch as I take it all before you die. And die you will, slowly, horribly, in every way you fear, I swear my life on it!' He thought to himself. 'As I said before, not even I can fight an army. 'Through action or inaction' won't matter. And while I am indisposed, whoever will protect you from your darling children?'
They looked out at the City, together.
The plan was back on track.
