Big Trouble In Little Wrath Chapter 4: In For A Penny


At the Front, Steppenwulf hobbled towards Valentino's lavish war tent. He hurt all over. And not in a 'went too hard at the gym' way. Not even leg day sucked this bad! He was covered in bandages, his hands and belly swaddled in wraps and plasters, his torso more or less held together by reinforced splints. He smiled. He'd pushed his limits today and came out battered, but alive. Six broken ribs courtesy of Red's holy gauntlets that had to be removed and allowed to regrow. As he had predicted, playing it so fast and loose with his Shinehide had left some angel metal in his skin, though not as much as he'd feared; 30% of his hide had been purified and needed to be debrided. Every square inch of what remained was a smarting, throbbing mass of bruises and welts.

But it was worth it. He and his buds had put the screws to Red Nightmare! If they'd had their full war kit, that pompous fuck would have been a fish fillet! Next time they faced off, Red would be leaving on a platter! He just had to heal up, which was already underway, and he'd be back in fighting form in no time, doctor's orders be damned.

The Sinner nodded at the guards standing at the entrance, which they returned. None of the mockery and derision of his prior defeat remained, not after his accomplishments on the battlefield. He and his squad had been the difference between victory and defeat, life and death, too many times for anyone to question their grit and mettle, and after today their rep would only grow. Any Sinner who could tangle with Red Nightmare and come out with blood on their hands was nobody to fuck with.

He entered, looking about. The interior was the standard affair for Valentino, with a full entertainment system in one corner, lavishly decorated loveseats, lounges, and cushion beds arranged hither-thither, with a dancing stage at the center complete with stripper pole, natch. This was Val roughing it in a warzone. Various girls and boys lounged about, waiting for their Overlord's attention. Judging by their bored, frustrated expressions Val had not been indulging in their bodies much, if at all. The man himself stood at the far side of the tent, stooped over a screen-table, pecking at tactical displays of the front. Steppenwulf stood at attention, silent, waiting to be addressed.

And waited.

And waited…

"Uh–"

Valentino's hand shot up, jewel-encrusted finger raised. Steppenwulf's mouth snapped shut as he stood stiff and straight. Valentino prodded the display a few more times, coordinating forces, selecting targets, allocating resources, all that good commander shit. Steppenwulf quietly mused that Val might have missed his calling as a general by leaning into smut and cooze. Though, he supposed, anyone with the organizational skills to pimp entire countries-worth of whores could command armies like a tweaking Korean kid playing Starcraft.

"Come in, Step," said Valentino, beckoning him over. "C'mere. Take a look."

Take a look? Like, at the battle plan? Steppenwulf had to fight to keep the giddy smile off his face. He hobbled over and looked at the display, instantly picking out where the next thrust would be: Thermopylae in the Hellenes precinct. Originally, the place was sardonically named for the traffic jams the merging of dozens of super-highways caused, but now the name was grimly appropriate.

"See that, Step?" Valentino said, pointing at the map. "That's our next target. If we take that chokepoint, we'll be able to move our forces and supplies along the highways right into the heart of every precinct from here to Lucy's Throne."

Steppenwulf nodded, acutely aware of his own shortcomings in strategic thinking. "Yeah, boss? That'll let us, like, get our shit there faster and send loot back, right?"

Valentino smiled, reaching up and scritching the comparatively short Sinner between his pointed wolf-ears. "That's right, Step. But more importantly, it'll let us fortify that chokepoint and force anyone lookin' to take what's ours to approach through the urban areas. Movin' armies and wargear through the boroughs and industrial areas. Meatgrinder city. It also lets us move more of our shit faster, lettin' us control the order of battle a bit more than the other fuckers. Let us take the initiative. Ya know all about taking the initiative, dontcha, Step?"

"So, Val, about today…"

Valentino reared up to his full, towering height, turning around to look down on him, lower arms resting on the table, his upper pair folded across his chest. "Oh yeah. That. Imagine my surprise when I get a call from the Little Wrath Neighborhood Committee tellin' me three of my boys kicked off a small war in their streets. I let you and your boys head down that way to rest and relax on friendly turf. Instead, y'all level a neighborhood. Step… what the fuck."

Steppenwulf winced, he was expecting this, but he also knew that he could make Val understand. "Just the one street, boss! Barely a fill-job. The rest we did in a dueling park, as per Little Wrath regs."

"Ya still leveled pert near half the fuckin' thing!" Valentino growled.

"That was mostly Red," muttered Steppenwulf.

"Which brings me to my next point, Step." Valentino gestured broadly at the bandages, splints, mottled bruises, and angry purple welts that populated the muscular Sinner's form. "I've seen prettier aftermath in snuff flicks! You kicked off a duel with Red fuckin' Nightmare? Why?!"

Steppenwulf sighed, Val didn't need to know the exact details, just the results. "We beat him, Val. We won!"

"'Winnin'' must mean somethin' else where yer from, Step." Valentino scoffed. "Here in the real world we calls that a 'draw'."

He pressed some buttons on the display table, bringing up a hologram of aerial footage of the battle, showing them darting about Red's hulking unleashed form, looking to all the world like crows bothering a bear. Puck sent Val the footage already?

"Puck, you little–"

"Y'all was an imp's hump away from Red resizing yer holes!" Val slammed his lower hands against the table. "I despise ingratitude, Step. Puck's the only reason we're waggin' jaws right now! Given' that ringscraper your leash was the best idea I've had in a while."

"We coulda beaten him!" Steppenwulf growled. "If we had our weapons, we–"

"Well, ya didn't have yer weapons, didja? And ya still kicked off a Duel with Red Fuckin' Nightmare!" Valentino snarled, annoyed at the backtalk. "Ya didn't stand a chance! Ya almost got yerself and yer buddies killed!"

That tore it. "Oh, will everyone stop suckin' that fucker's cock already?! You were wrong, Val! He ain't as good as you thought!"

The tent was silent, the assembled whores watching the situation with wide, shocked eyes. Valentino loomed over him, mouth pulled into a tight-lipped frown, his eyes narrowing.

Oh well. In for a penny. Steppenwulf continued. "Yeah! I said it! You were wrong! So what if he has a fancy suit and bling? Big shit! If me and Stompah and Pall could tune him up even a bit, then you coulda whipped him like a gimp! What's more, he cares about those fuckin' brats! Puck got him to back down by threatenin' one of 'em! He's weak! I say ya stop pussy-footin' about and send me and a crew down there, full war-kit, and turn that orphanage into a parking lot! I'll bring you his head myself! Alive, so you can do what you like to it!"

Valentino stared at him for a moment, eyebrow raised. "Ya done?"

"Yeah, that's…" Steppenwulf said, shocked at his own insubordination. "Yeah."

"You've come a long way, Step," said Valentino, pulling out a pack of cigars, offering him one, which he took. "Long way. You've really come into yer own, like I always knew ya could. S'why I gave you that position back there before, because I knew I could trust ya to guard my pucker while I was bent over up here."

Steppenwulf's ears perked up, a smile crawling across his gatorish face.

"But ya ain't that good."

Oh.

Val lit their cigars and took a drag. "Against a demon like Red Nightmare, even now y'all shouldn't have been able to bleed on his shoes."

"But–"

"Butts are for fuckin'!" Valentino snarled. "And so's yer face if ya don't shut yer trap!"

Steppenwulf shut his mouth with a 'clop'.

"Not that I think Red was takin' it easy on ya," he said, gesturing at the hologram of Red catching a hard cross to the face. "To a guy like him, even gettin' touched by scum like ya'll would be like getting his scrote used as a speedbag. Naw. Red wasn't firin' on all cylinders today. That's why ya did as good as ya did. S'why yer still alive."

Steppenwulf barely suppressed an eye roll, something that would have gotten his ocular sockets intruded upon, and with thumbs if he was lucky. Still, it was aggravating how Valentino was so cautious over something so bitch-made as a fancy suit and some angelic bling. Shit, Steppenwulf had seen fancier-dressed demons out here on the Front! Killed a few of them, even!

Valentino noticed this, pressing a few more buttons, the display showing Red's snarky little cocksock slugging Steppenwulf across the jaw. "What was this all about, Step?"

Steppenwulf cocked his head to the side, confused. What did Val care about some ringscraper? "Huh? Oh, Red must be enchantin' his brats with somethin'. Bitch didn't know how to fight with it worth a damn, though. She wasn't any trouble."

Valentino switched over to the part where she threw a steamroller into Stompah's face.

"Stompah's fine."

Valentino glared at him. "Ya had to bust out yer body glitter to give her a shiner, Step. That don't concern ya at all?"

Steppenwulf shrugged. "And she couldn't do any damage I couldn't handle with my smoke."

"And what if she did have some Shiny Shit to hand, Step?" Val said, patiently. "What then?"

Steppenwulf sighed lightly, nodding. "Then I woulda taken the fight a bit more seriously from the get-go. Besides, the brat don't know how to use those enchantments in a fight."

"Enchantments, huh?" Valentino replayed various parts of their fight on the display. "Have ya ever heard of any enchantments what can let a barely-grown ringscraper cooze catch hands with a Sinner like ya and come out the other end alive? If ya have, I'd be right keen to hear it, because I sure as shit haven't! And this one…" He brought up footage of the dangerously talented hellhound busker as he belted out a literally face-melting solo. "Little shit rocked out so hard your skin came off!"

"Stompah still won't shut up about that little bastard," grumbled Steppenwulf. "Squiggy this, Squiggy that. Who'd wanna pet that could skin you with a guitar lick?"

Valentino chuckled. "Knowin' that green chode, that's part of the draw. Back to the point, that little mutt shredded ya up pretty good. I know ya got that 'gone in a puff of smoke' thing ya do, and Stompah has his 'thank you sir may I have another' healin' deal, but what if ya didn't?"

Steppenwulf paused, considering. "Well, they didn't have any–"

"And what if they did?" Val pressed, pointing at Setty and 'Squiggy'. "And what if they ain't the only ones?"

"How many enchantments do you think Red could scrounge in that neck of the woods?"

Valentino sighed, putting a hand to his face. "Enchantments, he says… Fucking–! They ain't enchantments, Step! They ain't charms! I've seen some wild shit come out of this war, but I ain't never seen no one weaponize James Fuckin' Hetfield! Dontcha get it? It's Red. He's done somethin' to those brats, somethin' that lets two baby ringscraper orphans step to three of my best guys!"

'Best guys?' Steppenwulf thought, smiling, before remembering himself. "What are you gettin' at?"

"What I'm gettin' at, Step, is that whatever Red did to those kids musta gassed him out," said Valentino, the display showing Red cradling Setty in his arms. "What was it ya said? He's soft? He cares for the widdle brats? Bullshit! Red Nightmare don't give a mouthful of cold imp-jizz for that slimy little cooze! He was protecting an asset! An investment!And I'd bet dollar-hoes to donut-punchers that's why y'all dipshits could even scuff his shoes. Gassed out as he was, he still would have won, and he's got hundreds of the brats down there! Who knows how many like his bottom-bitch and Squiggy he's cooked up!"

Steppenwulf's eyes widened, looking at the kids on the display. Setty fought like a street-brawler, sure, but if she'd coordinated with Squiggy, or if there was another one like her, that could have been a problem, even for him. Throw a Seraphim Steel shiv into the mix, times that by a dozen or a hundred, and add a gassed-out Red Nightmare into the mix… yeah, he was starting to see where Valentino was coming from.

"So…" Steppenwulf ventured. "Maybe we should nip this in the bud? Gut him while he's weakened?"

Valentino chuckled acidly, patting him – though they were hard enough to be slaps – on the head. "Whoa, hey, lookit the big brain on Step! And here I thought ya just had yer muscles and a big fat cock!"

"Well, why not?" Steppenwulf moaned. "Let me round up a posse and stop Red's little project for you!"

"Christ on a bun, Step! If your pecker were as big as that hate-boner ya got for Red, I'd never let you leave the studio!" Valentino shook his head, setting a hand on Steppenwulf's shoulder. "One day, yeah, we'll have the manpower to head down there and letcha bust that hate-nut you're savin'. But not now. We've got a big offensive comin' down the pipe. That's why I was so annoyed witcha earlier. Those fuckin' wops are makin' a move soon, I need every prick'n'clit I have to hand if I wanna take Thermopylae, and ya go 'n get yerself torn up like a virgin hole in Ozzie's!"

Steppenwulf looked down at his bandages, no longer badges of honor or prestige, but monuments to his hubris, his impulsiveness. If he was laid up too long, he wouldn't get to participate in Val's big thrust. Even his 'victory' over Red had soured, curdled by Valentino's characteristic canniness and observation. Val needed him, and here he was, more bandages than demon!

Wait.

Wops?

"Il Nove's makin' a move on Thermopylae?"

Valentino nodded grimly, turning off the hologram and pointing to the map of their border, dozens of red dots all over it. "Papa Playlist's sowing his oats all around our turf, seeding this whole area with those fuckin' Junior-bombs of his. Fuckers thought they was being clever, droppin' 'em with artillery and rockets, pretending they was softenin' us up! But I know what they're up to. We commit our forces to takin' the pass and BAM! They hit the switch and suddenly we're up to our tits in those shake'n'bake soldiers!"

Steppenwulf hobbled up to the table, all thoughts of Red crudely snuffed from his mind. Il Nove… christ. His Boss needed him now more than ever. He pointed to the map, puffing on the cigar Val had given him. "Maybe we can thin them out a bit? Get Puck and his drones out there, gather coordinates, then Pall and his portal buddies can drop 'em elsewhere."

Valentino turned to Steppenwulf, honestly surprised. "These things're small. Too small to portal at a distance."

Steppenwulf smirked. "Pall and Puck've whipped up a system. Puck's drones scan an area and calculate coordinates, send that to Pall or any of his portalmancers and they could portal a tick off a hellhound's ass!"

Valentino pondered this for a moment, a smile curling the sides of his mouth. "Give it a shot. If this works, Step, I'll blow you myself!"

Steppenwulf smiled and the praise, feeling better. Still, in the back of his mind, percolating, was Red. He'd have his revenge. He'd make that fucker pay. Pay for killing her. But that would have to wait for later. Steppenwulf smirked. ''Later' always becomes 'soon', just like 'soon' becomes 'now'. I'll be back, Red, and I swear on Shoresy's name I'll make you a 'was'!'


Red sat on the table, naked, the cold steel a distant discomfort as he stared off into the middle distance. The infirmary was better appointed now, their expanded operation regularly accrued enough bumps, scrapes, stabs, and gunshot wounds that Belladonna eventually conceded the necessity of buying the infirmary actual medical equipment. No more potato peelers or ground down spring-steel 'scalpels'. The room was silent save for the buzzing click of Doc Habbo's purity-meter. The apish Sinner held the silver cylinder over the bruises and scrapes peppering Red's torso, a wire trailing from the cylinder connected to a metal box hanging from his hip. A small portal containing an analogue gauge lit up, the needle jumping to the middle as he neared the purified tissue, the dosimeter crackling as he did.

"Mhm," he grunted, running the cylinder over another, more scorched-looking contusion on his ribs, courtesy of Stompah's chain-wrapped fists. The purity-meter squawked as the needle jumped into the lower red range of the gauge. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"Just that a lot of these bruises are only partially purified while other ones are full-on." Habbo knocked his spectacles down his snout, gesturing at the puncture wounds dotting his face, neck, and shoulders. "And those aren't purified at all."

"One of them had small particles of holy metal suspended in his skin which he could harden at will, the other had a solid chain," said Red, numbly, pointing to his face. "These are bite marks."

"Huh," grunted Habbo, not sounding the least bit surprised. "Clever. Risky. That would explain the partial purification. Well, those contusions should heal if left alone, but it may take a while longer."

"I'll manage."

"The ones made by the chain, though," he said, reaching over and rolling a wheeled tray to his side, on the tray were a half-dozen cruel looking surgical tools. "I'll need to debride the purified tissue for it to heal properly. And those gunshot wounds, those are from a blessed weapon from the look of it. I'll have to get those out."

Red sighed and laid down on the table. "Get on with it, then."

Habbo paused, his protruding brow furrowing. "I have some pain killers on hand. And not just bathtub gin."

"I'll drink after," said Red, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. "Just get it over with."

Habbo shrugged and rolled up to the table on his chair, pushing his glasses up his snout and over his eyes. He reached for a scalpel, some forceps, and a marker pen. He traced the borders of the bruise and set about with the scalpel and forceps, cutting and pulling away the tissue. He hummed jauntily to himself while Red lay still, his mouth a thin line, sweat beading on his brow. The slices and snips stopped.

"Soften up, will you?" Habbo said, jabbing Red's hide with the scalpel, barely dimpling it.

"Sorry," said Red, exhaling.

Habbo resumed his work, glancing up at the larger demon. "I have anesthetics."

"No," growled Red, not meeting his gaze. "This has to be a lesson. Hurry it up."

He continued, the good doctor took his sweet time debriding and bandaging the purified tissues. Once he was done, Red's torso and face was a patchwork of bandages and plasters. Habbo reached over and picked up a sounding rod and a pair of long forceps. "Now for those bullet wounds. The good news is, once I get these things out, the wounds'll close on their own. Bad news, I have to get every fragment out, so I may have to do some digging. Are you sure–"

Red's snarled and reached up to one of the wounds, plunging his huge talons into it. After some digging he pulled out a lump of metal roughly the size of a human thumb and placed it in the collection tray.

"Dear God!" Habbo boggled at the round, adjusting his glasses. "Did you get shot with a cannon?"

"It was one of those big machine guns," said Red, making a spinning motion with his fingers. "With the spinning barrels."

"Rotary cannon," said Habbo, examining the bullet. "20x102mm. M61 Vulcan. I'm impressed you're still standing."

"I never should have gotten hit…" Red grumbled.

Habbo paused, examining Red for a moment before getting to work. "If you told me back in 'Nam that I'd see the day where anti-aircraft weaponry is used as assault rifles, I'd tell you to cut back on the pakalolo."

Red arched an eyebrow at this. "Nam? Vietnam? You were in Vietnam?"

"Ayuh," Habbo grunted, withdrawing another bullet, dropping the heavy thing in the tray with a clatter. "Combat medic. It's funny, the shit I saw in Nam pales in comparison to this place, but I get more satisfaction out of being a doctor here than I ever did there."

"And why is that?"

"Ha!" Habbo gestured at the room around them, to the 'Donna in general. "These kids're so damn tough, if they're still breathing by the time I'm done patching, they'll survive. In 'Nam, you'd get infections, or parasites, or sometimes the boys'd be too strung out and stressed and starved, their wounds just wouldn't heal. I never claimed to be more than a glorified leak-patcher, just keeping them boys alive long enough to get evac'd, but even then… let's just say that Down Here, my patient satisfaction rate is substantially higher."

Red grimaced; was this really the sort of thing to tell someone while you operated on them?

Habbo noticed this and smiled wryly. "You have even less to worry about, Red. You could have come back a head and your chances of recovery'd be 100%. I noticed as I was cutting, your wounds are already healing. Those semi-purified contusions will take a little longer, but for a demon with as much juice as you seem to have I doubt they'll last the week."

Red said nothing, something bitter rising at the back of his throat. A demon like him never should have gotten hit in the first place. He was so much less now than what he had been, so much more vulnerable. How would he perform his duties if he couldn't know what his enemies were going to do? Going to say? Even now, he was noticing conversing was substantially more difficult, his responses sloppy, basic, clipped, the other party an unnerving mystery. And he was among allies here! Soon, he would have to face substantially less friendly demons. Would he embarrass himself in public? Damage his rep further by flubbing and stumbling around in conversation? Worse yet were future negotiations, where probing the future for exactly what to say to elicit the most favorable response, was now well and truly beyond him. What would he do?

Red hissed in pain as Habbo jabbed a sounding rod into a bullet wound, snapping him out of his dread-filled thoughts. "Remarkable. Your ribs aren't even broken."

"I noticed!" Red growled. "They may have hit me, but I'm no weakling!"

Habbo drew back, hands up, but not a hint of fear in his eyes. "Never said you were, Mr. Nightmare."

"Are we done, here?" Red grumbled, reaching for his clothes. "Her–grhk–Ladyship wants to talk with me."

"We're done here," said Habbo, writing in his notes. "Get back to me if those borderline bruises aren't healing."

"I will, don't worry about that," Red said as he hopped into his tattered pants, silently lamenting the loss of his pristine uniform.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that…" murmured Habbo, scribbling on the paper pad.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Red growled.

Habbo smiled sourly, clicking the pen and slipping it into his breast pocket. "I'd advise you to not keep Ma waiting."

Red eyed up the Doc for a moment, once again lamenting the loss of his power. Had he still had access to the future, he could see a timeline where he got the miserable ape to divulge all he knew through brutal methods of citric acid in the key lime juice will cause the egg yolk in the pie filling to set fully over the course of an hour. However, it is still advisable that the pie be baked at 375ºF for–DAMMIT ALL TO HELL WITH THE FUCKING BAKING!

"Red?" Habbo said, noticing the abrupt shift in his demeanor. "Something wrong?"

"Everything," muttered Red, his voice small, quiet. "Everything's wrong."

With that, he put on his bloody undershirt and exited. Habbo watched him go and shook his head, turning his head down the ward to the single figure sitting on one of the beds, visible as a profile through the privacy curtain: Setty. She was sitting there, knees to her chest, staring into the middle distance, silent. She hadn't said a word since Red had led her in here. Not one snipe, quip, or sneer.

"I'll say…"


Red put on his suit jacket as he marched down the hallway, the kids stepping out of his way as he did. A low, unseemly dread blossomed in his breast and it had a name: Belladonna.

With one notable exception, he was able to run circles around that complacent old cow, but that was before, this was now, in this new paradigm, with his humiliatingly mundane perceptions. In their absence he'd come to learn, painfully and shamefully, how much he had relied on his enhanced senses in even the smallest, pettiest situations. Now he was blind, deaf, had a hand tied behind his back, and he would be meeting with the woman who had enthralled him to her. Bluffed him into becoming her guard-dog. And that was before he'd been further diminished, crippled, and broken.

He would have to be very, very careful going forward.

He approached the absurdly ornate door to her office, dimly aware of the sweat beading on his brow, cold pinpricks forming between his shoulderblades, the solid weight in his gullet. He was scared. Scared of her. Of what she might do if she detected his impairment. She wasn't unintelligent, after all, complacent and too often blinded by greed, but hardly stupid.

No.

No!

This was no way for the Future King of Hell to act! To cower and squirm like a helpless child before a cruel, capricious (nanny) headmaster! He would simply have to cope. To compensate. To live in the present and find his own way!

He opened the door and entered the office. Sitting behind her desk, as always, was Belladonna, her hands neatly folded on her desk. "Come in, Red."

He did, walking over to the desk, standing at attention. She smiled at this, gesturing to the chair. "Take a seat."

He did, sitting before her, waiting to be addressed. A pause hung in the air as she studied his face, her tyrian purple eyes glinting with immense satisfaction. "Run into a spot of trouble, Red?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Still," she said, gesturing at him. "It's not often I see you… like this. They must have been some pretty powerful demons."

"Vees," he said, curtly. "And not really. They just had some… tricks. You needn't concern yourself with them. They weren't there on business, so our treaty still stands."

"Mhm." She tapped her hooves on the desk, eyes glinting. "How to broach this topic delicately… ah, yes: Red, what the fuck happened out there? You told me yourself that we shouldn't be starting trouble near Little Wrath. I agreed with you. It seemed very cautious, very canny, very unlike you. And then you go and start a duel. May I ask why?"

Red sighed, shaking his head. "I didn't. I assumed the duel on behalf of Setty. She and a few other kids burglarized a house in Little Wrath, when they were heading back, they were accosted by the Vees. I took on the duel to save their lives."

"Setty!" Belladonna scoffed, rising to her feet. "You should have let them kill the little bitch!"

Red shrugged. "She's a good earner."

"And apparently a superlative troublemaker! I've already heard rumbles from my sources that their mark was some bigshot music producer, that he's looking into all the recent break-ins in the area! Won't be long before he follows the breadcrumbs back to me!" She hissed, shaking her head and rubbing her temples. "We're dealing with actual people now, Red. People with money, connections, people who can, say, hire a band of mercenaries to come and turn this shitheap into a pile of rubble!"

"So, basically the same, but on fire?" Red said, hoping some levity would break the tension.

She leveled a glare at him for a moment before a smile curved the side of her mouth, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "Indeed… especially after your little tantrum in the Carriage House. Contents aside, the exterior offered a veneer of class to this depressing hulk."

Red flinched. She knew? How he hated not having a 'script' to read. "I was under the impression that was the result of a stray–"

"Don't play dumb, you big galoot," she scoffed, waving him off. "You never liked that operation from day one. Granted, closing it down was necessary, but I could have turned it into a rental property! Did you really have to level the fucking thing?"

"Do you really think any of the locals would bed down in a former whorehouse bordering an orphanage?" Red said, pointedly, quite unsure just where the Hell this conversation was going. Is this how normal demons conversed? Suffused with uncertainty and doubt? Anxiety swelled within him. "I've heard tell of people openly discussing burning the place down."

He'd heard no such thing, but the statement didn't seem to surprise Belladonna in the least. "The point is, I don't need any additional oafs with more muscle than brains tearing apart my operation! One is quite enough, thank you!"

Oh, that was the point of this tangent? Conversing in this fashion was unbearable!

"Well?" She said, turning to him.

Red blinked, flatfooted. "Well, what?"

"'Well what?'" She rolled her eyes and jabbed a finger at him. "Well, what are you going to do about this situation? This is all your fault, after all!"

Red bit his lip, his mind racing for a way out of this stressful conversation. What was he going to do about it? It occurred to him he'd given the notion of dealing with reprisals little if any thought, having been so hopelessly distracted with his most recent personal disaster. Belladonna was waiting, her eyes narrowing. Was she beginning to suspect something was wrong with him? She was no doubt noticing his usually crisp, forthright demeanor was absent, replaced by the stammering fool before her. He had to say something!

"Return the goods," he blurted out.

Belladonna cocked her head to the side. "Return… what, return what that little sow stole?"

Red nodded, almost gasping in relief. "Yes. Er, if we return the stolen goods and apologize in person it may, uh, smooth things over?"

She folded her arms across her chest, looking him up and down. "You don't sound very sure. What if he takes it as a sign of weakness? That could damage our rep."

"We'll just return the personal effects. The trophies, the records, heirlooms, etc," said Red, allowing the bullshit to flow with surprising ease. On some level, he was impressed with himself. "Objects of… sentimental value. Priceless. Irreplaceable. As I understand it, the kids defeated the man in combat, so by law it's all ours. We take everything but the aforementioned trinkets and apologize in person. He'd see that we're sincere about reconciliation, but we're not begging for it either."

Belladonna thought about this for a moment, smiling as she walked over to him, tapping a hoof against his forehead. "You got a big ol' brain in there, dontcha? Very good, we'll do that. Anything else you wish to do?"

Red internally sighed in relief; how do normal people live like this?! "Yes, one more thing. We pull the kids back from the outskirts, suspend Acquisitions for… a week. A few days at least."

Belladonna stopped smiling, no doubt calculating the loss of income. "Why? You're not concerned for the children's safety, are you, Red?"

Red, to his own surprise, struggled to muster a suitably dismissive tone. Part of him surmised that predicting and preparing for the question must have been the difference… and yet another part of him, quiet but present, was silently furious that such a thing be in question. Of course he was!

Wait, what?

"…Hardly. As is, we've made a big mess out there," he said, willing himself to not fidget like a schoolboy before a strict teacher. "It might be prudent for all our activity in the area to flatline, at least until people forget about the whole thing. Much of the fighting was in a designated dueling park, and only one house was burgled, so it shouldn't take long."

"That is prudent…" She rubbed her chin, sighing. "We'll put the street kids to work in the Shop and Home Ec for the time being, I suppose. What shall we do in the interim? No Acquisitions means no resale, means no fresh cars, means no income. I trust you have a solution?"

Ah, damnit, bullshit time again. "I understand the Shop has sufficient backlog and wares to make regular resales and parts sales for at least two weeks. However, I wanted to mention that the Computer Lab has offered a provocative new project, should you choose to approve it."

Belladonna arched a curious eyebrow. "Oh ho? I'm listening."

Relief washed over Red and he continued, hoping he could remember Arby's assessment of the Computer Lab's future. "Intelligence gathering, network hacking, and online fraud. With its expanded workforce and a little training, we could have eyes on every street corner. Ears in every Wifi network. We could see, hear, and hack every pin number, password, and safe in our territory. With the proper algorithms, we could even monitor the communications of everyone in our turf and sell them what we stole from their neighbors. We could phish the vulnerable, scam the greedy, and dupe the predatory. I have it on good authority that this is within the Computer Lab's capabilities."

Belladonna gave an impressed whistle, nodding. "Ambitious! Strange, though, I was talking to Mr. Taco earlier today and he expressed no such sentiment."

Red shrugged. "He's timid. Self-conscious about his position here now that we no longer need to mollify local gangs. Indeed, the Computer Lab, as it is now, is superfluous. We can either dissolve it or repurpose it into a more profitable and useful venture. He'll deny formulating this enterprise, but I believe that, if given sufficient motivation, he and his kids will be more than capable of bringing it about."

"You mean 'if I tell Taco to make it happen, Arby will make it happen'!" She barked a laugh. "Very well. I'll mention it to him at the next staff dinner."

Red smiled and nodded. "Whenever you wish."

"One more thing," said Belladonna, pointing at Red, poking him in the chest, making his bullet wounds smart. "Setty must be punished for this debacle. And you must do it. That little tart has been making moon-eyes at you and I need you to prove to me that she's not… compromising you in any way."

Moon-eyes? What did she mean by that? Compromising him? How could Setty be compromising him? Besides getting into dangerous situations, that is. Red sighed internally, dearly wishing he could see into a future where he pressed the matter, gleaning the information that way, rather than open up what he sensed was a particularly unseemly can of worms. Instead, he let the thinly-veiled accusation slide. "Setty has been punished sufficiently for today."

Belladonna smiled condescendingly. "Oh? What? Did you tell her she really let you down? Did you call her a ba~d little girl? Oh, no, let me guess, you told her you were disappointed in her!"

Red shook his head. "She's in the infirmary."

Belladonna's mocking smile vanished, her eyes widening. "Infirmary? Why, Red, I didn't think you had it in you. I'm impressed! …Not too banged up, I trust?"

"Minor scrapes and bruises, a few broken ribs," he said, waving her off. "Nothing too serious. Although, going forward, I think it would be best if she were taken off Acquisitions and put on punitive duties for a week or two. Home Ec, custodial duties, that sort of thing. She's too good of an earner to leave on the shelf for long, but I believe a stint polishing toilets and picking string will remind her to follow orders next time."

Belladonna grinned at this, rubbing her chin as she imagined. "A few long shifts with Surf Mesa scrubbing latrines might wash the starch out of that little tramp! Very good, Red. At your discretion."

He nodded, himself flatly amused at the idea of proud, upright Setty being subject to the petty torments of the astonishingly bigoted groundskeeper. That or her hunched over a sewing machine, drearily stitching endless swathes of fabric. After a week or two of such drudgery, she'd beg to hit the streets again, get out into the exciting and dangerous world of Acquisitions, but with a healthier respect for his orders this time.

"Will that be all, Your Ladyship?" Red said, a hint of his former confidence bleeding back into his demeanor.

He was getting the hang of this 'peasant perspective' thing.

Belladonna sat herself back down behind her desk, one hand flat on the desktop, the other opening a drawer and fiddling about with something. "Almost. Just one more thing…"

When her hand reappeared, it was holding something. Something silvery, mirror-like in shine. With a sonic 'crack' she brought the thing down in a glittering arc. Even Red, with his immense speed, was shocked at the swiftness of her movements. Not as fast as himself or even Steppenwulf, but over such a short space and so unexpectedly – damn you, Solido! – even he had trouble following her. The glittering thing sped downwards, towards her hand, open and exposed. Red grunted as green flares of Pact energy arced and fizzled about his body, his hand automatically reaching out as the powerful geas compelled him to act, to protect. Red roared as a burning, electric pain blossomed in his hand, the sound of sizzling meat and boiling blood filled the room along with the acrid smell of purifying tissue. He panted and heaved, gritting his teeth as he looked down to the Seraphim Steel poignard impaling his palm.

"Good to see the Deal works," said Belladonna, the tip of the knife bare millimeters from her own hand on the desk, quite safe. She pressed down, twisting the blade slightly. Red doubled over, choking back a scream, glowing green ribbons of energy compelling him to stay, to resist her attempt at self-harm. He lodged his knuckle between his teeth, biting, his sharp shark-teeth slicing into his flesh, the tangy metallic flavor of his blood filling his mouth. "Oh, cowboy up, pretty boy. You must think I'm pretty stupid, don't you?"

Red tried to speak, tried to articulate a response, only to yelp and whimper as she twisted the blade some more.

"You think I don't know you're still trying to take this place over? Please. Just because you can't harm me or allow anyone else to, doesn't mean you haven't been looking for a way to get my head on a spike." She reached over and knocked a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. On her face that same expression, from before, when she had The Boy bound and helpless, at her nonexistent mercy. Her eyes glittered with that same cold glee above a serene, self-satisfied smile. "How convenient you had a run-in with the Vees today. Coming back all bruised and scuffed. They must have been heavy-hitters to lay even a finger on you. Did you plan this? Are you consorting with them? Planning for them to send enough lugs to hold you down while they tear me apart?"

Red glared into her eyes, desperately wishing he could kill her with hate alone. "N-no…"

"Hm." Belladonna twisted the blade again, in the opposite direction, causing Red to cry out and double over as his flesh sizzled. "I think another Deal is in order."

He looked up at her, eyes silently begging but knowing it was futile.

"Oh, yes, my boy," she said, grinning and extending her free hand. "Or rather, an addendum. I could simply slave you to my will, but it's been my experience that doing such only prompts Samsonian tactics. You'd tear my operation out from under me, leaving me unharmed but destitute. So, in addition to allowing no harm to come to my body and soul, you will henceforth answer truthfully any question I ask of you. Agreed?"

Red snarled like a trapped beast, spitting in her face, only for her to wipe it away, smirking, and twist the blade harder. After a few seconds of agony, she relented, offering her hand once more. Red choked out something between a sob and a sigh and took it, flares of green energy flashing between them. With a satisfied 'mhm' she withdrew the poignard and sat back down. Red drew back like a struck animal, cradling his throbbing, smoking paw, glaring at her.

"You want to kill me," she said, examining her pedicure. "Don't you?"

"More than anything," Red growled.

She chuckled at this, amused. "You're planning on taking over my operation, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Red paused, the Deal crackling about his mighty frame. "…I'm… canvassing for talent."

"Oh ho?" She cooed, interested. "The Vees."

He shook his head. "No."

She arched an eyebrow. "Then who?"

Red grit his teeth, trembling, but then steadied himself, inhaling slowly, deeply, and exhaling, calming himself. "I'm not sure yet. They have to be able to overpower me to get to you. That's a short list, especially around here."

"True enough," she said, chuckling. "The mess you're in, you'd need an Overlord or three on your side to get you out."

"Or a few friends," Red grumbled.

Belladonna eyed him up for a moment before scoffing, a mocking smile on her face. "You have friends?"

Red's eyes narrowed. "More than you."

Belladonna blinked, her smile pulling into a frown, and glared at the larger Sinner. "The sort you associate with can't help you. Do you really think any of the scum around here can help you?"

"I know they can."

She studied him for a moment, sucking her teeth and waving him off. "From now on, I expect daily updates regarding your scheming, along with your usual duties. Now, get out of here and have Doc see to that hand, you're stinking up the place."

Red stood up straight, staring daggers at her a moment before heading for the door.

"Oh, Red?" She called out after him, causing him to turn to face her. "I have to say, just now you seemed… familiar. Have we met before?"

Red paused, brow furrowing, the energy arcing and spitting about him. "No. Coming here was my first time meeting you… in person."

Belladonna studied his face for a moment, drumming her fingers on the desktop. "…I see. You may go now."

With that, Red left.


Setty lay on the gurney, trying and failing to sleep. The Doc had insisted she stay overnight in the medical ward for observation. Setty had been roughed up worse than this before. A concussion and a few broken ribs was nothing to her. But she obliged. It was quiet here. Peaceful. The Bunks would have been loud, overwhelming, and the other kids would no doubt pester and harass her for details. Here, the only sound was the idle scribbling and rummaging of the Doc. He didn't bother talking to her, the old drunk knew better. Just as well. She didn't feel like talking to anyone, she didn't even feel like looking at anyone. She wanted to close her eyes and wake up to find that this whole long-ass day had just been a bad dream.

A nightmare.

She wanted to open her eyes and shake it off and head back out onto the streets, leading her kids to gold and glory. But every move, every breath, was sheer pain of some stripe. Aches from her bruises, itchy burning from her scrapes and cuts, and glassy, hot stabs from her cracked ribs. Long ago – sometime that morning, to be precise – she had been invincible. Untouchable. She had been Setty, the baddest bitch at the 'Donna. She had been a stupid, headstrong little girl, blissfully unaware of the horrors out there. Her powers had made her feel as though she could walk up and cup-check Lucifer himself, now her aches and throbs reminded her what she really was. Just a kid, just a succubus, just a Hellborn.

She felt weak. Useless.

Worse than that, than having her newfound pride and self-worth cruelly deflated, was the guilt. The shame. In her arrogance, she had tanked their operations in rich new hunting grounds. In her hubris, she had almost gotten those three boys killed. In her recklessness, she'd gotten Red hurt. She'd shaken his trust in her. She'd let him down. Disappointed him. Him. The first person to see in her something besides a pretty face and nice rack. The man who tore down her old, hopeless life and magically rebuilt it into something unbelievable, amazing, something with a future that didn't reek of soiled sheets and body odor. The only man who treated her with kindness and regard without a hint of lust or longing. She'd done it all for him, she realized, all of it. She just wanted him to think she was worthy of the chance she'd been given. Worthy to be his Number One Girl. Worthy to be his… his what?

"Fuck…" She muttered in the dark, feeling tears well up in her eyes. "What's wrong with me?"

She wanted more from Red. How much she couldn't begin to guess. Red had seen her as a useful tool, then a trustworthy subordinate, maybe even a friend? No. That last one was stretching it. But he confided in her things that weren't just business. Like that weird relationship he has with that funny little tattoo on his forehead, Solido. She hadn't told anyone what he'd told her. Nothing could make her. It was theirs. Between them. And she wanted more things like that between them. She wanted him to talk to her, tell her anything and everything he had to tell. To talk to her not as a subordinate, but as a… girl? …Woman?

Did she want… that? That thing people had been doing to her, forcing on her, ever since she bloomed? That stinking, disgusting, stomach-churning thing. As if! She couldn't abide more than a few moments of contact with another person! A warm hand on her shoulder revolted her like a heavy, moist slug crawling on her flesh. Hugs felt like being smothered in rotten meat. Even thinking about kissing someone made her stomach turn. How could she even consider that thing… with Red? Thinking about that thing in a vacuum made her sick, but now…

Setty shifted on the gurney as her heart began to thud in her chest, warmth blossoming in her core, spreading out until it filled her body. Confusion and a nameless want filled her mind with ruddy, half-realized images, sensations, and scenarios with… someone. Someone big and masculine, his visage half-formed in her mind. Someone wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace. She could hear the steady, soothing drub-drub-drub of his heart through his bulging chest. The embrace was gentle, tender, and intimate. She wanted more. More than she could ever remember herself wanting any kind of physical contact. The girl heaved a heavy, husky sigh, the only sound she could hear was the hammering of her heart in her ears. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to focus the fantasy, to imagine and experiment.

The sound of the door swinging open and slamming shut broke the crypt-like silence of the medical ward. Setty jumped in the bed, stifling a squeak and then a growl as that pleasurable heat in her veins was rudely snuffed, as though with a bucket of ice water. Who the fuck barges into the med-ward like that?!

"Bitch!" A familiar voice hissed, his words increasingly curdled with bottomless loathing. "That bitch! T̶h̶a̶t̶ f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶!̶!̶"

It was Red.

Setty went stiff in the bed, rolling over slowly, pretending to be asleep. Her whole body crawled with icy, itchy legs of embarrassment, no, mortification. What if he'd walked in just a few minutes later? Found her like that? Doing that? What would his reaction be?

'(Hmm~) Nope! Bad thoughts out!' She hissed, silently scolding herself as that warmth tried to creep back in. As if she hadn't humiliated herself enough for one day! After what she pulled, she'd be lucky if Red even looked her in the eyes ever again, much less… anyway, better to just pretend she was asleep. If Red walked over she could maybe avoid another, more personal, rebuke. 'And the last thing I need right now is Red dressing me down (undressing me) UGH! STOP IT!'

"I see the meeting with Ma went well," said Habbo, amused. "Let's see that hand."

Red sat down with a huff, grumbling sour nothings as Doc got his instruments. There was a clatter of tools and the squeak of a wheeled tray, Doc grunted as he sat down. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," said Habbo. "What we say here never leaves this office."

"Office? I understand this used to be a racquetball court," said Red, unimpressed.

"Doing what I can with what I got," he replied. "It'll be between us. Besides, I get the impression you're a private fellow. If anything gets out, you'd know it was me… and I'm guessing I wouldn't want that."

"Good guess," said Red, sighing. "What about her?"

"Setty? I gave her something for the pain. She's out like a light."

Setty smirked at this. Four Valiums were supposed to knock her out? Please! Carriage House girls used to pop that much before breakfast!

"I was just treated to an addendum to my Deal."

"Double Dealt With?" Habbo said, impressed. "That's a feat. Considering you're presently not wearing her skin like a coat, I assume your prior Deal was a general 'third-rule' clause, yes?"

"Third rule clause?"

"A reference to Isaac Asimov's third law of robotics," Doc, the nerd, explained as his purity-meter crackled. "You cannot harm, or by omission of action, allow Belladonna to be harmed."

"That's correct." Red paused, sighing deeply, Setty could feel the raw defeat in his voice. "I must now truthfully answer any question she asks."

"Ayuh, that's a bad one," grunted Habbo, popping the cap of a marker, no doubt drawing a perimeter around the wound. "Any loopholes?"

"I can lie by omission and tell half-truths, apparently." Red hissed in pain. "ARGH! Dammit!"

"I can get some anesthetics, if you–"

"Whiskey," growled Red.

Doc chuckled and rolled across the room on his chair, grabbing a bottle. Red capped it, his hard, heavy gulps echoing in the med-ward. He hissed at the alcohol burn and set the bottle down, apparently offering it to Habbo, who accepted. After a moment, the old ape set about to work, Red hissing and wincing as he did. Setty lay there, listening, her stomach tightening in shame: this was all her fault too. The operation was relatively quick. Doc may be a drunk and a coward, but he knew his craft. Once Doc was finished, he set about putting his tools away, with Red sitting there in silent contemplation.

After a while, Red spoke, his tone was hesitant, halting, and slightly slurred. "You… you were in Vietnam?"

Habbo grunted in affirmation. "Four tours. Why do you ask?"

"What do you know about psychology?"

Habbo sighed, backrest creaking as he leaned. "Not part of my schooling. But… Well, let's say I've dabbled since I started working here. What's on your mind?"

"Ha!" Red laughed, now obviously quite drunk. "More like who! Ever hear of DID?"

"Yes, though I've never encountered a case."

"Then, it pleases me to be the first," said Red, his tone grandiose. "I've struggled with it for much of my adult life and afterlife. For a time, I thought I was getting better, then… BOOM! Solido-city."

"Solido?" Habbo replied, intrigued. "You're aware of him?"

"Yes. How could I not be? The bastard's withholding… something from me. Something important."

"I'm going to need more to go off of before I can help any," said Habbo, wryly.

A deep, heavy sigh escaped the demon, the chair creaking under his immense weight. "A word of this gets out–"

"Ha!" Habbo scoffed. "Haven't you heard? I'm a coward worse than Emerson. I just hide it better."

A pause ensued, broken by the clink of glass on teeth as Red took another pull from the bottle. "My powers. He's… withholding my powers. He's done it before, and he's done it again, today."

"I see." Habbo paused, digesting the information. "I presume that's why you're all…?"

"Yes. If I had my abilities, those thugs wouldn't have been able to so much as bleed on my shoes. But now… oh God…" moaned Red, sounding remarkably close to tears. Setty wanted more than anything to give him a big comforting hug. "And I don't even know what I did to upset him this time!"

"This time? You mentioned it happened before." Habbo said, chair creaking as he leaned. "Tell me about the other time."

Red paused. Even drunk, getting him to talk about himself felt like pulling teeth. Setty let out a silent, impatient grunt; c'mon, this was getting good! 'It's like trying to get Johns to open up about their shit lives when you don't wanna go another round (with Red I would want to–) Shut up, you! Red, c'mon, in for a penny!'

"I… did something. Tried to kill some people he… we were fond of. Our friends. Our only friends," Red said after a long pause. "I had to do it! They knew too much about how my powers worked! If it got out, my enemies, shit, ourenemies could very well kill us both! …Solido was unmoved by my logic."

"Of course," Habbo replied. "And that's when he locked away these powers of yours?"

"Half of them, anyway…" Red grumbled. "But, see, I understand now what his objection was. As for today, well, I have no idea what I could have done to anger him!"

"Have you considered asking him?" Habbo said.

Something in the old ape's voice told Setty he was skeptical, though about what she couldn't say.

"Ask him, he says!" Red scoffed. "I would love to ask him, but the little shit won't talk to me! Well, sometimes he does, but he'll never answers me, y'know?"

Doc grunted in affirmation. "If he doesn't talk, how do you know he's there?"

"Oh, I know…" Red said, from the sound of it tapping his forehead. "Always up here. Pecking at me whenever I so much as think about doing something he doesn't like!"

"I see…" said Habbo, fingers tapping on his lap. "And what doesn't Solido like?"

"When I think about hurting or killing people," said Red, airly. "Mostly the kids, honestly. He really doesn't like it when I think about hurting the kids."

"Do you think about hurting the kids often?"

"Only every goddamn day!" Red exclaimed. "Like today, for instance. Setty over there, the little… she caused a lot of trouble for me, for all of us. When I found out, I just wanted to… to…"

Setty's eyes went wide, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Kill her?" Doc offered.

"What?!" Red said, affronted in that special way buttoned-down people get when drunk. "No! No. I would never… I could never hurt Setty. She's strong and willful. Loyal and brave. She speaks her mind and explains her position, even to me. She's fearless, self-possessed, and takes initiative. A little too much initiative, mind, but had that burglary been anywhere else, I would have been almost proud of her! She's a good kid at heart. I actually rather like her, to be honest."

Setty thought her heart would burst from her chest, felt as though her whole form would catch fire from the full-body blush presently burning within her.

"Heh," Habbo laughed, softly. "Me too."

Ew.

"I just wanted to give her a regular old nonfatal corrective smack upside the head," Red said, chuckling sourly. "Or bend her over my knee and give her a good hard spanking!"

Setty blushed harder, somehow. '[Setty dot exe has stopped working]'

"Ha!" Habbo barked. "Red, that's normal! It's called 'working with children'. Just about every adult who's had to deal with kids gives at least some thought to the idea of 'manual attitude calibration'. And if anyone needs an attitude adjustment, it's that one! "

'Fuck you, too, Doc…'

"But Solido won't even let me have that! Always there, in the back of my head, pecking away whenever I think to do something he doesn't approve of! So I don't, if only to get him to stop!" Red growled. "But now… I don't know what I could have done to upset him to this extent. I've tried to be good to the kids, to make their lives… less miserable. I just don't know why he'd do this! Why now?! Without my powers, I won't be able to protect this place, to protect them! He knows this! It doesn't make any sense!"

There was a long, pregnant pause as Habbo collected his thoughts, shifting in his chair as though uncomfortable. "Red… is Solido like anything you remember of your prior experience with DID?"

"No, he's… faint. Undefined. Before, one of us would always be aware of the other. But with him it's like he's… in here, with me, idling, only waking up to, well, 'peck'. He's only ever spoken at me once, and even then it was related to the children, something about not murdering people in front of them. Beyond that, he's like a ghost."

Habbo paused again before sighing deeply. "Well, like I said before, I'm not this kind of doctor, but…"

Another pause.

"But?" Red pressed.

"Have you considered that there is no Solido?" Habbo ventured. "At least, not in the way that you're thinking."

"What?" Red scoffed, incredulous. "Of course there's a Solido! I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid! Unless you have some fancy psychology term for a meddlesome gremlin living inside my skull!"

"Just so happens I do," said Habbo, amused. "It is my humble not-remotely-qualified opinion that you have what's known as an active self-reflective moral/ethical behavioral framework."

"Excuse me?"

"A conscience, Red," said Habbo. "A very selective and honestly quite spotty conscience, but a conscience nonetheless."

Red laughed aloud at this, a strange, forced barking sound. "Oh, that's preposterous! A conscience? I only play by his rules to shut him up and get him to stop bothering me, not because I feel what I'm doing or thinking is wrong! Absurd!"

"Are you sure?"

A pause.

A long pause.

When Red spoke next, his voice was measured, clipped, and very, very sober. "He has my powers. Before, when I was split, one could withhold abilities from the other splinter. How can he do this if he's not–?"

"There are few emotions as powerful and unpredictable as guilt. The things it can do to a man, what it can make him do…" Habbo said, sighing. "You want to know how powerful guilt is? I was raised Catholic. Wound tight and sanctimonious as the Pope's own ballsack. But after 'Nam? I found something stronger than God. Guilt. Guilt over abandoning my platoon to a Vietcong battalion. Guilt over wounding myself on purpose and taking the place of a fellow soldier on a medevac helicopter. Guilt over being a coward. Guilt loaded an M16, put the barrel in my mouth, and pulled the trigger. So I know a thing or two about the power of a heavy conscience, Red. Sounds to me like you feel terrible over what you did to those people, your friends, and you're holding yourself back as a result."

The chair shifted as Red rose to his feet. Setty gasped as the air turned sour, metallic, dull blue fingers of static danced upon the metal frame of the gurney as his aura thrummed. Part of her wanted to leap to her feet, to tell him to stop. She wanted to, but she was frozen in place.

"G̶u̶i̶l̶t̶…?" Red growled, his voice buzzing inside her soul like angry flies. "G̶u̶i̶l̶t̶ i̶s̶ a̶ f̶i̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ p̶u̶p̶p̶e̶t̶s̶ o̶f̶ f̶a̶t̶e̶,̶ t̶o̶ g̶i̶v̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶e̶l̶u̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶y̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ i̶n̶ c̶o̶n̶t̶r̶o̶l̶.̶ W̶h̶e̶n̶ o̶n̶e̶ c̶a̶n̶ s̶e̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶u̶t̶u̶r̶e̶,̶ s̶e̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶t̶r̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ a̶n̶d̶ c̶u̶t̶ a̶n̶d̶ p̶u̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ a̶t̶ h̶i̶s̶ l̶e̶i̶s̶u̶r̶e̶,̶ h̶e̶ i̶s̶ b̶e̶y̶o̶n̶d̶ g̶u̶i̶l̶t̶.̶ I̶f̶ I̶ s̶e̶l̶e̶c̶t̶ a̶ c̶o̶u̶r̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ a̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶,̶ i̶t̶'̶s̶ b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ I̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ d̶e̶e̶m̶e̶d̶ i̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶o̶r̶r̶e̶c̶t̶ o̶n̶e̶,̶ a̶n̶d̶ s̶o̶ i̶t̶ i̶s̶.̶"

To his credit, when Doc spoke he didn't sound the least bit afraid. "And the results speak for themselves."

Silence. Dreadful silence. Setty waited, braced, for the crunch. The wet noises. The stink of meat and blood. Instead, the thrumming stopped. The ozone smell dissipated. An amused chuckle sounded after a long, agonizing span of seconds.

"And you call yourself a coward," said Red, turning and heading towards the door. "Thanks for the patch-job. And the talk. It's good to talk to someone."

"You can't run from this, Red," said Habbo. "This isn't something you can smash or slash or snarl at and make it go away. You have to deal with it. Own up to it. Forgive yourself. Only then will Solido leave you be."

The door swung open. "Goodnight, Doc."

And closed.

The medical ward was silent once more.