Clark stood before the doorway. A scarred ABB member waited with him in the hallway, his once-white undershirt stained with with sweat and other substances Clark tried to ignore. He wore Tevye's trench coat and his hat again. A costume, of sorts. Not one that would strike fear into the hearts of evildoers, but something like a costume.
He looked to the left. Off in the distance, through hundreds of buildings, across the whole town. That level of specificity often required much more focus, but Clark found what he looked for with ease. The three heads on sticks. He did not know why the PRT allowed them to stay on the lawn like that. The clock in the Empire cape's former home read 10:26 in the morning, but Clark thought it might be a little late. He forced himself to move his gaze back to the heads. He had killed them. He had not swung the sword, or cleaved their heads from their bodies, but he had killed them all the same. Their personal names and addresses given to a psychotic assassin, what else could he have expected. Their deaths weighed on his shoulders as much as they did on Oni Lee's.
I… I didn't mean to. I didn't mean it.
Those two thoughts looped around his mind, though each time they grew a little less believable. He had known something like this would happen. He might not have predicted the beheading, but he had known what the consequences of his actions would be.
A tiny, elderly Asian woman approached the door from the hallway, a small paper bag in hand. She gave a nod to the heavily tattooed rifleman that stood with Clark, and he opened the door in response. She entered, and Clark trained his ears towards the room in the hopes of catching some conversation he could use. No English words came from the conversation. He suppressed a sigh - he knew he should be learning more languages to comprehend what he overheard, but even Hebrew with Chava was slow going. Plus, Tziporrah teased him each time he mispronounced a word.
The elderly woman left after a few short words inside, back on her way down the hallway. Clark and the ABB guard stood together for several seconds more, before a deep voice echoed from inside.
"Enter."
Clark entered.
Lung lounged in a chair, shirtless. An antique desk sat before him, made from some dark wood and well engraved. Images of dragons that floated amongst the clouds, a grand mountain in the background. His mask lay on the desk itself, along with several buns. He held one in his hand, chewing as he took another bite. He was focused on the old globe that sat beside his mask, brow furrowed as he ate. Dragon tattoos covered his biceps and shoulders, intricate in design and execution. Clark could see the tendons in his forearms stand out as Lung tilted the globe one way then the other, the serious expression never leaving his face.
The door closed behind Clark. He did not dare to move. He did not know much about Lung as he would have liked, but any man who had someone like Oni Lee as a follower was not a man to be trifled with.
Another loud bite of the bun. Clark could hear the second hands on the guard's watch tick by. Lung chewed, focused on the globe.
More seconds passed.
"The Azn Bad Boyz recruit from all of Asia." Lung spoke. Each word was well enunciated, though his voice held a strong accent. "Chinese. Japanese. Korean. Laotian. Vietnamese."
Clark did not reply, and waited for the gang leader to continue.
"I have studied this globe this morning." Lung tapped at it as he spoke. "And I have discovered an interesting fact."
With a slow, lazy push, Lung spun the globe to face Clark. He beckoned him forward with a single finger, then placed the finger on the globe. Pointing to one small area in the Middle East.
"What do you see?"
"S-Syria?" Clark stammered as he spoke, confused.
Lung frowned, sitting upright. He looked around to Clark's side of the globe, and moved his finger slightly.
"Israel?" Clark spoke again.
"Yes. And what continent is it on?"
Clark felt his stomach sink. "Asia. It's in Asia." He did not point out that Tevye's family was Yiddish and Ashkenazi, and had never set foot in Israel.
"Welcome to the Azn Bad Boyz, Clark Kent." Lung's face betrayed no emotion as he held out a hand. Clark fought against his revulsion to move his hand up to shake. He had shook hands with Victor, after all. He could do this. He would have to. He would find a way out, a way to make sure that the ABB did not ruin more lives, a way to make the organization tear apart the Empire without more suffering.
His train of thought was violently interrupted at a strange noise. Lung looked like he might belch out smoke, a sound half-way between a grumble and cough coming from the gang boss.
Only when Lung threw back his head, a smile on his face, did Clark understand. Lung was laughing. The bizarre sight lasted longer than Clark thought it would, though at long last Lung leaned back into his seat.
"Your poor face," Lung chuckled. "I would not invite you like this. A joke. You have put me in a good mood, Clark Kent. I should be upset. I should be angry. But you have put me in a good mood."
"Th-thank you?" He hated that he stammered like this, but he could do little to stop himself. He felt terrified like this, powerless against a man like the one before him.
"I lost two safe houses, a restaurant, and seven good soldiers last night." The smile faded from Lung's face. Somehow, the more calm expression of rage placed Clark a little more at ease. "An assault from the Empire. Purity may claim independence. Her actions speak for her. I should rage against them. Perhaps kill a guard for incompetence. Lose myself to drink and whores."
Lung brought his even gaze to Clark. "But you appear. Right after the attack. You give the exact location of three out of four capes we fought. You give a way to strike back at once. I am happy with you, Clark Kent. I did not think Oni Lee's investment would pay."
He pointed to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Clark sat.
"Cha siu bao? Bolo Bao? Any you like. Choose, and eat."
Clark picked up a one with a sesame sprinkled top, and began to eat the fresh bun while Lung continued his speech.
"I understand the proof. Good for the cops." Lung grunted, and reached for another bun. "But the Azn Bad Boyz do not require such proof."
"I don't want to give you incorrect information, I-I-I don't want to accidentally give the wrong person as a cape's identity."
"I know this. But, I am not stupid. Do not ever make that mistake." The casual threat came out muffled by the food in Lung's mouth. The man tapped his ear, and took another bite. "I am thinking that you hear much, do you not? You are not the only one."
Clark opened his mouth, and closed it. He wished he knew how to keep an identity secret. He wished he knew what to say.
A chuckle escaped the man with the dragon tattoo. "You are not as unique as you may think. But I think you might hear more." Lung gestured to the mask on the desk. "Why do you think I met you without this?"
Deep breath. Clark considered lying or trying to come up with some fake reason, but gave in. He did not want to make the leader of the ABB angry at him.
"You realized that I could find your identity with the mask on."
"Good. Yes. I am thinking that you may see as much as you hear. This is good. This is useful. Go on. Look, look for your family."
Clark whipped his head to the side, horrified. Had Lung attacked or kidnapped the Shusters? His vision pieced wall after wall, towards the synagogue. Tevye, Tzipporah, and Chava stood inside. Bullet holes covered parts of the outside walls, both fresh and old. The synagogue looked more full than usual, though some of the families had noted absences. The skinhead assault had not targeted their community last night, but no gang fight with Empire presence left them without a loss. Outside the synagogue waited its 'security', usually just an ABB thug or two that the community raised money to hire. Today, a Japanese man stood where the security should be. A few bruises adorned him, a visible pistol strapped to his chest. Clark recognized the face.
Oni Lee.
"You can see far," Lung said. "It is good. I take care of my own."
Clark turned back to Lung. He had not realized that he had been tested until it was too late. Now Lung had all the confirmation he needed for Clark's powers. He had played right into the other man's hands. He had to get better at this.
"Do not worry. It is good to help your neighbor. I do not want to hurt your family, Clark. But you will not hurt mine." Lung had finished his buns. He put his forearms on the desk. His muscles rippled beneath the tattoos, his broad, square face held a serious expression. "You will find information for me. You will find identities for me. I ask a question, you answer. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes. I mean yes, I understand."
"Good. I am not a tyrant, Clark. You have done well for me. I will reward you." Lung relaxed. He looked uninterested in too much further conversation. "What do you wish? Women? Drugs? Men? Money?"
Clark found his gaze wander back to Shusters, and knew that he had no choice in what his boon would be. He had to repay them, some how, some way.
He sat on the park bench. He could not face the Shusters. Not yet, not after he had gotten them wrapped up in all of this. His trench coat waited, folded and to the side. His glasses stayed on. Their thick lenses would have made it hard for anyone else to see, but for Clark, they helped him ignore some of the information his vision fed him. He did not need them as much as he had back when Tevye had picked him up from the bay, but he wore them all the same. It just felt right. His hat rested on top of his trench coat, and Clark allowed the light fog to soak against his skin. Into his wool sweater that Tzipporah had made for him. The Shusters cared for him. Treated him like family. And he had repaid that with an ever-present threat that hung above their heads.
The fog seemed to have thickened in the past hour. He welcomed it - the less sunlight that reached him, the less he had to see and hear. He should be at the synagogue, though Shabbat had likely finished by now. Tevye had impressed on him the importance of it, but had not required attendance from him. Clark did not know if he believed. He did not know if he deserved the forgiveness that Tevye would no doubt give him. He only hoped that Lung's connection with that money-laundering construction company worked well enough to repair the bakery.
He felt stupid. Of course Lung would realize that he had powers. It seemed that half the population in this city had abilities, he would not be unique. He worried that he had been seen in his coat and hat on his nighttime investigations - sure, his abilities allowed him a greater chance at avoiding detection, but he knew he had not been as cautious as he should have. He need a costume, or something close.
These thoughts swirled around. He had to clear his mind, and had come to the one spot he knew he could find relief. A sanctuary from the spiral into darkness that filled ever moment that he did not distract himself.
Clark reached over to his trench coat, and withdrew the burger. Fugly Bob's strange creations fascinated him, and his enhanced senses made them a paradox of more enticing and more disgusting all at once. He contemplated a bite but decided against it. Lips pressed together, Clark let out a low whistle.
Out from the park's underbrush, out from the fog, came the sound of a whimper. Clark let out the whistle once more, and set the burger on the ground before him.
A dirty white dog crawled out from under a bush. Its hair matted, a scab on its shoulder. It looked up at him, head cocked to the side, and let out whine.
Clark nodded. "Go on then. It's yours if you want it."
The mutt stepped closer. He investigated the burger, a few curious sniffs and another look up at Clark. "It's yours, bud. You can have it."
The dog bit the burger, and pulled it back from Clark. Once it stood a distance away, he began to tear at it. Clark could see the ribs on the dog from here, and wished he knew how to take care of one. He knew fast food was not the answer, but he had not found a pet store open on Saturday, and he had known the mutt needed food.
"You need a name, bud." Clark said. He searched his thoughts for something to call the dog, but came up blank. The poor animal remained quite distrustful of him, and Clark knew he could do little more than leave food for it. Still, he wished he knew some way to help the animal out, to heal it from the lice that covered it.
He couldn't even save a dog. Clark closed his eyes and fought back the despair. He had wanted to be a hero, and he could not even save a dog. He had to find a way forward, always forward. His powers had cursed him to see and hear every injustice in this city. Every crime, every cry for help gone unanswered, every bit of hate and fear that drove Brockton Bay onwards. And he could do nothing about it.
He watched as the mutt finished the burger. The dog looked at him as if to ask for more, before it padded off back into the fog. Clark did not watch him go. A small, achievable goal. Find the dog some help. Clark needed a win, needed to know that he could have some positive effect on the world. Perhaps this would be simple enough.
