Monday, 06. December 2010
"So, what do you think?"
Paul swallowed and turned to glance at his partner-in-training. The bits of sickly sweet dough kept sticking to the inside of his mouth, and he had to suppress a grimace. He swallowed again, feeling the urge to rinse his mouth. "It's…I don't know. Not my thing."
Fucking disgusting, but he didn't say that aloud.
"Huh. Well, and here I grew up thinking that every cop loves donuts." Vanessa said, carefully balancing the cardboard box filled with donuts on her lap. "Well, that means more for me then," she exclaimed cheerily, fished another donut out of the box, and began enthusiastically wolfing it down.
"No crumbs… or I will make you vacuum every inch of my car!"
"Yes, sir." Was her sharp reply, precursed by an audible gulp. It was their third night together, and Paul still didn't know what to think of his newest rookie. She was disciplined and enthusiastic, fresh out of the academy. Maybe a bit too much enthusiasm, if he was to be honest.
He reached for his now cold coffee, only to be interrupted by the static hissing and crackling of the radio coming to life: "Calling to all available units for investigation. Suspected 10-17B or 10-15 at Carlington Street 14. An elderly couple, suspecting home invasion."
Paul and Vanessa exchanged a glance, and she quickly set the box aside.
"Ready for your first proper mission? "
"Yes, sir!"
Paul reached for the police radio while operating the mobile data terminal with the other hand. While responding, he pounded in the address: "Sergeant Veder and Officer Swan responding, Car 17. Currently on a 10, but we are nearby. Can handle.
"Roger, Car 17. Response Code 1." The dispatch lady responded.
"Ten-four. ETA 5 minutes." Paul radioed as Vanessa pulled the car from the parking lot. "Any registered 10-666's or 10-333's?"
"Stand by." It took the dispatch several minutes to respond again. "Negative. Armsmaster is currently patrolling at upper Lord Street and is available if there is a cape incident. ETA 10 minutes if rerouted."
"Roger. Ending transmission." Paul spoke into the microphone before turning towards Vanessa. "Alright, rookie. Quiz time. What were they talking about?"
Her answer came immediately and without turning her attention away from the steering wheel. "Vandalism or trespassing. Responding without sirens or lights. No Protectorate operations or stakeouts, and no Parahumans sighted. Sir." Vanessa added, and a smile tugged at her lips. "We were on a lunch break. Past midnight."
"Past midnight indeed," Paul sighed as he stared out of the window. Ice and snow pounded against the glass, obscuring the abandoned street.
God, the weather's shit today, he thought dryly.
"Almost there," Vanessa said, steering the car into a side street. "Do you think we'll run into trouble?" There was a hint of nervousness in her voice. Despite common belief, crime didn't happen every day in Brockton Bay, and the Rookie…she was just so damn competent. The girl had a college degree, a body like an Olympic athlete, and reflexes like a special forces veteran, and that made it sometimes easy to forget that this was actually her very first mission.
"You know the drill. Even when it's tedious, always check your surroundings." Paul paused to quickly gulp down the last drips of his coffee and slammed the paper cup back into its holder. "It's probably just some raccoons."
Or maybe Hookwolf jumps from behind a corner again and they end up having to rinse the remains of my best friend from my skin, he thought.
For a brief moment, Paul's skin felt slick and sticky, and the coppery scent of blood rose to his nose. He shook his head, and the sensations disappeared again. He was just
tired.
They pulled onto the sidewalk as soon as the house came into view, and after carefully scanning their surroundings, they quickly exited the car. Snow crunched under his feet as Paul walked around towards the trunk, attentively scanning the dark and empty streets for threats. His hand crept towards his service gun, and in a brief moment of weakness, he allowed himself to touch it. The cold metal felt reassuring. Calming, like an old friend.
Brockton Bay is supposed to have mild winters, he thought, thankful for his new, padded service jacket. The icy wind pricked at his skin, tugging at his cap and hair, and even though he would never admit it aloud, the atmosphere was kind of unsettling. The abandoned streets were lined with barren, skeletal trees, and the cutting wind carried swathes of snowflakes with it. The few gloomy streetlights barely illuminated the rows of dark two-story wooden houses, each one like the next.
"Surroundings clear," he shouted.
"Sky clear," Vanessa replied, and he heard her briefly speak something into her radio.
Paul opened the trunk door and retrieved the heavy-duty vest from its compartment. He secured the armor properly on his gut, methodically double-checking the straps and equipment in the process. The sidearm, flashlight, pepper spray, taser, and a few grenades with containment foam.
He hesitated but didn't reach for the shotgun. Then, he stepped aside and watched Vanessa do the same. She moved with the accuracy of a soldier, yet he couldn't help but notice her slight trembling as she pulled the straps of her vest close.
"Alright, let's go," he said. He clapped her on the shoulder and made sure to lock the armored storage compartment in the car trunk before stepping towards the house. "You know the drill. It's an elderly couple, we follow standard procedure, so stay polite, assertive, and vigilant. Even if it's just some raccoons…"
and not Hookwolf "...we are to be extra polite and reassuring when it comes to the old folks."
"Yes, sir," Vanessa replied sharply.
The small house at the end of the cul-de-sac stood out like a sore thumb. Every light was on, inside and outside. Something moved behind the closed curtains as they stepped up to the front door. It was almost lovingly maintained. Freshly painted and neat, every window was adorned with flowerpots and racks. The garden would be meticulously picturesque if it weren't for the fact that it was the middle of winter.
Someone, presumably a child, had built a giant snowman in the front yard, and for a brief moment, Paul had the impression that it turned to watch him as they strode past it.
A woman clad in an atrocious flowered nightgown opened the door as soon as Paul and Vanessa stepped up to the front porch, and he immediately noticed her supposed husband lingering in the background. The couple was elderly, the sort of people that looked exactly like you would imagine the kind grandmother next door, occasionally waddling over to her neighbors with trays of home-baked goods. The sort of rare but genuinely good people you would ask to babysit your children without any second thought.
The woman's face was a mask of barely contained nervousness. The man just looked tired and annoyed.
"G'evening Ma'am, BBPD, you called us for a disturbance?" Paul tipped his cap and flashed his badge.
"Oh, thank god, officer." The woman spoke as the suspicion faded from her face, replaced by relief. "We heard noises from the backyard."
"She's always hearing things," the man groaned. "In the backyard, on the roof, in the attic. She's convinced that someone is stalking around in our house every or so night." He threw his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. "She's paranoid". There is no one in this damn house. We have a top-of-the-line security system-"
The woman turned around and nudged her husband with her elbow, but from what Paul could tell there wasn't much heat to it. "Stop it! Something goes on here. For weeks! Everyone sees it, why don't you-."
"Ma'am," Vanessa interrupted after exchanging a brief glance with Paul. "What do you mean? What noises?"
"Well, there have been a lot of suspicious people hanging around lately, strolling around the neighborhood and sitting in that ugly van on the other side of the street for hours. I don't think anyone else besides me has noticed, but I have a lot of free time these days. And a few days ago, a weird man rang at our door, trying to sell us flowers." The old woman scoffed. "No way that slimy bastard was a florist, I got an eye for that. Asked us way too many questions about our neighbors. And then there are the noises at night."
"Noises?"
"Well, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and there are these noises… it's almost as if someone is walking around on our roof. The house is old and creaks a lot, especially during this season. At first, I just thought it was me imagining things, and blaming it on my husband's paranoia…" A loud scoff echoed out of the hallway, and the woman rolled her eyes in exasperation. "…but it just doesn't
stop, you know?"
Paul and Vanessa exchanged a glance. "I will check the house, you check the backyard. Keep your comms on."
"Yes, sir!" Vanessa replied and disappeared around the corner.
"Please, come in." The old woman said and stepped aside. Paul entered and was led into a small but comfortable living room. Even the inside of the house was spotless.
Greg could take a bite from this, he thought amused while looking around, blocking out the frantic blabbering of the old woman.
Eventually, she got shushed out of the room and disappeared into the kitchen. Paul turned towards the man. "What kind of security do you have?"
"Tan Industries." The old man grunted and gestured towards a sticker on the window.
Paul raised an eyebrow. "The expensive stuff?"
"Yeah, it's expensive, but the price is reasonable for what it offers. State of the art. They know how to make shit up in Boston." The man gestured around. "From top to bottom, every window and door is secured. Physical locks and electronic nonsense, with motion detectors. Upgraded our old one after my wife first started hearing things."
"When did it start?" Paul pulled a notepad and a pen from one of his pockets.
"Hm, dunno… a few months ago? Few weeks after the Winslow Fire thing." The man's face twisted in disgust. "Daughter of our neighbor got shredded there. Poor thing is more scars than skin. Hurts to look at her. Really, if I ever get the fucker who did that I am going to…" He coughed at Paul's raised eyebrow, "...er…hope they find 'em soon and punish them. By the law and all that."
"Hmm, have you checked the windows?"
"Of course." The man retrieved a surprisingly modern smartphone from his pocket. "Nephew works for the PRT. Helped set this thing up. Every window is locked, I check every night before going to bed, and every time one is opened, it sends a message to our phones."
"That is pretty thorough. You really don't believe your wife?"
"She's bloody paranoid. Nothing's been stolen, even when I put a couple hundred bills on the table one night to try and smoke them out."
"Fair enough," Paul chuckled, "I-." The radio crackled to life, and he raised his hand. "One moment please."
"Officer Swan here," Vanessa radioed, "Nobody's around, but it looks like someone went through the trash. Doesn't look like raccoons to me. Looks like something
big and heavy was removed though."
An unpleasant feeling stirred in Paul's gut. "Understood. Come inside, let's wrap up. Over."
"Roger," Vanessa confirmed.
Paul slightly readjusted the radio on his shoulder as he turned back towards the man. He couldn't resist raising an eyebrow. "Seems like someone went through your trash."
The man opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by a startled shriek. It came from the kitchen, and Paul barreled through the door in an instant, followed by Vanessa barreling through the still-open front door.
The old woman sat at the kitchen table, staring wide-eyed at a box sitting on the table. "It's gone," she whispered.
"Ma'am," Vanessa said, taking the fingers from her gun holster. "Please, relax. What's gone?"
"The cake. It's all gone!" The woman's voice was shaky. "I knew it, someone is walking around in our house at night. Some t-thief. Oh god…"
"So, where does this go?" Paul asked, pointing up towards the faint outline of a hatch in the ceiling. They had searched the entire house from top to bottom, but even after an hour of digging through everything, there was nothing to be found. Nothing but the cake had disappeared, even the safe filled with jewelry and gold left untouched. Aside from that, there was nothing that pointed to a forced entry.
The whole situation was, frankly speaking, surreal.
"Attic," the old man coughed, out of breath from stomping up the stairs. "Haven't been up there for quite a while though. We cleared it out a few years ago, nothing up there but lots and lots of empty space."
Paul and Vanessa exchanged a glance.
"...you think?"
"Yes. If there is anyone in here, up there might be a good hiding place for a squatter." Paul stared at the hatch, shifting. A frown spread across his face. The folding stairs were an issue. Steep and narrow, and whoever might hide up there had an easy way of defending it.
"We have an endoscope," The old man chimed in. "Bloody old thing, but it still works just fine. We could crack the hatch a little and check if someone's up there. It's just one large room, and no place to hide."
"Great idea, could you please get it?" Paul asked.
"Of course. One moment." The old man disappeared downstairs, and Vanessa turned to Paul.
"Do you think we should call backup?"
"No, but keep your head up." Paul shook his head, glancing at the ceiling. "We still don't know if it's legit, or just paranoia. Could be some raccoons, a parahuman, or even nothing. Maybe she just misplaced or misremembered something. Reminds me of my parents."
"Understood, sir! But…" Vanessa hesitated, and Paul offered her an encouraging nod. "What about these…people Mrs. Brown mentioned?"
Paul groaned softly and moved a hand to his temple to rub it. "Really, we'll look into that in due time, but right now we have to check this. Frankly speaking, if anything about her report is true, it's above our pay grade."
Vanessa looked like she wanted to object, but remained silent. Honestly, Paul couldn't even blame her. Police work nowadays was all about compromises, and no matter how much one wanted to hate it, it was just how life worked. The young generation of aspiring police cadets struggled to understand it, blinded by their idealism. They wanted to make the world how it was supposed to be, and that was what killed most of them in the end.
Thundering steps and wheezing gasps of air heralded the return of Mr. Brown and tore Paul from his spiraling thoughts. He smiled. "You found it?"
"Yeah, here." The old man handed him the
ancient device and promptly collapsed on the chair in the cramped hallway which had most likely been set up for that exact purpose. "Button's at the side."
It took Paul a while to figure out how the thing worked, but eventually, it started blinking, and he brought the camera to his face. The camera worked, even though the quality was notably bad. But it'd have to do.
Vanessa carefully climbed up the folding ladder, stopping only when she was almost crouching below the hatch. Then, she carefully lifted it up, and fiddled the endoscope through the tiny crack. They held their breath as she carefully swept the thing around, following the hushed instructions from Paul as he peered through the camera. The lighting was shitty, but it was just barely enough to see things if he strained his old eyes.
"Alright," Paul declared, his shoulders slumping a little in relief. "Unless we have someone able to turn invisible, the attic is clear."
The ladder didn't creak as they pulled it down with the hook, and climbed up the narrow stairs. The attic room was dark and crammed, only illuminated by the little light that fell through the single window. Paul fumbled blindly for the light switch. With a click, the fuzzy lightbulb sparked to life, revealing a barren room lined by raw trusses. It was empty, save for a few old and disused cabinets, and a single wooden chair standing near the window, and Paul couldn't help but notice how clean it was. Almost too clean.
Dust and debris had been sloppily swept into a corner, but the faint outlines of footprints were still visible. They were everywhere, but mostly congregating around the window and the hatch.
"Oh my fucking god. She was right. There was…is…a psycho running around our house! She was right, all this time. Watching us sleep and whatever sick shit they were up to…for months! Officers, you have to do something." The old man trembled, and Paul placed a hand on his shoulder. "Just…why? Playing some sick games, or what?"
"Oh my god," Vanessa whispered, carefully stepping up to the window. She had drawn her phone and was recording. "I think…It's a fucking stakeout. Someone is watching the street from here"
"We have never done anything to anyone. How did they even get in? Window's locked from the inside." The old man mumbled, stepping around Paul and towards the window. He kicked the chair, and it fell over with an audible rumble. "Fucking bastards, but not with me."
Paul winced as the chair fell over. He suppressed his urge to reach for his gun and approached the window. Vanessa spoke something into her radio, but he paid no attention to it as he glanced out and onto the dark street. "Who lives there?" he asked.
"Hmmh." Mr. Brown peered through the dirty glass. "The Coulsons, the Schmidts, and Mrs. Gregory, though that one's hard to see from here. Hmm…"
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure. Well," the old man hesitated, "You…could, well. Yeah. Technically you can also get a pretty good look at the Morsons' and the Heberts' houses from here, but not without binoculars. Too far away, and you would have to look through between the houses here to see them. The angle is not ideal, but it would work."
"Do you know why anyone would want to do that?"
"I…no. They are all just ordinary people. Good ones."
"Sir? Take a look at this," Vanessa spoke up, and Paul turned towards her. She was inspecting the window lock, still filming with one hand, and held something in between her gloved fingers. It took Paul a minute to see the almost invisible nylon thread she was holding. It was tied to the crossbar used to unlock the window, and when he bent closer to follow it, he saw it disappear into a tiny hole in the window frame.
"Cunning," he murmured, more to himself. "You know what you are doing, huh."
Vanessa tugged at the thread, and the crossbar went down. A simple push was all that was needed to open the eerily silent window, and a gust of wind blew into their faces.
Paul had seen many things during his career and had to deal with the most revolting kinds of people, but this? Even if he didn't want to admit it, it unsettled him. Someone was spying on the neighborhood, both with the subtlety and skill to pull it off for months without alarming anyone. It was too planned, too patient to set up to be anything like a sex offender or the like. No, it was almost professional…but then there was the thing with the cake. It just didn't fit in.
Vanessa mumbled into her radio and stepped up to him. "Sir, another car is on the way. I…I don't like this. Got a really bad feeling."
"Me too, don't worry about this." He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze.
"Hey, what's that?" They turned their heads. The old man was leaning out of the window, squinting his eyes at something. "There, by the trees. Something's moving there! Did you see it?"
Vanessa rushed over to the window. "I don't see anything," she said, gazing around. "Where did you see it?"
"There," The old man pointed, "Those two trees right at the end of Carlington Street. Thought I saw something move there."
"It's quite windy outside. Maybe it was just-"
"No. There, don't you see it?"
"I'm sorry sir, but I-" Vanessa went silent, and suddenly bowed forwards, before rapidly stepping back and turning around, all but dragging the old man with her. "I think someone is hiding behind that tree," she hissed, cutting off the surge of protest from the old man.
The room fell silent.
"Are you sure?" Paul asked.
"Yes. I am sure I saw fingers."
Paul nodded, drawing a knife and cutting the string. "Alright, Mr. Brown. It's probably nothing, but we will investigate. Another car is on the way, please stay indoors. Lock the door, and don't open it unless it is either us or our colleagues."
"Understood." The old man's voice was serious.
They climbed down the stairs and left the house. The silence and darkness around them were eerie, and Paul couldn't help but constantly glance around, peeking into dark driveways cast in shadows. Yet, nothing seemed to be here except for the howling wind shaking the barren trees and bombarding them with snowflakes. His hand rested on his sidearm.
"How long did they say they need?"
"10 minutes, sir," Vanessa replied.
They reached the end of the road, and Paul stared at the two massive oak trees flanking the road on each side. "Here?" he whispered. Vanessa nodded. "Stay behind me."
The trees were tall and gnarly. At least a century old, and coated in a sensible layer of frost. Branches groaned in the wind, and the shadows they were casting looked like they were dancing a twisted dance in the fuzzy light of the streetlights.
Vanessa pointed at something. A series of small bumps roughly at the height of his head, almost looking like
fingers wrapped around the trunk. The light was too bad to see, and Paul stepped around the tree to investigate. He choked, and his eyes grew wide.
"Oh my god," he whispered.
Images began to rise behind his eyes as Paul stared at the two flayed corpses strung up on each side of the road like a sick mockery of honor sentinels:
A gore-soaked tie, the badge still clipped on. A twisted man with a goatee laughing unhinged as he dodged around the legs of a petrified Crawler while a silent woman clad in bones unloaded a howling spray of destruction from her minigun at him.
The corpses weren't just put up on trees but
around them. Gutted and skinned to the point it reminded him of the horror images the Slaughterhouse left in their wake. Bile began to rise in his throat, and he struggled to keep his stomach under control. Next to him, Vanessa emptied her stomach onto the sidewalk.
His fingers trembled, and it took him a few tries to unlatch the safety of his gun holster. He drew it, taking a deep breath, and by the time his other hand closed around his radio, the trembling had stopped. He would not see another of his partners die. Ever again.
"Sergeant Veder reporting. Requesting back-"
The words got stuck in his throat when he spotted the woman stepping around the corner of the house two houses down the street, halting in surprise as their eyes met.
She was huddled in a ratty coat and even from this distance, he could see her shivering subtly when another gust of snowflake-ladden wind howled down the street and tugged at her clothes. Her face was hidden by a white mask, featureless and resembling a kabuki mask barring any openings except a pair of narrow eyeholes. A massive duffle bag was slung over her shoulder, stabilized by her slender hand. The other one held a bloody hammer.
"You fucking Monster!" Vanessa screamed. Gunshots fired as she unloaded her magazine at the masked woman, each of them a startling bang breaking the eerie silence around them. Two bullets impacted the woman's shoulder, and she tumbled backward. Blood spurted from her shoulder, staining her coat.
If there was any sound erupting from behind her featureless mask, it got drowned out by the wind as the woman stumbled backward. Yet she reacted immediately and almost with inhuman speed, slinging the duffle bag from her shoulder in a fluid motion, bringing it up as a shield in front of her despite clearly being unable to properly use her bleeding arm before Vanessa managed to fire more than a few rounds.
She reached into her pocket, and Paul opened fire as well. The bullets impacted the duffle bag as the woman retreated backward. She had dropped the hammer, and yet to draw a weapon of any sort but he would take no chances. Capes didn't
need weapons.
The woman retreated around the corner, dropping her duffle bag, and Paul used the opportunity to scream into his radio, overpowering the concerned flow of words coming from the other side: "Crucify! Two dead! We need backu–"
Something sailed around the corner, and Paul's world erupted in white.
Steam? He thought in confusion. It felt wet and heavy. Something crackled, followed by a spike of searing pain as lightning flashed, and his world grew dark.
When he came back to his senses again, the cloud of steam had parted, and the world around him was a blurry haze. Paul tried to move, but his limbs didn't obey him. Someone screamed into his ear, and it took him a minute to realize that the frantic voice came from his radio: "Paul? Paul! Goddammit, answer me, you oaf. Paul? Don't you dare bite it too! What am I supposed to tell Sarah? Greg? They need you! Hang-."
Crackling static interrupted the frantic stream of words. Paul tried to answer, to move even a single finger, but he couldn't. He could only lie there and watch in dread as the woman stepped around the corner. Her steps were silent, save for the slightest crunch of snow under her feet, measured and elegant. Almost cocky, if it weren't for the fingers clumped around her bleeding shoulder and her almost ragged breath.
Paul couldn't see behind her mask, especially not in the poor light around them, but he could physically feel her stare drilling into him as Crucify bent down to pick up her hammer. He tried to move again, to reach for the gun that lay just an inch out of his reach, but his body still refused to move. Everything was numb, and he could see his fingers spasm uncontrollably.
A shock grenade?
Crucify stopped next to the spasming body of Vanessa. She had collapsed where she stood, laying face first on the ground. Paul tried to force himself to move, but he couldn't. His hand twitched, but it still spasmed uncontrollably, and the numbness in his limbs kept growing.
He could only lie there and watch in dread as Crucify squatted down next to his partner. She lifted the hammer.
Oh my god, not again. Please…
A tear ran down his numbing cheek as it went down again and again and again. Vanessa stopped moving, and the snow below her turned redder with every strike of the masked woman.
"...Armsmaster…..rerouted….hang…," the radio hissed, before dying completely. Paul's eyesight began to blur, and he saw stars as the world around him faded behind a curtain of darkness.
For a fleeting moment he thought he heard the howling of a motorbike over the wet
twacking, but even the sounds were starting to blur now. The blurred woman rose and finally turned to him. Her white, featureless mask was splattered with blood - Vanessa's blood -, as was her ratty coat.
She looks young, Paul thought, and the woman tilted her head in curiosity as if she had heard his thoughts. She stalked closer, hammer dripping red, and Paul closed his eyes. He didn't have to see behind the mask to know that she was smiling. A soft jingle carried through the wind, coming closer and closer.
I'm sorry.
The last thing he felt was a hard impact on his spine before darkness claimed him.
► Brockton Bay News
Estrella declares war on the Boat Graveyard!
Estrella, an American-Mexican tech company with headquarters in San Francisco, has opened up shop in Brockton Bay. Six factories and up to eighteen thousand new jobs are expected to open in the Bay over the next few months, a much-needed relief for Brockton Bay's growing unemployment issue.
Given its long history of exporting goods via naval trade and Brockton Bay's well-known harbor blockade problem which only peaked recently in the dissolution of the DWA, many citizens have questioned why aspiring CEO Gabriella Vasques would pick Brockton Bay of all cities, only to get blown away by the announcement that Estrella's sole goal is the revival and prosperity of Brockton Bay itself.
New Wards
Director Emily Piggot of the PRT ENE has announced the debut of two new Wards, Chariot and Spitfire. Their debut will be on the upcoming fundraiser hosted by Estrella, an initiative to help restore Winslow High School and aid in the recovery and treatment of the countless citizens who suffered from the accident that devastated the school and created the Scar.
Coldest Winter in decades
Brockton Bay experiences its longest and coldest winter than we have experienced in three hundred years. According to meteorologists, this is the direct cause of the debris and dust from the last years of attacks casting us in shadow and cooling ambient temperatures, but even if there are critics, everyone can agree that Santa and the children will love their snowy Christmas celebration this year.
Colin Wallis scowled. A flick of his eye caused the newsfeed to disappear, replaced by a file that set a new standard for the word 'sparse.' He skimmed it with one eye as he raced along abandoned streets, hands clenched around the handles of his motorcycle.
Her name was Crucify; a villain they knew nothing about other than that she was supposedly a tall and slender woman with a white mask and favored a compound bow.
A non-entity in the cape scene of Brockton Bay. One that, if anything, would have been labeled as a vigilante or casual villain at best if it hadn't been for the 4 destitute people she had publicly nailed alive against a wall before executing them two months ago. The recordings of that vicious execution had earned her both her name and a good helping of infamy. People thought that she was a serial killer in the making.
Colin didn't know if that was true, but he couldn't deny that the signs were there. The bodies were a message, clear as day, but the lack of any distinguishing pattern made him hesitate. There was no message or manifest, just a bunch of people and kids without a crime to their names.
Colin also didn't know if there was anything to the allegation that Crucify had forced herself onto one of her victims before their deaths, but he was certain of one thing: she wouldn't get away tonight. After that, he'd get his answers.
He skidded around a corner with screeching tires and the hud in his visor informed him that he had just entered Carlington Street. "Armsmaster to console, I have reached the target." He gritted his teeth at the GPS ping coming from the opposite end of the street..
More holographic readouts cropped up as he raced past an abandoned patrol car and a brightly illuminated house. Something moved behind the curtains, and his scanners detected an elderly couple…and the shotgun in their hands.
A ping cropped up on his visor, and the camera in his helmet zoomed toward the woman on the sidewalk. She was examining the fingers of a downed police officer, still holding a bloody hammer. He was still alive, albeit in critical condition. "Spotted Crucify. Engaging."
Colin drew one of his halberds. The woman looked up. She stood up, dropped the hammer, and drew two handguns from the pockets of her ratty coat. His scanners identified them as service guns; Glock, 9mm. 20 shots.
Crucify was bleeding heavily, barely able to aim or even move her left arm. Yet, the way she held herself and trained her other gun at him identified her as a trained shooter. Taking her age into account, she couldn't be ex-military or police… possibly gang connections? He wanted to call out to her, but she opened fire without a warning.
Colin steered to the side as his prototype combat prediction system kicked in, rapidly closing up on the villain. He lowered his halberd, and the tip started cackling with electricity - a nonlethal taser he had designed for non-brutes and civilians - only to drop it a split second later to shield his face with an armored gauntlet.
A stream of bullets impacted his armored fingers, all of them hitting the exact same spot. They had simply
curved in midair to hit his unprotected lower jaw
. The bullets stopped, and he pried his fingers away. His visor closed, and he extended his arm, calling the discarded halberd back into his hand.
Crucify didn't curse. She simply turned around and bolted around the corner. A trail of blood on the white snow followed her. Only a split second later, a gunshot rang through the night.
Colin skidded around the corner and brought his bike to a violent halt. He gazed around. The street was empty; No Crucify, and more importantly, no
blood. He frowned and dismounted his bike, walking away while it automatically parked itself at the side of the road. He stomped off towards the series of footprints that ended in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around for the blood he knew was there just a second ago.
He carefully approached the discarded coat on the ground and lifted it with the hook of his halberd. His scanners detected the outline of a gun, a pair of cheap binoculars, and some candies in a pocket…
but no blood. The other gun lay discarded on the ground…next to an imprint in the snow.
"What is this?"
Updated 14.12.2023
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