"I need a car. Something old, untraceable."
"Yeah, I can do that. I suppose I won't get it back?"
"You won't want it back."
"Just like old times. I'll leave a can of gas and some road flares in the trunk. Might come in handy."
"Might at that."
"Anything else? Plastic sheet, bleach, maybe a good hammer? I know a guy who has lots of hammers, he won't mind me borrowing one."
"I can sort out cleaning products myself. Thanks anyway."
"No problem. I'll send you an address later. Have fun."
"Oh, I think fun is entirely the wrong word, but it will be an experience."
"Heh. Yeah, I expect so. Later."
"Later. And thanks again."
"My pleasure, lass."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Muttering to himself, Victor left the house wearing the fairly basic disguise he'd been using the last few days, a dark wig, fake glasses, and older clothes than he really liked. It was simple but surprisingly effective, and had allowed him to go out and visit a few shops without anyone looking twice at him. He'd even been passed by a PRT patrol the previous day and they'd driven past without slowing, which had come as a relief. He wasn't sure whether being caught by the PRT right now would be better than or worse than having Max get even angrier at him, but one way or the other he was absolutely certain he wouldn't enjoy either option.
Kaiser was not a happy leader, and one thing that was very high up in his personal approach to life was that when he was unhappy, he made sure to share the pain so everyone was unhappy. And he was being more than generous with sharing the bulk of it in Victor's direction. The number of dark looks he was getting from the rank and file, and the general air of feeling that he was to blame for the PRT becoming even more enthusiastic than normal at fucking up their day on a whim was still increasing.
Even the sympathizers in both the BBPD and the PRT were becoming remarkably obtuse and hard to deal with at the moment, apparently having decided that the amount of attention the Empire was getting from the authorities wasn't conducive to business as normal, or keeping your freedom. Several of their moles had abruptly gone dark which suggested either that they'd cut their losses and run, or more likely been found out by a newly-incensed PRT and were currently being vigorously queried about their true loyalties.
As Max had feared, the FBI had indeed arrived on the scene very soon after that first meeting, and they were also sticking their noses into places they were not even remotely welcome. They also seemed more competent that the PRT, which to be honest wouldn't be all that hard a lot of the time, and had even less sense of humor about his little mistake.
It was one he wasn't going to live down for a very long time, he feared. Even his wife was pissed with him at the moment and was sleeping in another room having had a very ugly argument with him two nights ago. He wasn't used to her standing her ground like that and it had come as an unpleasant surprise to find that under her normal demeanor lay a pretty vicious bitch.
It was fair to say that Victor wasn't having a very good time all things considered. And now he'd run out of beer, pretzels, and anything to make a decent sandwich from. The bloody woman had laughed when he requested that she acquire any of this, said if he wanted it he could get it himself for once, and slammed the door to her bedroom then locked it. He'd heard her talking to someone on the phone moments later, probably her cousin Tammi. The younger girl didn't like him, although she was normally discreet enough to hide it and at least pretend to respect his position in the organization, but since that meeting…
Well, respect wasn't something she was showing, it had to be said. Which pissed him off something fierce but he didn't dare show her what he felt about it because that would just get Max even more furious with him and he was on thin ice as it was. Which was why he was being very careful to stay well out of sight until the man cooled off.
If he ever did.
Which didn't seem likely if that fucking Grenade of Mass Destruction didn't fucking turn up.
Victor dearly wished he'd never even heard of Toybox. They seemed to have brought him nothing but trouble. Fucking Tinkers.
He'd never met one that wasn't a pain in the ass. From Armsmaster down, villain or hero, they were all assholes. Especially Squealer.
Victor grumbled to himself as he walked. He'd liked that car.
Looking both ways he crossed the street, taking the next left, heading towards the small bodega a few blocks down, a block or two outside Empire areas. It was run by inferior scum, like they all were, but they were cheap, open, and had the beer he liked in stock so he'd live with it for now. One day… well, one day he'd need to find a purer source of beer, but until that day, one had to simply hold one's nose and pretend.
Turning the corner he noticed that a couple of the streetlights were out, casting quite a lot of the next block into darkness. One past the dead pair was flickering, blinking on and off erratically in a way that suggested it wouldn't last much longer either. This wasn't all that unusual as maintenance of city facilities wasn't a very high priority these days, probably because the people doing the work were mostly the lower races and you could never trust those people to do anything right after all. He sighed faintly, shaking his head in disgust. But even though it was probably just lack of maintenance, he slowed a little and kept looking around just in case it was someone playing games. Although he was currently right on the edge of Empire territory, he was still in it, so it seemed unlikely to be the ABB or some other scum trying something, yet he wasn't going to take chances.
But he wanted his beer, dammit, and he was going to get it. Keeping one hand on the pistol in his coat, ready to pull it out if required, he entered the darker zone. Ahead of him two hundred yards of barely visible sidewalk lay, a few lights on in the buildings around him, but at this time of night, nearly eleven, and on a Sunday, it was very quiet. He could hear traffic some distance away to the north nearer the business area, and through the gaps between the buildings in one direction he could see the main artery leading into the heart of the city, raised above the ground-level streets by a couple of stories. Cars and trucks passed in both directions, their lights sweeping across the skyline and illuminating the misty air with brief flickers of brilliance that came and went in moments.
In the other direction he could see the black of the bay, a few lights moving around on it from small boats, and far off across the water, barely visible, the other side of the city as pinpricks of streetlights through the mist. As the light breeze blew the lights twinkled, while the temperature was low enough to let him see his breath.
At least it wasn't snowing, so there was that. Still cold though, and the puddles in the gutter were slushy mud.
He was passing a narrow service alley when he heard a sound down where no light penetrated, a sort of soft rattle accompanied by a sliding noise. Stopping dead, his hand clenched on the gun as he put his finger very lightly just next to the trigger. Victor peered into the darkness, every wary sense a lifetime of being on the side of the law he was telling him he was being watched. He listened very carefully, letting every skill he'd stolen and honed for years come to the fore, wondering if he was imagining it or whether he was correct that something was wrong.
After a few tense seconds, he quickly looked around, just in case someone was trying to sneak up on him using some sort of distraction, but as far as he could tell he was the only person in sight right now. A car drove past the end of the road he was on, in the direction he'd come from, but didn't stop. The faint howl of the lighthouse way off at the entrance to the bay echoed across the water, then died again. Other than that and the distant noises of the city itself, everything was completely quiet.
A moment passed, then he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket with his free hand and flicked it on, aiming it towards where the sound had come from because the hair on the back of his neck just wouldn't settle. Two green-white dots reflected the light back at him and there was a protesting yip, followed by a clatter, even as he whipped his pistol out and aimed it. Moments later whatever it had been was gone, a faint pattering sounding for a second or two.
'Fuck. A cat or a raccoon or something,' he thought to himself in irritation. 'I'm jumping at shadows now.'
This whole fucking nightmare was getting to him if a simple animal in an alleyway could spook him like this. Sighing, he turned the flashlight off, put the gun back in his pocket, and resumed his walk.
Five seconds later a car without any lights on, the engine turned off and the vehicle coasting almost silently, hit him from behind and slammed him all the way across the street into the wall of a building on the other side.
Fifteen seconds after that the street was empty again, car and Victor gone with no trace other than a small puddle of blood on the sidewalk. Blood that was fizzing away into nothingness as something ate it completely. By the time anyone else passed a few minutes later, nothing was left at all.
Othala didn't even notice Victor was missing until the next morning.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Hello, Victor."
He found himself completely and utterly awake without any memory of falling asleep, so suddenly it was almost like having been showered with ice water. The surge of adrenaline made him yelp and try to sit up, at which point he found he couldn't move.
Not at all. Not even twitch his fingers.
Oh, fuck. This was not good, he thought as he tried again, his heart hammering. What the hell had happened? The last thing he could recall was looking down an alley, then… he was here. Blinking, he tried to make out anything in the darkness that might give him a clue. The voice that had spoken a moment ago wasn't one he recognized. The tone was weird, his skills at reading vocal clues and subtexts which had stood him in good stead in many interrogations and operations not having any real luck. But it was only two words so far…
He couldn't see anything. It was as dark as the inside of a coal mine with the lights out. Not a hint of illumination came to his eyes. Listening, he could hear dripping water somewhere in the distance, sounding like it was falling onto concrete, and very faintly the sound of… waves? It did sound like water lapping onto rock. Near the shore maybe? An old warehouse, there were certainly enough of them around the place, so many in fact it was practically a cliché to use them for dark ends. The sound of the lighthouse horn came to his ears, a little louder than he'd heard it earlier, which also fitted his conclusion. And it was freezing cold and damp, too, adding to that.
OK, he was quite likely in a warehouse. In the dark, lying on what was probably a concrete floor, unable to move. Restrained, or some sort of power? Who did he know who could paralyze someone?
"I know you're awake, and I'm sure you're trying to work out where you are and who I am. And why you're here, I expect."
The voice was still odd. He couldn't work out if it was male or female. And it seemed to be coming from behind him, perhaps six or seven feet away. Trying again to move, he found the only parts of his body that seemed to work were above his neck. As he shifted his head he heard a sort of plastic rustling, as if he was lying on something made of the stuff laid on the floor.
"You may be wondering why you can't see anything," the unknown assailant commented.
He was. And worrying that whatever had paralyzed him had also somehow rendered him blind.
"That is because I have… put a bag over your head." The pause in the middle of the sentence was deliberate and caused him to have a bad moment. He'd imagined things far less prosaic than a bag.
His imagination wasn't doing him any favors right now, it had to be said. If only because he'd been involved in something similar to this himself from the other side of things and he knew full well what he was capable of.
This was about as far from good as it was possible to be. The best case scenario was Kaiser teaching him a lesson. The worst case scenario was Kaiser teaching him a final lesson. Although the man wasn't prone to hiding his face from those he intended to kill, he preferred to watch their expressions.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice a little raspy from both worry and a dry throat.
"Me?" The person behind him chuckled quietly. "I'm the one asking the questions."
"Very helpful," he couldn't help snarking, since he couldn't do anything else to get himself out of this even though he was frantically trying to come up with a plan. Without being able to see anything he couldn't use his power, so whoever it was had done their homework and identified his power's main weakness. None of his stolen skills would help if he couldn't fucking move.
The situation was not one he was happy about.
Another chuckle came to his ears. "You have spirit. Pity you're a murderous Nazi."
That suggested it wasn't anyone to do with the Empire. So ABB? No accent he could hear although that didn't necessarily prove anything. Almost certainly not law enforcement. Either the PRT or the FBI would have him in a chair in an interrogation room, and while he knew the BBPD had occasionally had one or other officer get creative, this didn't seem right for that either.
"No, Victor, I'm not any of the people you're thinking about right now," his captor commented, the voice moving a little as if they'd stood and taken a step or two. "You'll never guess who I am. I can almost guarantee that."
"Toybox?" he asked, since it seemed plausible. There was a long pause and he became sure he was correct.
"Now why would you ask that I wonder?" the voice said thoughtfully, moving again to his other side. "How very interesting."
Not Toybox, he realized.
After some time, the voice resumed. "You have information I want, Victor. So I went to some trouble to arrange to have this little chat with you. I'd say I'm sorry about the inconvenience, but to be brutally honest I'm really not. What I'd like to do to you, and all your Nazi friends, is probably something I shouldn't think too hard about, because… well, let's say I'd get a certain reputation." The person paused as he swallowed, because whoever it was sounded idly curious in a way that was genuinely disconcerting.
"If you kill me, Kaiser will have your head," he warned, somewhat stretching the likely truth. Right now, Kaiser would probably laugh, although he'd kill whoever it was anyway because it would be an insult to the Empire to let someone get away with something like this. But this person didn't know this.
"Considering how pissed he is with you he might thank me," they said.
Apparently he was wrong. Fuck, again.
"Yeah, I've done some digging. You're not the most popular fascist around right now, are you? Bad Victor. Although that seems redundant considering you're, you know, a murderous Nazi bastard."
"Let me guess," he growled. "You're one of those races we justifiably look down on, taking the opportunity to cause trouble for your betters."
It seemed plausible. There were far too many of the lesser types around and they held a grudge. But laughter met his ears. When it died away, the person snickered, "Wrong again. White as a white thing." There was a sound like someone cracking their knuckles. "Well, as fun as it is bantering with you, we have work to do. Where did you get the biotoxin grenade you used on Glory Girl?"
The voice had gone absolutely deadly serious on the last sentence, a change from the almost playful tone of earlier that was so jarring he twitched.
Oh, bugger. This was worse than he'd thought. That information was something that could and would get him killed. If Toybox found out he told someone, even though he had no loyalty to them and to be honest would be just as happy if they all committed messy suicide after the trouble they'd caused him, they would become extremely, incredibly upset with the Empire and they were already not exactly in a good mood as it was. Max was vastly annoyed about that and had been trying to mend bridges because they were a highly useful source of unusual technology. Telling whoever the fuck this was about them being the source of the damned grenade would, especially if it got back to law enforcement one way or the other, put the spotlight on Toybox which in turn would make Toybox become murderously furious with the Empire. And Victor himself.
Max himself would end up wanting his head on a spike if he gave up either Toybox, due the aforementioned can of shit it would open, or the Empire for very similar but closer to home reasons. Either would be enough to get Victor killed, probably after quite a long process.
And if this was some weird law enforcement organization doing something off the books, at best he'd get a bullet in the brain once they had what they wanted. No one on that side of the law would want something like this being known about, especially if it might get brought up in court.
"Grenade?" he asked, playing for time as he tried to figure out which combination of his acquired skills might help.
"Ah. You're going to need encouragement, then," the voice said. "Have you ever read any Harry Potter books?"
The total non sequitur made him blink into the darkness of the bag over his head. "...what?" he replied after several very confused seconds, despite the seriousness of the current situation finding himself wondering what this person was talking about.
"Harry Potter. Boy wizard, you know? Interesting if derivative setting, fairly good world-building, poor execution in many ways, and describing a world that's really not very nice. For quite a few reasons similar to those you represent, to be honest." His interrogator sounded almost blandly informative now, and his confusion deepened. What did any of this have to do with anything? Wizards? Books? He vaguely remembered the name now, but it was childish garbage a true patriot wouldn't find even remotely interesting.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said honestly, wondering what the fucking point was.
"Ah. Pity, this would be more threatening if you did," the person behind him said, sounding mildly regretful. Which was… concerning. "Oh well. Anyway, yeah, like I said, wizards, boy hero, lots of stupid plots, people doing idiotic things that don't make nearly as much sense as you'd hope… a lot like real life, I guess. Except for the wizards."
There was a pause, and then the voice came back from a little closer and off to his right. He couldn't help turning his head that way although he could still see absolutely nothing. "Thing is, in those stories, they had some spells that did horrible things. I don't have magic. But I can do horrible things too. And the books gave me some ideas."
The speaker apparently leaned right next to him, because the next words were clearly audible although they were spoken in a low voice. "This one is called cruciatus."
Victor couldn't even scream, the pain was so intense. Every nerve in his body lit up in agony, his mouth opened in a silent rictus, and he saw flashes of light. It seemed to go on forever, unending agony penetrating ever cell of his body. When it finally stopped, days later, he had a mouthful of blood from nearly biting his tongue off and was panting for breath.
"That was five seconds," the voice calmly informed him. Gurgling in residual pain, his face twitching as muscles fired randomly, Victor was horrified at what had happened and that he somehow knew they were entirely truthful.
"Where did you get that grenade?"
He clenched his teeth, squeezing blood out through them. Pain was transient, even that amount of it. He was one of the chosen race. He wouldn't give up without a struggle.
Although at the back of his mind he couldn't help wondering just how much more of that he could take.
"I see." The voice sounded mildly impressed. "Despite you being what you are, I'll admit you have guts. In a sense. I could show them to you if that would help?"
"Who the fuck are you? Bonesaw?" he snarled, spitting blood into his hood.
Whoever this was snorted. "Bonesaw lacks both imagination and restraint," the person said in a terrifyingly contemplative manner, making him feel faint. Because he wasn't sure they were joking. "And is an evil little bitch. I'm many things but I'm not evil."
There was a pause, then the person added, "Probably."
Breathing heavily, Victor swallowed some blood as he waited for the pain to come back, wondering how much more he could take before he cracked. And then died, either due to Max, Toybox, or some rogue intelligence organization or whoever the fuck this was. The warehouse was silent aside from the dripping water in the distance, and a faint chugging of a boat out on the bay. If by some miracle he did get out of this he might be able to find out where he'd been held, and that could lead to whoever this was. Because if he survived, they certainly weren't going to assuming he had any say in the matter.
After another few seconds, just as the tension of waiting for more incredible pain to hit was starting to get to him, the voice said, "Do you know what the problem with torture is? Aside from it being basically wrong?"
He shook his head, not able to come up with any good answer, as his head was throbbing and as the nerve twitches died away, his tongue was screaming in agony.
"It doesn't work. You tend to find people will tell you anything they think you want to hear to get the pain to stop. Well known issue with it. It doesn't stop people doing it of course." The voice was still calm and reasonable. "I could sit here all night making you experience a fraction of the pain that Glory Girl went through, break your mind with the agony, and while it might be sort of fun in a very wrong way, and honestly be what someone like you probably deserves, it wouldn't necessarily get me what I want. Not in a way I can trust."
The speaker came closer to his ear, causing him to lean his head away. "But I have another spell. Those books are full of interesting ideas. This one is called Imperius."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Amy listened as Victor's monotone voice droned on, while she made sure the voice recorder in her hand caught the entire thing. It would take her quite a while to go through all the information and work out the next step, but she had a lot of leads now. The problem had become quite a lot more complex than she'd expected, unfortunately, and she could tell it was going to need some careful thought if she was to find the ultimate source of her ire, but she wasn't going to give up.
Victor was a cog in the machine, one that needed to be dealt with, but nowhere near the importance of the one right at the beginning of the trail she was slowly following back from that awful night in the hospital.
Asking the last of the questions she'd come up with, she listened to the answer, nodding to herself. She ticked it off on her notepad, scanning the various scribbled comments she'd jotted down as the questioning went on. As far as she could tell she'd covered everything important and quite a few side-quests when one of his answers had sparked a few more.
Finally, she reached out and touched Victor's exposed hand, removing the effect she'd imposed which had acted like the world's best truth serum. Far better than any actual truth serum, in fact, as they didn't really exist despite what the movies might claim. Some drugs removed inhibitions and caused a form of disassociation during which a person was highly suggestible, and that certainly would aid an interrogation, but what she did was as far beyond that as Legend was beyond a laser pointer. Because her truth serum worked.
As she flushed the remains of the incredible complex biochemical compounds out of his blood system, Victor babbled incoherently for a moment, then went silent. Eventually, he groaned. "Back with us?" she said in her disguised voice, which was deliberately as anonymous as she could manage and intended to convey the minimum of emotional cues. It had taken quite a lot of work to come up with the small living organism that was currently sitting at the back of her throat in a somewhat uncomfortable fashion, but it was worth both the mild inconvenience and hard work.
"What did you do?" he asked weakly.
"What I needed to. Thank you for your help."
He swore at her rather inventively, apparently feeling aggrieved. She shook her head. Nazis. Pity she couldn't do something permanent to the shit, but she couldn't risk anyone figuring out that some form of bio-tinkering was involved. It was too dangerous. She'd love to do something that would really cause him some sort of ironic trouble for the rest of his life, and god she had ideas for that, but…
No. It wasn't worth the danger to her or her family. What she'd done was bad enough, despite being as careful as she could be to avoid leaving any traces.
Putting both the recorder, which she turned off with a click, and her pen and pad into the bag next to her, she hopped to her feet and dusted her jeans off. "I'd say this has been fun but it really hasn't. Probably less for you than me, but…"
He made noises indicating he didn't appreciate her comment, which caused her to smile briefly.
"So this is the point where you kill me?" he asked after a moment, still sounding like he was fishing for information. "You never even told me who you are."
"I said you'd never guess, didn't I?" she responded, squatting next to his head, her sneakers squeaking on the plastic sheet on the floor. Putting a finger on his hand, she made sure all traces of her special chemical cocktail was gone, then nodded to herself. She'd healed up all the indications of him having been involved in a traffic collision too. He was in perfect health.
"You're not going to reveal yourself at the end? I thought that was how these things worked," he said. She laughed a little. The man, despite who and what he was, definitely had a way with words. Pity he was a piece of shit who made a good case for post-natal abortion…
"That's in stories, Victor. In real life, you don't get a nice neat monologue at the end. No, I'll just let you go."
"That seems… unlikely," he replied after quite a long moment, during which she walked over to the far side of the room and retrieved what she needed. "What's to stop me telling Kaiser about this?"
"Oh, you won't remember anything about any of this," she assured him cheerfully. "That's what obliviate is for." She hefted the crowbar in her hand thoughtfully, looking down at him. "Which is almost a pity because you'll never remember how your arms and legs got broken."
"Wait…!" he screamed after a frozen moment of horrified realization.
She brought the crowbar down for the first time.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Switching his bike off, Armsmaster dismounted, then walked over to where the ambulance and PRT troop carrier were parked, both vehicle's lights strobing away in the darkness and lighting the area in alternating colors. The EMT team was working on the figure lying on the ground, while half the PRT squad watched. The rest were keeping a wary eye on the surroundings, weapons ready but lowered. He glanced at the man on the ground, then looked around.
Turning to the PRT sergeant who had stepped back from the EMTs to meet him, he asked, "Sitrep?"
"Victor of the E88, apparently," the man explained with a gesture to where the EMTs were carefully immobilizing both arms and legs of the groaning man. "According to the note stapled to his chest."
"Stapled?" Armsmaster repeated, not sure he'd heard correctly. The other man smirked.
"Yeah. Literally stapled. Right into his breastbone." He handed the Tinker an evidence bag containing a bloodstained piece of office paper. Holding it up to the illumination from his bike's headlight, Armsmaster read the writing that had been printed with what looked like a basic laser printer out loud.
"Victor, Nazi bastard. Take this as the only warning you will ever receive. Consider yourself lucky I'm not more like you or you'd be floating face down in the bay. I'd suggest leaving the city and never, ever returning. If we ever meet again you won't survive the experience."
There was no signature, no other marks on the paper except for blood and some small holes. He turned it over and checked the other side, which was blank aside from more bloodstains. Scanning it with his helmet camera, he performed some quick measurements, which only told him what his eyes could, that it was completely standard office paper, the exact same thing you'd find in almost any office anywhere in the country. They could undoubtedly locate the manufacturer but that would be completely useless in tracing the author since there were only about three extant sources for paper like this these days. The laser printer was definitely an older model, the resolution wasn't very high, which meant it was a monochrome one, which in turn meant it didn't print any hidden identification marks on the paper like modern color ones did.
So that would most likely also turn out to be a dead end.
And he suspected there would be no fingerprints. Certainly he couldn't see anything suggesting such, either by visible light or under fluorescent scanning. Possibly residual DNA might be present but that would have to wait until he got the note back to the lab. For now, this was a dead end.
Handing it back, he nodded, then turned to examine Victor, who was being loaded onto a gurney now. Neither of the two EMTs, one of whom was black and one hispanic, seemed to be being quite as careful as they might have been. Victor wasn't happy about this, but they were ignoring his swearing without a change of expression.
"What can you tell me about this?" he asked.
The PRT sergeant watched the loading process as well. "We got a call saying that Victor of the E88 could be found here, about half an hour ago, from an anonymous source. Dispatch couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was gave the address, said we should hurry in case the wolves got him, and hung up. We found a high end phone in his pocket which was the one used to call us. It's unlocked, and the password has been removed." He held up another evidence bag which Armsmaster took possession of immediately. "Bet it's got some interesting stuff on."
"I expect so," he replied, feeling satisfied indeed. "First impressions of the scene?"
"Whoever did him over was a pro." The man looked at him, then back to the ambulance, as the doors closed and the vehicle started up. It drove off a moment later. "Both arms broken in two places each, both wrists, both legs, both knees, both ankles, and four ribs. Very neatly done. It was as expert a beating as anything I've ever seen. Whoever it was has done this before, that much I can pretty much guarantee."
Armsmaster nodded slowly. "I see. Do you think it might have been one of his people?"
"Might be. Probably not a cape, most of them would just have killed him." The sergeant looked thoughtfully at the disturbed ground. "That said I can't help feeling the Empire wouldn't have left him for us like this. He'd wash up on the beach in a week, or just vanish. Why would they leave him alive to incriminate them?"
"A valid point," Colin replied, thinking it over carefully. "A new vigilante, then?"
"Not a new one, for sure. Like I said, this was experienced. And personal, I suspect. Someone wanted him to hurt, and wanted him alive. Rules out the ABB and the Merchants too I guess. Cop, maybe? Or just someone who knows how to administer a good old fashioned physical admonishment the way they used to do it back before capes turned. Lot of those people around here. It didn't need powers, it just needed a baseball bat and an attitude."
"If we assume it was someone who didn't like the Empire that narrows it down to approximately half the city," he replied dryly, causing the other man to laugh briefly.
"Most of the other half wouldn't have left him alive," the sergeant noted, causing Colin to nod with a sigh.
"True." He walked over to inspect the ground. Tire tracks of the PRT vehicle and the ambulance had mostly obscured anything that might have been considered useful evidence, but he could just make out tracks that seemed likely to have come from another vehicle. Scanning the crumbling concrete, he looked for any useful evidence. Eventually he stopped and raised his eyes to examine the surroundings again. This location was not quite in the Docks, but it was certainly largely abandoned and he doubted any witnesses would be found. Undoubtedly why Victor had been dropped here. As far as he could work out the man had probably been thrown from a car that either didn't stop or only briefly did so. By now it would likely be miles away, possibly entirely out of the city. If it had driven through the docks, with the complete lack of anything useful in the way of cameras, there would be no chance of tracking it.
"A tricky problem," he noted as he came back to the PRT sergeant who had been watching him.
"Is it even one we need to investigate?" the man asked. Colin gave him a quizzical look. "I mean, sure, someone got the shit kicked out of them, but it was Victor. I'm not sure if we should be trying to find this person to arrest them or to thank them."
Armsmaster gazed severely at him. "A crime has been committed, Sergeant," he admonished.
"Yes, Sir," the man replied, not quite sighing.
Turning to leave, Colin added over his shoulder, "That said, it's a very low priority one under the current operational conditions, so I expect it may well be some time before we have the resources available to investigate it properly. A pity, but we do have more immediate issues to deal with." He got on his bike and started it, the other man nodding as he lifted a hand in a wave, then drove off.
All in all, he pondered, he was minded to not investigate too hard right at the moment. It could wait. And they did at least now have Victor in their custody, which would go a long way to making quite a few people much more cheerful. In a way that Victor wouldn't enjoy at all, of course.
The man did seem to be having quite a rough time at the moment.
But then he was a Nazi. Colin rather felt that he was getting what was coming to him.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Watching the small pile of organic matter dissolve into goo, then further into particles that got washed away by the next wave, Amy felt a distant sort of satisfaction. She was horrified at her own actions in one part of her mind and completely happy with them in another.
She suspected that when she got home, she was going to throw up, then sleep surprisingly well.
And now she had a lot of things to think about. Not to mention managed to test quite a few of the neat ideas she'd had and never had a good reason to actually try. The special fungus bodysuit that completely contained all her DNA, removed her fingerprints, and handily dealt with every other way to identify someone she could think of had worked perfectly, even if it felt weird when applied to the body. And her special solvent got rid of the evidence even better than burning it would have done. All the clothing she had worn was gone completely too, the only things left being her notes and recordings, which would get very carefully stored in a way no one other than her could ever find.
Satisfied she'd cleaned up after herself, she turned and trudged back across the rocks, the incoming tide washing away even the minute traces left of footprints behind her. Climbing up the steps that led from the base of the old wharf to the road at the top, she gazed at the car parked there, smelling strongly of gasoline. Raising her eyes she looked beyond it back towards the city, wondering if anyone had picked up Victor yet. Hopefully the PRT would act quickly before someone else got him.
Shrugging, she pulled the road flare out of her pocket, struck it alight, then tossed it through the open window of the car from a safe distance. The whoomp of it igniting in a rather impressive fireball and blast of heat made her step back and shield her face. She watched it burn for a moment before turning and heading off through the cold icy roads towards home and somewhere she could fall over.
She was very tired, very sickened, and very satisfied. But also knew she had a lot of work ahead of her.
As she walked she pulled out her phone and deleted the recording she'd made inside a warehouse near the shore a couple of days ago.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Looking at the car smoldering next to the shoreline, he smiled slightly, nodded approvingly, and went on his way. There was beer to drink, even this early in the morning. No matter what certain bartenders might claim.
"Girl's got promise," he muttered to himself as he pulled his wool hat down over his ears. It was always nice to see the younger generation doing things correctly.
