The Owl and The Crow [WORM AU]

[Adronio]

A splash of cold water wrenched me back into the conscious world, leaving me drenched and spluttering for air. I tried to blink away the haze that had fallen over the world… before realizing that I wasn't wearing my glasses.

"Wha-"

I failed to say anything more as pain overtook me, a deep headache which was followed by a wave of nausea. I curled in on myself, seated uncomfortably on a simple wooden chair. Despite my compromised state I noticed that my arms were handcuffed together behind my back, and that my legs were bound to the chair legs by what looked to be fairly hefty rope. If it wasn't for the fact that my heart was already beating at a rabbits pace I imagine it would've sped up by now. As it were it was all I could manage not to hurl the contents of my stomach on my shoes.

"Good, you woke up. Wasn't sure if you would."

A low, raspy voice called out. I didn't respond immediately, and another, vaguely familiar voice responded in my place.

"I told you, old man! I didn't hit her that hard!"

The 'old man' didn't respond vocally, but I heard the shifting of clothes in front of me. After a moment the familiar voice muttered something that I failed to catch. The old man let out a tired sigh.

"Hey girl, look at me."

I ignored him, still feeling sick. A hand grasped my wet hair, almost at the root, and yanked my head up violently and I failed to prevent a pained gasp from escaping my lips as my stomach made a flip. Dull green eyes pierced my own for a moment, before he raised a hand before my face.

"How many fingers?"

"Two, but-"

He released his grip and I collapsed back down again, retching from all the sudden movements forced upon me. I heard footsteps going away from me, and then the old man called out "All yours."

"Finally" the familiar voice responded.

A new pair of footsteps approached as my stomach finally settled down, gritting my teeth as I felt a hot breath next to my ear.

"Hey bitch, remember me?"

I glanced up, squinting at his face. A small, flat nose on a thin face set in an ugly sneer. Angry brown eyes stared daggers down at me as I tried to draw on my fragmented memories, anxiety growing in my chest as I grasped at that feeling of familiarity. Suddenly, it came back to me, and my eyes widened as I spluttered out-

"You-!"

"Yes, me. And trust me, you'll fucking regret what you did to me."

Having finally regathered my wits, I responded heatedly.

"Nothing less than you deserved, you creep!"

I saw the punch coming, but the instinctive attempt to bring my hands up to protect my face failed as my arms were still handcuffed behind my back. Instead I got hit square in the left eye, rocking back before slumping over again, headache redoubling in intensity.

"You like that, bitch?"

"Your vocabulary is astounding" I shot back defiantly even as I tensed for another blow. Instead I heard a 'click', followed by a flash of steel. The blade of a knife hovered an inch away from my face.

"Care to repeat that?"

The voice was low, dangerous. I pressed my lips together in a flat line, and slowly turned my head towards him again, holding his cruel gaze for several seconds without saying a word. Suddenly he pulled his knife back, a self satisfied smirk appearing on his face.

"That's what I thought."

A dreadful calm fell over my mind like a blanket even as I felt my fingers twitch behind my back from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I'd made a mistake engaging at all; he held the monopoly of force in this moment and could always escalate beyond what I could do, which was to say practically nothing, and attempting to call a bluff involved horrific risk for marginal gain. I needed to regroup and analyze the situation.

I tore my eyes away from his, back towards the floor. It was only a distraction at best, and a source of agitation on his end at worst. It's not like I could defend myself if I saw him winding up for a punch anyways. No, better to-

"Hey b- cunt, my eyes are up here."

I wondered if I was about to chip a tooth with how hard I'd clenched my teeth together, but forced my eyes back up, looking at his ugly fucking nose instead of his eyes. His smirk had only widened, and it wasn't hard to realize that the prick got off to this petty display of power. He did, however, momentarily stumble over his words there, presumably about to say "bitch" again before catching himself. My jab landed home after all if he's feeling insecure enough to change his behavior ever so slightly in response. The question was if I could do anything with that.

…

Not like I have anything else to work with, better to cling onto this slight weakness with my fingertips than to try grasping in the dark for another one. A plan of attack was rapidly forming in my mind even as I saw the prick open his mouth and-

"So, what do you have to say for yourself now, huh?"

Well, time to ignore my own conclusion from just a minute ago and start antagonizing him again. I relaxed my jaws ever so slightly, made sure my face was as neutral as I could make it, and then raised a single eyebrow.

The seconds dragged on as the asshole looked increasingly flustered, until he snapped, waving the knife in front of my face and yelling out "Bitch, I asked you a fucking question and you-"

"I just find it a bit amusing, is all."

My flat, emotionless voice overrode his bluster without much difficulty, and he was left spluttering, red in the face from anger and embarrassment, so I continued:

"You don't even know how much you fucked up, do you?"

The asshole in front of me just stood there, gaping like a fish, while the old man perked up from where he'd been leaning against a wall. I ignored the latter as I continued to talk as calmly as I could, maintaining the momentum I'd built up.

"Have you grabbed my wallet yet? If not, it's in my front left pocket. There's an ID-card there I want you to look at."

After taking several moments the prick finally managed to collect himself enough to hesitantly move forward and fished my wallet out of my pocket like I'd told him, knife apparently forgotten even as he kept hold of it in his right hand. I struggled to maintain my neutral demeanor as my mouth threatened to split into a grin. He took two steps back and went through my wallet, until I heard him gasp.

"The PRT-?"

"Yeah, you messed with the fucking PRT, asshole."

I let the corners of my lips twist up into a tight smirk of my own, before continuing, his eyes now full of fear as they stared into mine.

"You better start thinking about how you're gonna salvage this before the hammer drops on your head. Personally, I'd suggest letting me go before going into hiding, or moving out of the city. That way you-"

"Give me that!"

My voice fell quiet as the old man snatched the ID-card out of his hands, squinting at it for a few moments before barking out a single, harsh laugh.

"'Taylor Anne Hebert - Junior Analyst', selling ourselves a bit high are we?"

I bit the inside of my cheek as I quickly glanced over the old man now that he'd gotten involved. Bald… not actually that old I don't think, maybe forty-ish although it was somewhat hard to tell given how blurry everything was without my glasses. He wore a red polo shirt and tan cargo shorts, which wasn't what you'd associate with 'hardened gangster', but the hard look that he gave me, as well as his general demeanor suggested otherwise. Fuck, he was still looking at me expectantly, waiting for a retort.

"It doesn't matter how 'low' I am, I'm still a member of the PRT" I hissed out, and to my frustration he immediately retorted.

"I think it matters plenty, given that you were dancing around that fact just earlier."

"Would you guys just 'let it go' if somebody kidnapped and killed one of your lower ranking members?"

"'You guys'…?"

"Yeah, the Empire, right?" I guessed. An educated guess mind you, given that the asshole had been tormenting a black girl before I pepper sprayed him and that 'old man' over here is a literal skinhead. The lack of a response all but confirmed it, so I continued on, trying to regain my momentum from before.

"Look, if I disappear the PRT are going to retaliate; they will see this as an attack that they have to respond to. If you let me go on the other hand it won't be nearly as bad. I'll tell them that-"

"Shut your mouth."

"You-"

The world goes white for just a moment, and as I come back to I'm slumped over in my chair again, blinking stars out of my vision. Head spinning, I could feel a bruise forming around my right eye. Fuck me, why did he have to hit so hard? Realizing that I could hear a voice talking pretty close by, I tried to listen in, although the loud ringing in my ears made it difficult.

"-still got the kit, right? Yep. Uhuh. Look- just shut up, alright? I need someone to disappear. Yeah, I got 'em here, at my place in the docks. No, they're still alive. At my place in the docks."

I glanced up and saw the prick and the old man standing a bit away from me. The prick looked… nervous. Maybe a bit pale? Paler, that is. The old man was talking on the phone while simultaneously holding a finger up towards the prick, shushing him.

"-look, you know the cops don't patrol here, especially at night. No, the fucking slants won't bother you either as long as you don't drive straight through their turf. Just- just get your ass down here pronto, you owe me, remember? …Yes, we're straight after this. Alright, great."

He ended the call and put his phone in his pocket, then looked at the prick expectantly.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Shouldn't we let, like, let her go? I mean, this is the PRT we are talking about."

"A bit late to back out of this now, Lukas."

"I'm just thinking-"

"No, you're getting cold feet. I really don't care to listen to you attempting to weasel your way out of the consequences of your own actions. I'm going out for a smoke."

The old man stepped away from the conversation, quickly leaving the room. The asshole, Lukas, glanced at me, then pulled out his own phone and started typing. Shit, this was really bad. Looks like they're going to kill me and dump my body in the ocean or something. I'm not sure why they haven't killed me yet, but I'd rather not find out when exactly they intend to pull the trigger on that. I need to escape my bindings if I want to stand any chance of surviving tonight. Careful not to make any sound, I started testing my handcuffs. Not too tight… I think I can slip them. That'd still leave my legs, but it still gives me more options.

One step at a time, right?

First I had to decide which hand I'd try to slip the cuffs with. It probably didn't matter that much, but I remember the idea that you might have to dislocate your thumb in order to do this sort of thing. That might just be movie bullshit, but if it isn't… better to injure my non-dominant hand. And with that I folded my thumb in on my left hand, and slowly shimmied it out of the cuff…

There!

I let out a sigh of relief, before tensing up again. Had he heard that? A quick glance showed that no, Lukas was still engrossed with his phone. Despite that he was still a problem however. I could probably get my legs free by hand, but not without alerting him. It'd be slow to boot. If I had his knife however…

I bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but a new surge of adrenaline swept away the pain. Could I really be planning to…? Fuck, it was him or me, wasn't it? If my legs weren't bound I could have tried something else, maybe just knocked him out, or just running as fast as I could. Instead I was tied up here, still effectively helpless unless acting from ambush. And it was this fucking dickwad that knocked me out and kidnapped me. And it's pretty clear he's just gonna stand aside while his nazi gang buddies execute me. It's all his fault, he's fucking scum. He doesn't deserve any better.

I sucked in cold air through my teeth, the icing pain lancing through them helping me center myself, and as I breathed out I let all my roiling emotions go at the same time until the only thing left was the cold.

"Hey, Lukas!"

His head shot up.

"Wh- How do you know my name?"

I blinked in bemusement.

"I heard it in the conversation you just had with your friend. Anyways, you're not going through with this are you? Killing me?"

He looked torn for a moment, just looking at me, phone still in hand but not typing.

"I- I don't…"

"Come on Lukas, you're not that stupid are you?"

"Shut up, don't say my name!"

He put his phone away while taking a single, hesitant step in my direction. My lips thinned out into a flat line, almost a smile.

"Lukas, Lukas, Lukas… be reasonable. If you get charged for the murder of a member of the PRT you're going to get life for sure. Why don't you just let me go instead, that'll-"

"I said SHUT. UP."

He was advancing on me now, his red face growing in focus as he came closer, while his hand pulled out what I was looking for. His knife. A switchblade to be precise. Fairly long blade too. I didn't get to study it further as his left hand shot out and grabbed me by the collar while his knife came to a stop under my nose.

"I know what you're doing you manipulative bitch, I won't let y-URK!"

While he had been busy talking, staring me in the face I'd snuck both of my hands around from where I'd been pretending they were still handcuffed behind my back, placed my right hand on his to direct the knife then pushed with left. Taken completely by surprise he hadn't resisted as the knife plunged into his throat, but almost immediately after he jerked the knife out while taking a step back. I instinctively flinched and closed my eyes as a spray of blood hit my face, and by the time I opened them again I heard the knife clattering to the floor as he took another step back, both hands closed around his neck in an attempt to stop the blood leaking out of him. A pointless gesture. He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was more blood. So much blood…

With a wet gurgle, he sat down on the floor, wide eyes staring into my own. For several seconds we just looked at each other until he keeled over, flat on his back, hands still on his throat. And then his hands too fell back, and he was fully splayed out on the floor. I could still hear the blood flowing out of his body in the quiet room as I stared dumbly at him, before-

The knife!

Still tied to the chair, I leaned down and picked it up and immediately went to work cutting myself free. Despite my somewhat clumsy cutting I was making good progress, even as I saw the growing pool of blood reach my shoes. Swallowing my rising gorge, I kept at it until I was free, the remains of the rope used to tie me falling loose. I took one look at the body and was shocked at how quickly the skin had turned almost chalk white.

Then I proceeded to almost jump out of my skin when the door outside opened.

"Alright, the boys are almost here, so let's just…"

I stared at the old man as he stared back, smoke wafting from the cigarette stub he still held in between the fingers of his right hand. For a moment nothing happened, then I charged towards him while he dropped the stub and plunged his hand into the front of his shorts. I reached him before he could pull the gun out, slamming the knife into his guts while pinning his right arm with my left as well as my body weight. A pained gasp left his lips as I pulled the knife out, but his left hand shot out and grabbed my wrist before I could strike again. I tried to press forward despite this, then I tried to pull my hand back, but he held an iron grip so I made no headway.

Then I remembered a self defense trick I'd learned before.

I let go of his right arm with my left hand and grabbed the thumb of his right hand with it. Shifting slightly so I could get the proper leverage necessary, I proceeded to push…! The old man let out another ragged scream as the force dislocated his thumb, and with it I managed to tear my right hand out of his grip. Then I stabbed him again, and again, switched to targeting his torso. First stab glanced off a rib, second managed to sink in deep, and-

A hammerblow hit my right ear, the world disappearing for just a second before I came back to, on the ground. I looked around, vision swimming, and saw the old man kneeling in front of me. His right hand was clutching a snub-nosed revolver while his left was pressed against his blood-soaked shirt. I tried to get to my feet, but found that my limbs refused to work properly. Meanwhile he slowly, painfully lifted the revolver towards me and-

-BANG-

The world disappeared once more, replaced by a bright white muzzle-flash and a wave of concussive force. I let out a soundless gasp and blinked the brightspot out of my vision, and saw him again. His gun hand was shaking violently now, but he got it on target once more, and… slumped over on himself.

For several moments I could only stare, then I remembered to breathe a shallow breath in. And out. And in and out. It felt as though my lungs had shrunk, that their capacity to hold air had diminished. Had I been hit? Despite barely being able to move my arms I tried to pat myself down, but the only thing I managed to do was smear my blouse with more blood. My breathing was becoming irregular, and the shakes had spread to my whole body now. Was I dying?

No… no! I need to focus, I need to get up…!

I flipped over on my stomach, got my hands and knees under me and pushed myself up into a kneeling position. My head swam, sick trying to force its way up my throat. My fingers were cold, numb. I tried to get up on my feet, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. I need… I need to grab… the gun! Yes, I wasn't secure. I crawled forwards, unbothered by the lukewarm blood now covering my hands until I almost bumped into the body. I grabbed his arm and got it out from where he'd hidden it under his body; he wasn't providing any resistance at this point, completely lax, and it wasn't difficult to pry the revolver out of his hand.

Okay, now I can get up.

One foot under the other, somehow I managed to keep myself standing on the first attempt, if only just. Now I need to… need to do what? I gnawed at my lower lip, lost in thought, or a lack of it. It was so hard to focus. I need to… safety. Backup! I need to call for backup, 911! I patted my pockets with my left hand, and for a moment I felt something like panic when I noticed that my wallet was missing, before I remembered what had happened. Then I found my phone, flipped it open and started typing the number in, smearing the keys with blood as I did.

"...what's your emergency?"

The voice sounded low, distant even as I had my phone pressed against my ears. Oh right, hearing damage from the gunshot. I forced the words out of my mouth even as I had to grit my teeth at how weak my voice was.

"I- I need p-police… and an ambulance, and- and the PRT too."

"Okay ma'am, I need you to tell me where you are and what is happening. Can you do that for me?"

My voice regained some of its strength as I clung to the instructions, and I answered to the best of my abilities.

"I'm somewhere in the docks, don't k-know where. I was, uh, kidnapped. Managed to get free. There's… there's two people dead."

I bit my lip as I wondered how I'd even start to properly explain this, when I suddenly heard a phone start to ring. It was coming from the body of the old man. I felt ice go down my spine.

I'd forgotten something important. He'd called for friends. They were coming here.

I wasn't safe.

"...still there? Hello? Are you still-"

"I'm still here, but there's more- they're coming, I need help. Now. I need help now, they're coming-"

"Ma'am please, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down for me-"

"N-NO! You don't understand, they-"

The phone stopped ringing. I felt something inside my chest tighten. Breathing was becoming more painful.

"No…" I whimpered out.

Several seconds passed, the voice in my ear forgotten about, before I heard the door handle rattle. I turned to look, and sure enough, the door handle was slowly being lowered. I pushed myself flat up against the wall, perpendicular to the exterior door, revolver aimed in that direction one-handed.

The door slowly creaked open.

"Jakob? Are you there?"

A voice called out from outside. I clenched the grip of the revolver tight. The door continued to inch open, bit by bit. I could see a hand on the inside of the door, my finger on the trigger twitched, but I held my fire. I heard a hissed curse, and the hand fell away.

"They're dead."

Someone else started talking, further away, which turned into a hushed conversation. My arm was growing tired, but I kept it trained on the doorway. I was thankful that the voice on the phone had grown silent, but at the same time it only added to the tension. As if they too were waiting with bated breath at what was about to go down.

The conversation died out, replaced by complete silence. The seconds stretched on, and then…

A head peaked past the doorway, looking straight at me.

I pulled the trigger, instinctively closing my eyes at the same time.

-BANG-

The concussive force wasn't much better on this end, and I almost lost my grip on the revolver. I opened my eyes again, squinted. No body, no blood. Had I missed…?

I got my answer when the next thing that came around that doorway was a handgun, turned in my direction.

-bang bang bang-

I felt a punch in my gut, air leaving my lungs as I fell over. The back of my head hit the floor, stars forming in my vision, but I retained the clarity of mind to get the revolver back on target and start pulling the trigger again.

-BANG-

-BANG-

-BANG-

-BANG-

-click-

-click-

With the last of my strength I hurled the now empty revolver at the doorway, then let myself fall back, bloody hands covering my face. Too weak to look my death in the eyes, I waited.

And waited.

I gathered the courage to peek through the fingers of my hand, seeing…

Nothing…?

Well, nobody at least. Had they… left? I was pretty sure I hadn't hit anything, and besides there were two of them, right? I raised my head a little, feeling woozy, and looked around some more. To my surprise I saw the third guy, the one who shot me, I think, splayed out face first a couple steps inside the doorway. His hands were empty, the gun nowhere to be seen, and as I stared at him I could see his chest moving up and down ever so slightly. He was still alive, still breathing… but unconscious?

It didn't make any sense, but an enormous headache prevented me from trying to deduce what had happened, so I simply gave up, letting my hands fall down beside me. Too hurt to do anything else, I just focused on the simple task of breathing, trying to stay awake.

I was failing at that too.

My left hand rose as I waited.

I was losing time.

Sirens became audible.

I lost consciousness.

…

 

[Jenis]

Looks really good so far, can't wait for more.

 

[Adronio]

Thank you.

 

[Puck McSnuggins]

Fascinating... I can't wait to see how this plays out, as well as your version of Taylor's history and the whole Sophia/Emma clusterfuck.

Looking forward to more!

 

[BreezyWheeze]

Strong start! Thanks for sharing this with us. Really looking forward to more!

 

[Adronio]

Deputy Director Renick was an unassuming man, to say the least. A balding head, his graying hair a dying breed and the only notable features on his face was his glasses, as well as lack of facial hair. The black suit he wore, neither too cheap nor too expensive, only added to this image; if you were to look for the definition of 'generic bureaucrat' then I imagine Renick would fit the bill perfectly.

Not like I had much of a leg to stand on when it came to looks on a good day, and this certainly wasn't a good day for me. Two black eyes and a bruised face must have given me a battered appearance, to complement how battered I felt. The concussion was practically a given; the doctors feared that I'd suffer from brain hemorrhage, although apparently I'd been lucky enough to escape that. Honestly I was almost thankful that they'd aimed high. If I'd been punched this hard in the jaw I'd probably have lost teeth.

"So, just to be clear, you did not trigger during the incident and did not gain any powers, correct?"

"Yes, as I've already said-" I began hotly, but Renick held up his hand to silence my outburst.

"I believe you, I'm just making sure since, well…" he sighed, and pushed his glasses to rub at the tired eyes underneath before continuing.

"It would be very convenient if you had, and we could rule out the third party."

I bit the inside of my cheek, understanding his frustration completely. The third party, one or more people who intervened in my kidnapping gone wrong at the very end, almost certainly preventing me from being finished off by the two empire 'cleaners' who had come to execute me and dump the body somewhere it'd never be found. As far as I've been told there's no evidence of their existence apart from the previously mentioned gangsters having been knocked unconscious before the cops could arrive. No witnesses mentioning anyone fleeing the scene, no tips about any masked vigilantes hounding the area before or after. Hence the first theory being that said third party had actually been me lashing out during a trigger event.

It certainly didn't feel like I'd gained any powers though, and no amount of gesticulating at the walls and thinking really hard about it at the prompting of Renick had changed that. Speaking of- Renick was looking at me expectantly. Fuck, I'd missed what he said.

"Sorry, what was it?"

"Just asking if you're certain about not seeing anyone else at the end, before you fell unconscious- but before that, are you certain you are okay?"

He was looking at me in concern, so I waved him off.

"I'm fine, just a bit loopy. And to answer your first question I didn't see anyone."

He nodded before talking more to himself, "and it beggars belief that a civilian would knock out two armed gunmen and vacate the premises without checking up on you."

Both of us brooded in silence at that last statement. I broke the silence first.

"So we think it's a cape then?"

He nodded slightly.

"Too early to tell, but that's the main theory we're working with. Someone that wouldn't stick around and wait for the PRT for whatever reason."

"A villain then."

"Or possibly just an independent with authority issues. Either way, nothing you should worry about right now. Just focus on recovering from your ordeal, alright?"

I almost wanted to protest, even though I knew that I needed the rest. I'd been hurt badly, and I knew it. The doctors hadn't wanted to let me go, and I had to pretend that I wasn't hurting all over so I could escape the hospital room. Even now I wanted to keel over and start sleeping on the floor, but the idea of going home and doing nothing but stew in my own thoughts… it unsettled me on some deep level. And so I tried to delay the inevitable.

"Am I truly safe to just go home?"

Renick steepled his fingers together as he answered.

"By your own admission this was nothing more than a personal vendetta, and said vendetta died with… well."

He looked awkward for a moment, and I felt my gut turn over.

"Ahem. Either way we don't expect any sort of retaliation, especially not one aimed your way. You know about the tracker we've installed in the phone we issued you, so just try to keep it on hand."

I nodded mutely in response, still wrestling with the emotions broiling inside. I could see him looking at me, something inscrutable in his gaze, and felt a spike of anxiety as he sucked in a breath to speak,

"You're dismissed, if that wasn't clear."

I relaxed and gave another nod, not trusting myself to speak. I rose and started to make my way out of his office.

"Oh, and I hope you have a swift recovery. I've taken the liberty to look over some of your work on the Undersiders, and I'm impressed given the circumstances. It can't be easy working on a case alone as your first assignment, but by all accounts you've performed above expectations. I look forward to having you back."

I looked back, surprised by the sudden praise. Renick was looking at me expectantly, a small smile on his face, so I managed to mutter out a "thank you" before I made a swift exit. Despite everything I felt almost giddy as I took a cab back to my apartment.

-

Whatever good feelings I had before, they'd all evaporated by the time I managed to stumble through the door to my apartment, replaced by headaches, mild nausea and a general feeling of fatigue. I'd gone straight to bed not even bothering to change out of my clothes, falling asleep the moment I closed my eyes.

It felt like no time had passed at all before I was ripped out of oblivion by the insistent chime of the doorbell.

I groaned, stewing in my own suffering for a moment before the noise became too much to bear, and forced myself off the bed and on my feet. Somehow I felt worse than I had before getting into bed, but gamely lumbered toward the entry door. Whomever was on the other side was still pressing that damned doorbell. My hand was hovering over the doorknob before my brain finally caught up to me. I'd forgotten something vital!

I quickly wiped the drool off my face with my left hand, before wiping the hand on my pants. Then I opened the door.

"Damn, what happened to your face?"

I blinked, nonplussed.

"Aisha, what are you doing here?"

"I'm checking up on you, what else? Lemme in and answer my question!"

I stepped back before Aisha could force her way past me, uncomfortable with how close she'd gotten even in my degraded mental state. To say that I was jealous of her body was an understatement; she was drop dead gorgeous and not afraid to flaunt it, even as a black girl in the nazi capital of the US. Either brave or stupid, depending on your perspective. I leaned on the latter but didn't care to argue the point after she'd laughed it off, when we first met. When I'd rescued her from that skeevy- Lukas…

Aisha slipped past while I stood and worked my jaw uselessly, something ugly coiling in my stomach. The sound of my fridge being opened snapped me out of my funk.

"Nice, beer!"

"Are you even old enough to drink? Also why are you going through my fridge?"

"It's legal in Europe!"

"We're not in Europe!"

She gave me a look from where she stood, a can of beer in one hand while the other held the fridge door.

"What are you, the feds?

I groaned once more, palming my face for effect.

"Yes? You know I work for the PRT, and-"

I stopped talking as she sniggered at me, and felt my face flush in embarrassment. She'd made a joke, and it flew right over my head. I'd blame the concussion if I felt like lying to myself, but I was self aware enough to know my social abilities had only atrophied since high school. I could function just fine in an academic or work setting, but this? I felt like a fish out of water.

I heard the beer-can being opened, and rallied for another argument to prevent her from literally breaking the law inside my apartment, but was preempted.

"So, are you gonna close the door any time soon? You're letting the flies in."

I closed the door, admitting defeat.

-

"Let me get this straight. You got kidnapped by two nazis, woke up tied to a chair and the first thing you did was try to threaten them into letting you go?"

I winced just a little at how she'd that up.

"Well, not quite-"

"That's so cool!"

Aisha stood up from where she'd been sitting on my couch, an empty beer-can left on the table. She was practically vibrating with excitement. I was far from a great storyteller, and I don't think this particular story was that exciting anyways. Instead of arguing any further about that I instead took another sip of my tea; Aisha had cheekily offered me one of my own cans of beer after I'd failed to dissuade her from drinking, but I'd turned it down on account of being on painkillers.

I eyed her as she paced around the combined kitchen-slash-living room. My apartment was small, consisting only of four rooms, my bedroom, a bathroom, an office-slash-workspace as well as the aforementioned kitchen-slash-living room. Entering my apartment you'd find yourself in the kitchen, with my office and bedroom on the left, in that order, and the bathroom on the right. It wasn't much, and I could only pay for it thanks to my dad's support. Until recently that is. However I much preferred it to any of the more communal options normally available to poor students. The idea of having to live together with multiple people I barely know was horrific.

Speaking of.

"Anyways… are you grabbing another beer?"

"Yeah?"

I felt that I should be more annoyed at the sheer confidence in that reply, but frankly I was too hurt to be anything except resigned.

"Please don't get drunk in my apartment."

"No promises!"

Miraculously, my headache did not get any worse.

"Do you want me to finish the story?" I griped, which she responded to by nodding rapidly and practically throwing herself into the couch. I scooted away slightly, uncomfortable with how close she was before continuing.

"Alright, anyways that didn't work, the bald one blew me off and called a couple buddies of his on the phone, apparently to help kill me and hide the body. Thankfully he left the room to smoke, leaving me alone with the knife-guy."

I felt my palms grow sweaty as dread filled my stomach; I didn't particularly want to recollect this, even less tell anyone about it. I was also afraid of scaring Aisha away, as much as I didn't want to admit it. It had been years since I've talked to anyone like this; I didn't want to go back to being alone and friendless, presumptuous as it was to call Aisha a friend. Still, she deserved to know what I had done.

"Realizing that I'd be killed if I didn't escape, I managed to slip my cuffs and lure him closer. He hadn't noticed that I'd escaped the handcuffs, so he carelessly waved his knife in front of me… and I managed to catch him by surprise and stab him in the throat with his own knife before he could react."

I looked at Aisha from the corner of my eye, tense with anticipation, but she didn't look repulsed, or scared, or anything of the sort. Instead…

"Bad. Ass."

She grinned at me, looking neither surprised nor off-put. I fumbled for my words as I continued to tell the story.

"Uhm. I uh- I cut myself free, but before I could escape bald guy returned. He pulled out a revolver, but I managed to stab him to death before he could shoot me. Well, he did get a shot off, but missed. Then, before I could escape again, bald guys friends showed up."

My hurried attempts to wrap the story up came to a grinding halt. How would I even start to explain what happened at the end when I didn't even know what happened? I glanced over at Aisha again, and although she seemed less excited she was clearly still invested, interest practically gleaming off her eyes. I chewed on the tip of my tongue for a moment as I collected my thoughts.

"A quick gunfight followed, as I had grabbed the revolver. I got hit, they didn't, but they didn't get to finish me off. As it turns out someone else must have gotten to the scene, and they knocked out the two remaining guys at the last moment."

To my continued surprise Aisha was unfazed by this as well, only letting out a small "huh", but not appearing all that bothered by it. I followed up, eager to be done with the story, feeling sick and tired and generally discombobulated by the whole affair.

"I woke up at the hospital soon after. And that's it, really."

Aisha hummed, then asked "What about your face?"

Oh. "I got punched a few times as well. The doctors were actually more worried about that than the gunshot wound, which had missed anything important."

She nodded at that, but before she could say something else a phone rang. I patted myself for my phone before realizing it wasn't my phone, and looked over. Aisha scowled as she looked at the phone she held in her hand.

"Sorry, I need to take this."

"That's fine."

She answered the phone as she stood up, walking briskly away. I caught part of the one-sided conversation before she reached the entry door and left the apartment.

"What is it now? I was in the middle of something, so this better-"

I was almost glad to see her go, if only for a bit. Not that she was unpleasant company, but recounting what might well have been the worst day of my life took something out of me. And I was exhausted. Might as well take a quick nap while I waited for Aisha to finish the call. Setting aside my cup of tea while propping up a pillow behind my back, I made myself comfortable and closed my eyes.

It did not take long before the darkness swallowed all.

…

I woke up with a start, feeling vaguely confused and upset. Why was I…? Running my tongue across my teeth, I grimaced. I'd gone to sleep without brushing my teeth. Eugh. I rose from the couch despite feeling like shit and made my way to the bathroom. Dental hygiene was important, and it goes to show how out of it I was to have forgotten it, it seems. Still, I felt uneasy as I made myself ready for bed. Had I forgotten something?

Following up on this feeling, I checked the entry door. It was unlocked. I felt vindicated and unsettled at the same time; had I really forgotten to lock the front door? At least I'd noticed, the idea of going to bed with an unlocked apartment would have been unpleasant even before recent events had shaken me. I quickly fixed my mistake before heading to the bedroom, intent on sleeping away what was left of today.

The feeling of unease refused to leave me even as the real world was replaced by the vivid and unpleasant dreams that medication seemed to bring out of me.

 

[Lazer Raptor]

Poor Taylor..... Aisha should be a bit more considerate of how her friend feels.

 

[Adronio]

Poor Taylor..... Aisha should be a bit more considerate of how her friend feels.

Click to shrink...

She's a bit self-centered, although to be fair Taylor didn't give any obvious indications that she really didn't want to tell the story.

 

[Adronio]

The next few days passed in a medication induced haze as I recovered from the beating I had received. Aisha came and went as she pleased, and frankly the amount of times I'd forgotten about her presence or lost track of her was disconcerting. The doctors had said that I'd escaped anything worse than a concussion, but I wasn't so sure anymore. Dwelling on it made my gut churn, so I avoided it as much as possible.

Despite these misgivings I was healing, my strength was returning to me every morning, enough so that I'd noticed that Aisha was visiting me less often than she had at the start. I assumed it was because she saw that I was getting better and didn't feel the need to check in on me as often. Either that, or she was growing tired with me.

I was too much of a coward to dare confirm it either way, so I didn't question it.

The fifth day she'd declined to visit even once. My half-hearted attempts to keep her at arms length had not softened the blow all. I crushed the feeling of disappointment and despair as best I could; it's not like this had been a surprise. She'd gotten over her pity, or interest, or whatever else had kept her coming back the last few days, just like I'd predicted.

That didn't stop it from hurting.

It was a blessing that the sixth day would bring something to distract me from my own self-destructive thoughts. Well, technically the event in question had already happened, but it only made the newspapers the next day. Front page too.

VILLAINS ROB BROCKTON BAY CENTRAL BANK, WARDS POWERLESS TO STOP THEM

Honestly, that in and of itself wasn't all that extraordinary for a city like Brockton Bay. There was one aspect of this that had drawn my attention like a moth to flame though; it hadn't just been any villainous team that had conducted this robbery. It had been the Undersiders. My quarry so to say, as the sole PRT analyst assigned to them.

Which was why I knew that something was wrong.

It made no sense that the Undersiders would rob a bank of all things. First of all, banks did not actually keep much cash on hand at any given time. They were also very difficult and risky targets to attack. As such, the risk-benefit ratio of a bank robbery tended to be much more on the risk side of the equation, and the Undersiders were very risk averse. This was completely out of character, so the question burned away at me:

What changed?

I read through the article, but honestly there wasn't anything particularly helpful. The witness interviews helped paint a picture, but I imagine the PRT would have a more useful report waiting for me anyway. Absentmindedly I read through the rest of the newspaper, mind churning away all the while until I stumbled over something else that caught my eye. A missing persons report. One Dinah Alcott, twelve years old, gone missing the same day as the bank robbery. The mayor's niece, of all people.

A coincidence?

No, I decided. This was hostile action. The pieces fit too well, as I put them together in my mind. There had to be a connection between this disappearance and the bank robbery. A distraction to draw away police, and parahuman attention while someone went and grabbed the girl. A stranger, perhaps? Excitement coursed through my veins as I went back in the article on the bank robbery. Imp, the Undersiders' stranger, had been mentioned, but only to describe the group. Most fixated on Hellhound's monstrous dogs. Some included Grue's clouds of darkness. Tattletale and Regent had been there, apparently.

And nothing of Imp.

Just like I suspected, there was nothing there suggesting Imp had actually been present at the bank robbery at all! I hadn't thought anything of it at first; it wasn't exactly unexpected that the stranger would be forgotten, especially with her specific power. My heart raced as the dots connected themselves. Imp abducted Dinah. The bank robbery had been nothing more than a smokescreen. Well, I'm sure they aren't throwing away whatever money they managed to nab, but it had never been the main objective. Dinah was. This was the natural conclusion drawn from the logical chain I'd constructed. Besides, why was it that the Wards responded to this, without any Protectorate capes? The Undersiders was an adult team as far as the PRT was concerned, and although they weren't considered too dangerous both Grue and Hellhound had a history of violence, including murder in the latter case, while Tattletale and Regent were unknowns. The only reason I could think of for this was that every Protectorate cape had to have been busy.

No coincidence at all.

Admittedly, there was no proof of this, at least as far as I was aware, yet everything fit. My resolve hardened to inform my superiors as soon as possible, and I rushed to dress myself before leaving the apartment in a hurry.

I'd spent enough time on sick leave as it is, I figured.

…

Director Piggot had something of a reputation in PRT ENE. I wasn't one to gossip with my coworkers, but even I had heard enough about her to know she was well respected by those that worked under her. She had apparently been a field agent of all things, until she'd gotten a crippling injury, explaining her poor health. Despite that, she cut a striking figure, bulk and all. Bleach blond hair, steel-grey eyes that bore into you, clad in a navy blue jacket and skirt.

I had not expected to find myself inside her office today, while she sat at her desk, hands clasped in front of her while looking at me expectantly. Swallowing my nervousness, I delivered the elevator pitch.

"The bank robbery, it doesn't make any sense. Too much risk, too little reward. It doesn't fit the Undersiders profile." I placed the newspaper I'd brought with me on her desk, pointing at the missing persons report. "However, it might make more sense if this was the distraction while they nabbed the greater prize."

Piggot glanced at where I'd pointed, before her eyes returned to me, face blank even as I kept explaining my hypothesis in its entirety. By the time I'd finished my hands were clasped behind my back; my nerves had gotten the better of me and I needed to hide how much I wanted to twiddle my thumbs. She kept looking at me for some time, a fat finger tapping her desk all the while, until she finally spoke.

"A compelling narrative. Unfortunately, you got one thing wrong. Imp was caught on camera, she was with the rest of the Undersiders during the bank robbery."

My stomach dropped all the way to the floor. Fuck me. Of fucking course she had, and I didn't know because I relied on the newspaper for my information. And now I'd embarrassed myself in front of the fucking Director of all people. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was still looking at me as I berated myself silently. Waiting for a retort? Some sort of explanation?

"I… see." I managed to force out, temporalizing. The pieces still fit, I was sure of it. "The part about it being a distraction, that still fits. They… must be working with someone else. Or working for someone else."

My halting attempts to salvage my hypothesis continued, Piggot declining to interrupt. Giving me rope to hang myself with? Amused by my antics? Embarrassment was rapidly turning into shame, but I soldiered on.

"Probably not the Empire; Grue is black after all. Doesn't completely rule out the possibility, but… no. We already know there's bad blood between the Undersiders and the ABB as well. That leaves Coil, or an outside party. Yes, Coil makes sense, doesn't it? It fits his M.O. perfectly."

"You need a motive for the kidnapping."

I almost jumped at Piggot's sudden challenge. It didn't feel like she was disapproving of my grasping though, but instead leading me on? It was an easy challenge anyway.

"The obvious one would be to manipulate Mayor Christner, she is his niece after all. There could also be something else we might uncover if we investigate."

"And what would the implication be, of this… collaboration between Coil and the Undersiders that you propose exists."

Something inside my brain lit up, the part of me that enjoyed deducing, extrapolating and figuring these puzzles out. Because the implications were far-reaching indeed. Coil was a problem, and a pain. However, he'd been considered a limited one, in the face of the sheer number of Empire capes and their reach, or the firepower Lung brought to the ABB. A lone cape, thinker or maybe tinker, ordering around mercenaries and carving out a small fiefdom in the middle of Brockton Bay. If he had other capes working for him, that changed.

"The implication is that Coil is a much bigger threat than assumed."

Piggot nodded at that.

She… nodded? She agreed with my hypothesis, even as I've been scrambling to patch up the holes she poked in it? I could only watch mutely as her eyes returned to the newspaper I'd put on her desk, finger still tapping away, hard enough that I could actually hear the impacts.

"How have you been recovering so far?"

"Pardon?"

"The kidnapping," Piggot clarified. "How have you been recovering from the kidnapping?"

The sudden pivot left me discomforted, but I tried to answer as best as I could.

"Quite well. I was very out of it at first, but these last couple days I've felt much better."

"And the two people you killed? What are your thoughts on that?"

Her tone was neutral even as she lanced my heart. What the fuck? Why- no, just answer the question, think later.

"I-"

Just answer the question? Am I fucking stupid? I can't answer a question I don't know yet. I need to- be calm. Sweep away the emotions. Piggot's eyes were resting on me now, but I did my best to ignore it, and the trickle of anger that was starting to replace the hurt. She wanted an answer, for whatever reason, and I needed to come up with a satisfactory one.

"It was me or them… wasn't it?" My tongue felt numb even as I pushed the words past my lips. "They wanted to kill me. Were going to kill me, if I didn't act. I wasn't gonna lay down and die. Not like that." The words flowed easier now, even as my eyes started stinging. I forced the tears back, refusing to humiliate myself any more in front of the Director.

"That's all there is to it, I think. I didn't want to do it, but it's something I can live with." I hope.

Piggot's eyes were hard as they roamed my face, looking for… something. I could feel my anger grow at how she'd dug at something so personal… but when she gave me a tight-lipped smile and a grim nod, some of that anger fell away. Not all, but… it had been a test. Why? I tried to search her face for answers, but now she'd closed her eyes, seemingly deep in thought. Stewing in the emotions this unwanted bout of self-reflection had brought up was my only recourse, it seemed. Eventually, Piggot opened her eyes and spoke.

"Here is what will happen: You will go home and take the day off. You will return to work on Monday. You will not research into this in your free time, before returning to work." She held up a hand to stall me as I opened my mouth to protest. "You will not speak of this matter to anyone. Not to your coworkers, not to your friends, not to your family. Do you understand?"

I had to swallow before answering, "I understand."

"Good. When you arrive on Monday you will proceed straight to my office. Good work. Dismissed."

I left the PRT building thoroughly frazzled, but content that I'd been taken seriously.

 

[JASP]

Loving the story so far!

Just confused on how old Taylor is? She is living alone in a condo, and working in the PRT.
Did she quit school? Or is she older than 18 by now?

 

[Adronio]

Loving the story so far!

Just confused on how old Taylor is? She is living alone in a condo, and working in the PRT.
Did she quit school? Or is she older than 18 by now?

Click to shrink...

Thank you. And Taylor is 21 years old here.

 

[punster lv1]

Well, that was tense. But she just went from junior analyst to reporting to the director gg.

 

[Kell of Snow]

I love it when Piggot is portrayed like this.

 

[Adronio]

Despite what I'd told the Director, the trip to the PRT had left me exhausted, mentally and physically, so it was probably a good thing that she'd given me until Monday to recover properly. Still, despite my compromised state, I clearly remembered having locked my apartment door on my way out today. Imagine my surprise when I found said door unlocked.

Hence why I was standing still in front of my half-open door, the cogs in my brain almost audible as they whirred into action.

Someone broke into my apartment? Why? Immediately memories of a poorly lit room, armed men and death forced its way into my head. Was it the Empire? Had they returned to finish the job? I turned my head to look into the hallway behind me. Empty. No witnesses. The only sound was the humming of a cheap AC unit and my own breathing. Shit.

Why would the Empire even respond, now of all times? The PRT had been fairly certain they wouldn't… so maybe it wasn't them? Maybe… Piggot's words of warning sounded in my head. Fuck, what if it was Coil? Or someone sent by Coil, more likely. It sounded ridiculous, I'd made the connection, went straight to the Director and gone straight home, there was no way that it could be… fucking thinkers. It could be Coil, couldn't it?

I was temporalizing when I shouldn't be. Should I call the cops? They'd just think I'd forgotten to lock the door and was freaking out about it. Teeth scraped over my lower lips. It's possible that whoever broke into my apartment had already left, presumably after not finding me. Or maybe it had just been a thief or something? From what I could see it didn't look like anyone had ransacked my apartment…

Okay, in our out?

In.

Heartbeat drumming too rapid of a beat, I stepped forward. If I saw anything, or anyone, I'd throw myself out and run, I promised myself. The kitchen and living room were clear, but that left the bathroom, office and bedroom. If somebody was waiting in ambush it'd make sense to wait in one of those rooms, to take me by surprise at close range. And of course I was unarmed. Wasn't there a program for PRT employees to get a concealed carry license? Something to consider later, as for now…

I eyed the kitchen knives, and felt droplets spray my face as I thrust forward, again and again and again. Warm blood coated my hand, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Had to keep stabbing, again and again and again-

Numb fingers reached for the knife, my breath ragged and inconsistent. Me or them, and I choose me. Nobody else would, so it had to be-

"Knock knock."

My feet left the floor in fright, if only for a moment, and I spun around.

"Aisha?!"

Her eyes were wide at my exclamation, humiliation and confusion replacing the terror I'd felt.

"Wh- what are you doing here?" I spluttered out.

"Checking up on you. Are… are you alright?"

My face was growing hot. Of course I decided to have some sort of freakout in front of Aisha of all people. Could this day get any worse?

"Oh, uhm, please, come in."

I was desperate to move on from this terminally embarrassing moment, but questions keep bubbling past the soup of negative emotions. My door, unlocked. Why? I'd still not gotten an answer, had I?

"Okay…" Aisha complied, something dancing across her eyes. Please don't let it be pity, I don't think I'd survive that.

"Where were you, anyways?"

"Huh?"

"I came by earlier and you weren't here," she elaborated.

"Oh. I went to the PRT building."

"Aren't you still om sick-leave? Why'd you go back so soon?"

You will not speak of this matter to anyone.

"Ah, I started feeling a lot better, so I got anxious about returning to work." The partial truth left my lips easily, even as I felt a twinge at hiding the truth from Aisha. "They, uh, sent me back and told me to return Monday."

Aisha snorted at that, a small smile on her pretty lips, and I felt slightly better about myself even as I wondered what she'd found funny.

"What are you, a workaholic?"

Was I?

"Maybe?" I hedged.

She giggled at that too, and the tension started to melt away. Still, something was gnawing at me, so I had to ask.

"By the way, when you checked on me and I wasn't there, was the front door locked?"

Aisha looked taken aback by the question.

"Uhm, I don't know? I didn't really check, I sorta just knocked on the door and when you didn't answer I, uh, left."

Was she… embarrassed?

"Anyways I was just leaving but then I thought I saw you, so I went back and… yeah." She clapped her hands together before briskly moving on, to my bemusement. "So you're healthy enough to get back to work now?"

"Yeah? I guess?"

"Then I have to take you out!"

What?

"What?"

"To town. You've clearly been cooped up in here for too long, don't you think?"

What followed was Aisha aggressively organizing what she called a 'girl's day out' over my mild protestations. Despite everything, part of my mind was still stuck on that door. Had I really just… forgotten? My mind sprang to the other incident a few days ago, and I felt wretched. Maybe the beating had really shaken something loose in my head. If that was the case I really hoped it'd fix itself, given enough time.

So, despite my trepidations I looked forward to tomorrow, as Aisha bid her goodbyes. The idea of any sort of… social arrangement gave me goosebumps, but better the distraction than to be left in my own misery.

…

Aisha waved me over from where she had been waiting for me. She wore denim shorts over fishnet leggings, as well as an open leather jacket that showed off her midriff, her strapless top refusing to cover it. Despite my disagreements with her 'style' as it were, I could admit that she pulled it off. By comparison I was more conservatively dressed, gray jeans and a white blouse that went all the way to my wrists. The weather was just hot enough that I'd declined to wear a jacket off my own. She gave me a once over when I got close enough.

"Hmm, not too bad I suppose, but you are really lacking in flair."

"Not being too conspicuous is kind of the point," I shot back. Infuriatingly enough she physically waved away my concern.

"Still, do you have anything more exciting in your wardrobe?"

I thought about it for a few seconds.

"Not as such, no."

"We'll need to fix that," she declared as she dragged me along.

"Money is pretty tight nowadays," I replied while disentangling myself from her grip. Some people were shooting us glances. Or, well, shooting Aisha glances. I knew why, of course. Despite having a sizable African American minority population, it was not all that common to see black people on the Boardwalk. It was, after all, one of the 'nicest' parts of the town, and black people were poor. Abnormally so, compared to the rest of America actually. The Empire cast a long shadow, and as you might expect minorities were the ones that suffered the most. Constant harassment, assaults on people and property, even murders. Most that had the means fled the persecution as fast as they could. Those that didn't were worn down, usually too tired from it all. Fearful. The Asian communities had at least some measure of 'protection' in the form of Lung, although the semi-constant clashes tore at them something fierce.

Black people didn't have that, and although the PRT did their best, the truth was that we were horribly overstretched. As such, the Empire was left with a shockingly free hand to cause pain wherever they felt like it. A bitter reminder of why the PRT fought, why I fought. To face the evils of this world as best we were able to.

If only our best was enough.

"I could spot you."

"For clothes?" I boggled at the thought. Aisha only shrugged at that, so I shook my head. I wasn't destitute.

"If my clothes bother you this much, I can buy something. At a later date, that is."

She accepted that, and we started our trip along the boardwalk. Despite her earlier comments regarding my clothes, we didn't do more than some window shopping. Despite the inanity of it, it was… pleasant. Especially with the sun shining down upon us. It was almost like scratching an itch I didn't know I had. After what might have been an hour Aisha got tired of it, though.

"Starting to feel hungry. What do you think, are you up for a bite?"

"Sure," I responded. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm feeling Fugly Bob's. You?"

"That's fine."

It'd be some distance to travel from the Boardwalk to the market, but I was enjoying the exercise. I'd been abstinent from my usual morning runs, on account of my injuries, and it was starting to drive me anxious. I promised myself I'd restart them tomorrow. Before we could get going, Aisha twitched somewhat oddly before turning around.

"You!" She accused. Curious, I followed her gaze only to see a man walking towards us. Clad in a loose white shirt and tight black slacks, with curly black hair on top of his head, there was no denying he was pretty. Not quite my type, but pretty, nonetheless.

"Aww, is that any way to treat a friend?"

"Are you following me, Alec?" Aisha ignored his comment, sounding quite cross. "If you are, I swear-"

"Don't be like that, I just wanted to find out where you were running to so often, these days." He checked me out with cold eyes, and I felt a thrill go down my spine. "Or should I say who, instead?"

Tired of being ignored, I thrust my right hand forward in greeting. "Taylor," I introduced myself, and after taking a moment to eye my stretched out hand he took it and responded in kind.

"Alec."

My dad had once told me that handshakes were a good way to get a measure of a man, and if so it seemed like Alec was of dubious character. Was that his full name, anyways? I'd thought it short-hand for something, like Alexander maybe. Apparently not. And what was with his accent anyways? Clearly not a local.

"Alec, if I wanted to bring you along I would've told you so."

Aisha still sounded put out.

"Sure, but this was about what I wanted."

That earned him a punch to the shoulder, which made him laugh. Aisha joined in on it after a moment. Yeah, they were clearly pretty good friends, despite whatever misgivings Aisha held.

"Anyways, I did just want to check in. I'll stop taking up your time now. Have fun you two."

He ambled away at that, whistling a tune to himself. As we turned to do the same Aisha managed to trip over her own feet. Thankfully my arm shot out and steadied her in time, before she could land flat on her face, and I got to listen to some colorful expletives as she recovered her footing. For some reason she decided to cast a dark glance back towards Alec, as if it had been his fault somehow, before we continued along.

"You haven't told me about any of your friends," I probed.

"Neither have you," she shot back, irritated. I felt my stomach clench at what had probably been an unintentional blow.

"Fair enough."

My reply came out somewhat strangled, which she must've noticed as she gave me a side-eye. I did my best not to show the hurt on my face, but the conversation that had flowed fairly smoothly before died out, and our walk proceeded in silence. I found myself looking forward to the greasy, unhealthy food that we'd get at Fugly Bob's. If nothing else, it would be a nice way to reset whatever the hell had happened, so suddenly.

…

The food turned out better than expected, and when me and Aisha parted ways it was with good cheer and a promise to do this again, sometime. Something to look forward to, even if she would try to make me buy trashy clothing, like she'd promised.

 

[SoftRogue]

So, let me see if I got the set up right...

Ashia/Imp (a member of the small time gang, the Undersiders) moved into the same building as Taylor and, in the process of letting her ADHD run wild whole checking out all she could learn about her new neighbors, ended up sorta-kinda befriending Taylor...probably because once she learned Taylor was PRT and assigned to the Undersiders, Ashia was going to try to one up Lisa about her "own sourse in tbe PRT".

But, like i said, Ashia actually sorta low-key likes Taylor (for some reason) and now we got a set up for Ashia/Taylor where Taylor isin charge of taking down the Undersiders and their backer...and Ashia both helping and hindering her as she feels like it.

 

[punster lv1]

So, let me see if I got the set up right...

Click to shrink...

I don't know about Aisha living in the same appartement building but I'm pretty sure they met when Taylor rescued (or maybe 'rescued') her from the nazi goons from the first chapter.

 

[Adronio]

I don't know about Aisha living in the same appartement building but I'm pretty sure they met when Taylor rescued (or maybe 'rescued') her from the nazi goons from the first chapter.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, pretty much got it right. Lukas, the guy with the knife who got stabbed in the throat in chapter 1 accosted Aisha, and Taylor intervened, which is the inciting incident of the story.

So, let me see if I got the set up right...

Click to shrink...

Aisha lives with Brian or alternatively hangs around the Undersider's hideout, and how much Aisha knows about Taylor other than that she works for the PRT is up in the air. Otherwise I'd say you got the vibe correctly.

 

[ptbptb]

"Neither have you," she shot back, irritated.

Click to shrink...

Taylor: Jokes on you. I don't have any friends.

Anyway, Dead Danny or just Living elsewhere and too dang busy/depressed Danny?