[x] The Legacy
Wakefulness somehow manages to hit you even harder than the truck.
Terror surges through you, instinctual panic, and you jerk up in your bed as your eyes dart from one corner of the room to other. Still half asleep, you are caught in a moment of breathless anticipation that seems as though it will stretch on forever. You teeter on the edge of a skyscraper, one foot danging over the abyss, steeling yourself for the plunge.
It does not come. It takes several long seconds for your heart rate to slow, for your mind to settle enough to form complete and coherent thoughts. You exhale a long, shaky breath and lay back into your pillow – but only for a moment. There's work to be done.
You're still tender from the beating you received last night, your skin a mottled black and blue from essentially the waist up. The gash across your shoulder is stitched though, which means one of the nurses must've gotten to it after you passed out. From the way the stitches waver at the edge you would guess Nora – she always takes a moment to find her rhythm.
Moving is an agony, but one you are intimately familiar with. You compartmentalize the pain, put it away in a box, and set yourself down on a mat on the floor. "Computer, news briefing. World news."
The speaker mounted on your bedside table alights when it recognizes your voice. "Fighting in north Africa intensifies as peace talks stall," it says as you begin your stretches. "Nine French marines were killed while engaging the Soviet meta-soldier Bogatyr."
You let the robotic voice wash over you as you work the kinks from your muscles as best you can. That truck really did a number on you, but there's nobody to blame for that but yourself. You had been so sure that the last robber had been unconscious – perhaps a meta-power that allowed for quick recovery? You resolve to check the NYPD databases over breakfast.
"Empress Yukihiko speaks out against Free World activity in the south China Sea and meets with Warsaw Pact diplomats," the computer continues. "The Cavalry defends its presence in the region, and calls on the Empress to take a firmer hand in controlling kick smuggling across Japanese waters."
Your chest twinges and you begin to change positions – but then you grit your teeth and resume the stretch for the full count of twenty. "Computer, local news."
"Soviet meta-soldier Vinda became the ninth known speedster to break the sound barrier when-"
"Computer, local news," you say again, louder.
"Adam Apex defends his controversial tweet storm in which he accused the Cavalry Intelligence Arm of funding the collapse of San Vicente-"
You sigh quietly. "Computer, filter term "Adam Apex" from all news briefings."
The speaker pauses for only a moment before resuming its steady patter. "Authorities have located another secret bunker occupied by meta-criminal Doc Cadmus prior to his death. Its location remains undisclosed while the risk of latent weapons or viruses is assessed."
You force yourself to endure the full thirty minutes of stretching, working each area of your body thoroughly. If you have any hope of going out again tonight, you'll need every moment of it, not to mention enough luck to avoid running into Thomas. As Blackbird, he knows exactly how punishing the masked life could be on the non-meta body – but as Blackbird, he ought to know that it just isn't in you to take a night off.
"Another riot consumed the New York City industrial quarter, resulting in millions of dollars in property damage. Mayor Donahue is publicly considering a curfew until the incidents can be contained."
You end the briefing with a curt command and head down to the kitchen – forcing yourself ignore the beckoning elevator in favor of the stairs. The movement helps get your blood pumping, easing the pain in the everywhere, and by the time you polish off a breakfast big enough for an entire football team, you feel almost human.
The painkillers probably don't hurt. You clear your place and look out the window just in time to see the sun vanish over the horizon.
There's work to be done.
The aerie is desolate when you reach it, a fact as surprising as it is infuriating. The other four – contestants is the best word, you suppose, though it sets your teeth on edge – are rarely suited up and out the door before you are, but you got a late start considering last night. You can see that their lockers are empty, and it looks like Charlotte's is still ajar, which is only typical. You push it closed and turn to the table in the center of the room, which projects a slowly rotating holographic map of the city into the air above it.
"Augur, can I get a sit-rep?" You ask. Normally you like to catch yourself up to speed, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "Augur?"
Nothing. You roll your eyes.
[] Cardinal, reporting in.
[] Canary, reporting in.
[] Wren, reporting in.
[] Gull, reporting in.
"Good evening," says a voice from the table speakers, sounding pleased as punch with itself. "I'm surprised to see you up and about."
"Crime never sleeps, Augur," you say, pressing your palm to the biometric scanner that controls access to your locker. It pops open, and you busy yourself suiting up. "And I definitely can't afford to. Got anything good for me?"
"I have one, very specific thing for you," Augur says. The map of the city is overlaid by various markings and photos, and you stop what you're doing as your stomach drops. "No. Come on, no. Please."
"This is the assignment," Augur says, not sounding particularly moved.
"Augur, I don't have time for this," you protest. "Isn't it enough that I have to compete with them? Now I have to hold their hands too?"
To your surprise, there is real heat in Augur's voice when she speaks next. "Don't be childish. You shouldn't be thinking of them as your competitors. You're all on the same team." You look away from where you know the cameras are placed to hide the red creeping up your neck, but she must've seen anyway because she immediately softens. "Blackbird asked me to have you handle this personally," she says. "He's knows that you'll get the job done here."
"Right. Of course." You take a moment to compose yourself. "I'm on it. Just let me get dressed and point the way."
[] Isaiah
The youngest of your group at only fourteen, Isaiah made his name as a vigilante before being scouted by one of the Family's more senior members. He's a good kid, if a little excitable, but he went radio silent in the industrial quarter and Augur is concerned.
[] Kennedy
Of all your competitors, you've known Kennedy the longest. She's the daughter of Solitaire, a member of the Family who never saw much success, and the two of you knew each other from Family events even before the hunt for the new Oriole began. She's requested backup on the upper east side – and Kennedy never asks for backup.
[] Charlotte
You know very little about Charlotte, but from what you've seen she's either a bet or a charity case. Not that she isn't good at what she does, but she's headstrong and brash and has very little respect for the Family's traditions. She's been sitting in jail since last night, and needs someone to bail her out.
[] Veronica
A complete mystery. Though Veronica's been moved in for a few months now, you don't think you've exchanged more than a few words with her – and even more unusual, her personnel file is so clearly forged that Blackbird must be in on the scheme. You haven't had the chance (or maybe the guts) to confront him about it yet. Veronica needs a native's knowledge of the city to continue her investigation.
[NOTE: This is a Schrodinger's cat choice, so only the problem you choose here will actually exist. You're not accidentally fucking over one character by choosing another.]
