Red - 10

<-Previous
~*~
It was shortly after we finished talking about ways to stop Voodoo Jones' spell that Red edged her way closer to me and dropped her voice to a whisper.

"I wish to ask you about the Skull," she said.

Jesus Christ. What was I, Clark Kent? Was she seriously falling for this whole 'I-Just-Work-For-Her' line? "Uh, sure," I said.

"What is she like?"

The question threw me off. "What do you mean?"

"I do not wish to pry, but--is she young, like me?"

I stared at her.

"It is just, ah--I have not told you everything that I have seen in the future," she admitted, and then she blushed.

"You mean there's something else that happens that isn't in those paintings?"

"Yes," she said. "One other. I did not paint it. It was--ah, embarrassing." The blush intensified. I felt an odd tug in my stomach at the sight of it; her cheeks turned a particularly dark shade of apple red.

"What?" I asked.

"I could not see her face, but it was clear from the vision that the Skull was--ah, she kissed me," she said, and then she turned her face down to the table.

Now I really stared.

"Are you... serious?" I asked.

"Of course!" she said, her tone quick and defensive. "I would not lie about something like this."

I folded my arms on the table and leaned in toward her, narrowing my eyes. "Like--what are we talking about here? On a scale of one to ten--with one being a chaste little peck, and ten being, uh..." I trailed off, unsure of where I was going.

"A six," she said, her answer quicker than I expected. "Perhaps a seven."

"Um. Okay," I said. "Well, I mean, you saw what you saw, I guess. I wouldn't worry too much about it, though. Do your visions always come true?"

"Yes, although the manner in which they do so is not always clear," she said, and then she looked to me. "Oh--I am sorry," she said. "It had not even occurred to me--"

"Huh?"

"You are not in a relationship with her, are you? The Skull? If so, please--I beg your forgiveness! The thought had not even occurred to me. But you should know, I bear no intentions toward this person--I do not even know her. So--"

I lifted my hands up in front of me as if to ward off a blow. This was getting incredibly weird. "Whoa. I mean, no. I am not in a relationship with the Skull," I said. "I mean, I am, but a purely professional one." That probably could have come out better.

"I see," she replied, and there was a funny look in her eyes.

A boy from the hall popped his head in. I recognized him immediately--the same boy who had directed Bonesaw into the alley after Red. "Red?" he said. "There's a big white car right out front."

"That'd be the backup," I said, getting up to my feet--thankful for the reprieve. "Gotta help him unload the gear."

~*~

Sumerset met me outside of the building next to the refurbished Tank. Various teenagers were watching him suspiciously, peering around corners and out windows--none of them dared to venture past the graffiti and wards that had been layered around the building's circumference.

"They know who you are?" he asked.

"No," I said, before I added: "One of them, Red. She's kind of weird, but cool. Uh--she's got some sort of magic thing going on."

Sumerset wrinkled his nose with disapproval. "Yeah, I should have figured magic would be involved in this."

"That a problem?"

"Magic's trouble. Always trouble," he said, and then he popped the trunk. He reached inside, removing an immense metal suitcase; somehow, he managed to lift it up without much difficulty. I noticed there was a curious hum around him.

"You're wearing an exo-skeleton?" I asked as he passed the suitcase to me.

"Yeah. Wasn't any other way to pack the car this quick," he said. "Pretend you're having a lot of trouble with the suitcase."

As I made a show of struggling to lift its weight, I noticed him pulling several more out from the backseat. "Jesus. How many did you bring?"

"A lot," he said, and then he grinned. "Brought a few extras, too. Including the spare Battle Suit--I've done some work on it."

I gave him a look. "You're letting me out with the Battle Suit?"

"Figure it's as good of a time as any," he said. "And this time, you ain't going in alone."

"Oh? Who else is coming?" I asked as I threw up an eyebrow.

He hefted two of the immense suitcases up, plopping them down on his metal-encased shoulders with a dull clank. "Me."

~*~
Next->

Red - 9

<-Previous
~*~
My name is Daniel Sumerset, and I am precisely 73 years too old for this Mickey Mouse horse-shit.

Communication went out with Daysdale approximately thirty minutes ago. In that time, I have put on my best suit, loaded the refurbished 'Tank' (her term, not mine) with enough equipment to wage World War III on the Stix, and ran through at least six red lights. During this, I have continually attempted to re-establish contact with Daysdale.

It's just as I'm entering the Stix that my communicator goes out. It figures--enough hardware in this car to fund a one-man incursion into North Korea and I forget to grab a goddamn 3 dollar pack of Double A batteries.

I park the car outside a convenience store on the edge of the Stix and go in. It's a bad sort of neighborhood, but I'm a bad sort of man. Besides--I need the fucking batteries.

Jackass behind the counter charges a fiver. I think it's bullshit and tell him so. He just gives me an awkward smile.

When I come out, I find three punks leaning on my car.

When they look at me, I know what they see. Old man. Grouchy, but with a noticeable limp. Dressed well--probably has a fat wallet. Easy money.

They don't see the scars, of course. Or the tattoos. None of them ever do.

"Nice wheels, old man," one of them says with a big shit-eating grin.

"I know," I tell him. "Get off it."

"1981 Fifth Avenue, right?" he says. "R-body. Rare as a hen's balls."

Well, at least the fucker knows his vehicles.

"Yeah," I tell him, and for a moment I think maybe this won't get nasty. Maybe he actually is just admiring it. "Only produced a few of 'em. I've modded this one a bit, though."

"You mind if we take it for a spin?" His grin gets bigger.

So much for that.

"I've got business, boys," I tell them, sliding the batteries into my pocket. I've got on my big coat; it drapes down over me like a blanket. Makes my shoulders look bulkier--makes me look bigger. But the three of them still don't see that. Punks like them never do.

"You're funny, gramps," one of the other punks pipes up. "Tell you what. We'll take this thing off your hands--won't even charge you for it."

I steady myself. "You boys are out pretty late. Ain't it a school night?"

The one with the big grin shuffles forward. He's got a wide, awkward gait--the sort of cock-strut people use when they've got something to prove. His hand is in his pocket, and by the way his wrist moves, I figure he's got a knife. "You sure got a smart mouth on you, old man."

"I got other things too," I tell him, and then I follow it up: "Just walk away, son. This ain't a fight you want to have."

"The fuck you gonna do? Make me catch a terminal case of old?" There's a flash of metal--he pulls steel. Knife pointed at my chest. "We got youth, balls, and knives. The hell you got?"

"Age. Experience." Beneath my coat, something whirs. The servo hums with life; pneumatics give a soft hiss. "And a powered exoskeleton that can punch through brick."

He moves in with the knife, but he's not nearly fast enough. I've slipped my hand through the metal bracer hidden beneath my sleeve--the engine purrs as my palm swats his arm aside. The powered bracers along my biceps and legs do the rest of the work--I grab him, pull him up into the air, and hurl him clear across the street.

He lands in a pile of garbage cans with a loud and obnoxious bang. By the looks of it, he'll live.

Before Vietnam, I wouldn't have risked breaking his neck like that. Then again, before Daysdale, I probably would have just crushed his skull with a punch.

Dumb kid is rubbing off on me.

"Holy shit," one of the punks say, and the remaining two start to scatter. I grab one of them by the collar before he gets away--drag him up and give him a good shake.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," he starts, spluttering like a baby. "Don't kill m--"

"Shut the fuck up," I tell him. "Ain't gonna waste the voltage it'd take to snap your neck. Go tell your friends--capes are in Stix. Tell them to stay low for a few days. We got business here, but if you stay out of our way, it ain't got to concern you. Spread the word."

Then I throw him. Right at his friend, who is just starting to get up.

I try not to take too much satisfaction from the crunching sound they make as they meet.

The suit's not much--it doesn't work as armor. Just a series of bars and bracers that reinforce preexisting structure--makes it easier to walk, easier to punch. Older model, but reliable. Originally designed to help old people get around easier. I've modded it--juiced the power up and reinforced it.

I get back into my car and tear the batteries out of the package. Then I plug them into the communicator. It clicks on; instantly, I hear a crackle followed by Daysdale's voice.

"Okay," she says over the line. "So we stop him from doing that."

"How?" I hear another voice say.

"Here, starling," I tell her.

"Thank God," she says. "I thought this thing was busted."

"It is. Range on it has gone to shit. You're only hearing me now because I'm on my way there."

"Good. I think this is way more serious than I initially thought. I might need back-up," she says. "Call in Epoch, maybe, or--"

"No can do," I tell her. They were out--dealing with an incident in the Dresden Center. Something about a mercenary attack. "Epoch's busy with their own problems. For now, this is going to have to be our show."

"Okay," she says, and then she starts talking to someone else.

I turn the car on and pull up her location on the GPS.

It's time to get back to work.

~*~
Next->

Red - 8

<-Previous
~*~
"You let her what?"

Bonesaw lowered her head in supplication. "She grabbed ahold of Red before any of us could react. And then Red flew off with her, lightning everywhere--"

Voodoo Jones spoke a word. The sheer weight of its hate came crashing down atop of Bonesaw, flattening her to the floor. The tiles beneath her started to crack--even with her reinforced bone structure, she could feel her arms and legs trembling beneath the force.

Voodoo Jones released the spell. Bonesaw awkwardly rose to her knees, her breath coming out in heavy, thick rasps.

"I... apologize," Voodoo Jones said. "This situation has caused me much grief. But to lash out at you--one of my own children--do you forgive me, Bonesaw?" He cupped her jaw, angling her head back until she faced him.

Bonesaw shivered, then nodded. "I--yes, sir. Of course."

"Such an understanding, forgiving child," Voodoo Jones said, releasing Bonesaw's chin. He sat back in his throne. "I have been blessed with scores of forgiving children. Except, of course, for Red." He sighed. "She has fragmented my family, Bonesaw."

"She was never one of us," Bonesaw said, her own voice thick with buried rage.

"Of course she is," Voodoo Jones said, and then he smiled. "All the people of the Stix are my children."

"She's not a freak, like us," Bonesaw said. "Doesn't even belong here--"

"Hm." Voodoo Jones' smile grew. "An excellent point, actually."

"...sir?"

"She is a castaway--thrown aside by her parents. Just like you, Bonesaw, and so many others who occupy the Stix. But why?" Voodoo Jones said. "Why would they throw her aside? Perhaps, in finding the answer, I may find what it is she needs... how I can bring her back into my fold."

"What should I do about Bruiser?" Bonesaw asked. "We could attack the Complex--try to get her out--"

"Frontal assaults are useless. Red's magic is too powerful," Voodoo Jones said. "No, I have something far more interesting in mind." He gestured; the shadows about him grew darker and longer. A tendril of darkness slithered out from beneath his throne and snaked around a box behind him. Inside of it was a bundle of dark, black curls. "I have a task for you."

Bonesaw rose to stand. "What is it, sir?"

"Some of Red's hair. Her protections are too vast and clever for me to use it directly against her," Voodoo Jones said, "but you have inspired in me another plan. I shall use it to forge a spell that will allow you to find her parents."

"...me?"

"Yes," Voodoo Jones said. "You will venture out of the Stix and track them down--and then you will discover precisely why she was cast aside."

"I--I don't know," Bonesaw said, stepping back. "I don't like leaving the Stix--people out there--my scars--"

"Shh," he said, and then he reached forward to touch her chin. "I know. But I need you to do this thing for me. Can you, my child? Will you?"

Bonesaw averted her eyes. "I--yes, sir. I will."

~*~

"So what happened to them? The kids that he couldn't find a use for," I said. "You kind of hinted at it, but..."

"He has woven a spell through the Stix that draws runaways and throwaways to him," she said. "They gravitate to this place, where he finds them, measures their worth, and then..."

"And then?"

"Those who he finds not worth his time are forgotten," she said, looking away.

"'Forgotten'?" I asked. "That--look. Gina hasn't been forgotten. I remember her. People are still looking for her."

"He likely performed the ritual only recently. In time, she will be forgotten. It starts slowly--friends and family begin to forget her face. Her photographs are lost. In time, her name becomes difficult to recall--paperwork that proved her existence disappears in a bureaucratic shuffle. And eventually... there is no evidence that any of them existed at all."

"Jesus," I said. "Why?"

"One of the spirits Voodoo Jones serves is the Gray," she said. "A vast and terrible creature of forgotten lore. He guards forbidden knowledge, lost secrets--he knows that which no one else knows. Every bit of knowledge he consumes is knowledge that disappears from the earth. In exchange for this nourishment, he grants his followers power."

"And Jones wants to give him the Stix?"

"Yes. The Stix already is a place people are likely to forget. Divination magic works poorly, here--people do not wish to acknowledge it exists. They wish to forget it. All Voodoo Jones must do is somehow isolate it, encircle it, and then..."

"Okay. So we stop him from doing that," I said.

"How?" she asked.

That's when I heard the crackle in my ear. A welcome voice hummed.

"Here, starling," Sumerset said.

I pressed my finger against the transmitter. "Thank God. I thought this thing was busted."

"It is. Range on it has gone to shit. You're only hearing me now because I'm on my way there," he said.

"Good. I think this is way more serious than I initially thought. I might need back-up," I told him. "Call in Epoch, maybe, or--"

"No can do. Epoch's busy with their own problems," Sumerset said. "For now, this is going to have to be our show."

"Okay," I said, and then I looked to Red--who was staring at me with puzzlement.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked.

"Backup," I replied. "Let's talk about ways to screw up this spell of his."

~*~
Next->

Red - 7

<-Previous
~*~
"What does that even mean? 'Cease to be'?" I said.

"It means precisely what it sounds like. What is your name?" Red asked.

I got to my feet. "Sally. Sally Bruiser."

"Miss Bruiser. You said you are here on the Skull's behalf. To what end?"

"I'm looking for a girl," I said. "Gina McKennith. Disappeared a while back. Following the trail brought me here--to the Stix."

I still couldn't see her eyes, but I could tell something about what I just said troubled her. The way she shifted--the way her lips twisted into a frown. Her mouth was a wet, coral pink cradle; I had to wonder where on earth she found lipstick in a place like this.

"Gina McKennith," she said. "Was this person... important to you?"

"Kind of, yeah. There are other kids, too--a bunch have been disappearing. Do you know where they are...?"

She held out her gauntlet. "Can I trust you, Miss Bruiser?"

I peered at the gauntlet, then at her. "You're asking me if you can trust me."

"...yes?"

"Sure," I said, and then I took the gauntlet.

I felt a soft and pleasant buzz spread through my fingertips; it flowed down my hand and into my arm, through my chest and legs. There was a brief flash of vertigo--a moment where I felt my hips rising up into my stomach--and then I realized that I was floating.

"Uh," I said. "Wow."

"Please come with me," she said, and then we flew.

I had little choice, of course--she pulled me along with her arm. We swept down across the Stix, watching the streets from far above--the sight was dizzying. Something giddy rose up from my stomach; I had to suppress the urge to giggle.

We were floating--no jets, no rocket-packs, no gliders. It was as if gravity had ceased to exist and we were caught in an effortless breeze; we swept over and between buildings, with the hustle and bustle of the streets existing as no more than specks beneath us.

"Do you--like, do you do this all the time?" I asked.

"Not since Voodoo Jones has acquired several guns to fire at me with when I fly," she said. "But I think we will be safe for now--so long as we move swiftly and do not wander too high."

We came to a six story building that was nestled near the north-end of the Stix. I could see the bottom half of it was barricaded and covered with graffiti--some of it strangely geometric, connecting together to form a ring of patterns around the entire building's circumference. We landed on the roof, where a door lead downstairs.

"Okay," I said as my feet touched ground--momentarily reluctant to let the dizzying sensation of weightlessness go. "So, are you going to tell me what's going on, or--"

"Voodoo Jones is selling lost children to a spirit that feeds on the forgotten," Red said. "He is using them as currency to purchase more power. And I believe he intends to do the same to the entire Stix."

I stared at her.

"Ah," she said. "Yes. I apologize; I sometimes forget it is better to start at the beginning rather than the end. Please come with me."

~*~

"I have been locked in a campaign against Voodoo Jones for some time now," she told me.

"Why?" I asked as I followed Red into the belly of the building. It had once been an apartment complex; the walls and floors were a sight better than Voodoo Jones' place, but it still looked like it lacked the basic amenities. I could see kids and teenagers watching me around the corners with barely cloaked suspicion. Some looked like powers--others looked relatively normal. "I mean, I get that Voodoo Jones is a bad dude, but why are you involved?"

"I arrived here six months ago, shortly after I was thrown out by my parents," she said. "Some of the people here took me in--helped me. When Voodoo Jones moved in, they were among the first people he 'dealt' with."

I shifted awkwardly mid-step. "...why not call the police?"

"The police are unconcerned with the state of the Stix or politics between what they perceive as street gangs," she said, and there was a bitter edge to her voice. "Voodoo Jones actively recruits the disenfranchized--those who are useful to him, he puts to work. Those who are not--"

"He sacrifices to a demon?"

"Not quite."

We had reached the end of the hall at what I assumed was Red's room. Inside was a bed, a shelf full of books, and paintings.

The paintings numbered three in total--oil-based, they looked like the sort of thing you'd expect a highschool art class to produce. One showed the Stix burning from above--the other was an image of an enormous horned demon locked in battle against a knight in shining armor amidst a raging inferno. And the third was an image of the Skull--black save for the helmet--descending from the top of a building and reaching for a falling girl in a red hood.

"What--what the hell are these things?" I asked.

"Visions of the future." She shuffled awkwardly back, then reached to pull down her hood. She was pretty--dark skin and tight charcoal curls as thick as a thumb. Molten gold eyes and short, stubby eyebrows. "I saw, each in turn, through dreams--that the Stix would burn, a knight clad in vestments of steel would face a duke of Hell--and the Skull would save my life."

Well.

No pressure.

~*~
Next->

Red - 6

<-Previous
~*~
The Skull.

Huh.

"What are you babbling about?" Bonesaw said, smoke swirling up from her. She dragged herself up to her feet, the burn marks on her throat and neck rapidly fading--I noticed that Red's lightning had hit her far harder than MeatFreak or me. Probably figured that Bonesaw could take it. "Skull ain't here. Deal with me."

She flexed her fist. There was a sharp crack, followed by a hiss; slender needles of bone fired out of her knuckles.

Red had already lifted her gauntlet. The bone-needles popped in mid-air as lightning snarled through them, burning them down to ash and cinder.

The kids around us were moving in. Some of them had bats; others had hammers, sticks, and rocks. I kept low, still faking my injury. MeatFreak got to her feet--and then her muscle-tissue started to tighten and bulge.

She growled and charged straight into the crowd.

Guess that was my cue.

"Leave Bonesaw to me," Red said to the crowd. "She is too dangerous for anyone else to--"

"First sensible thing you've said all fucking month," Bonesaw replied, kicking herself off the wall and hurling herself up at Red. I had to admit--the girl could get some serious air. Her hands extended into barbed claws, her red eyes darkening. Red flew back, lightning rolling up and down her fingertips as she clenched her leather-clad fist.

Some of the kids were coming for me, now. I cracked my shoulders, stood up, and assumed the position.

Sumerset had shown me how to fight, but a month or two worth of training didn't make me a pro. I knew some takedowns, how to throw a punch, where to apply my strength--but I wasn't sure I could take on a crowd of six or seven kids at once. And by the looks of them--claws, glowing eyes, burning hair--some of them were powers, too.

Didn't mean I couldn't make them work for the effort, though.

I threw the first punch, sending a kid with fire for hair hurtling to the ground. A stick connected with my back, hard--I arched, grimaced, and used the momentum to head-butt another kid in the stomach. After that, it was a free-for-all--flailing arms and sticks, screaming faces, and my clenched fists.

With a throaty roar, I shoved my arms forward and threw three kids off me and into the far wall.

MeatFreak wasn't faring much better. She'd managed to get her back to a dumpster and was holding off a few kids with bats and sticks who had cornered her; occasionally she got a punch off, and more than once I heard a crack followed by a yowl--but it was clear she was making her way to the alley's exit.

Bonesaw, meanwhile, had eyes for no one but Red. Lightning ripped across the rooftops as they fought; Bonesaw was scarcely a match for the girl, but what she lacked in power she made up in sheer dogged persistence. Every so often, her smoking body would plummet down from above and slam into the asphalt--only to stand back up with a snarl and hurl herself at Red.

This was getting ridiculous. It was only a matter of time before they wore us down. And I needed answers.

Two more kids hefted up their makeshift weapons and approached. I charged straight through them and stiff-armed them to the ground; they cried out as they hit the dirt. I kicked my feet and flew up the side of one building, running for three steps up the wall before springing off and leaping straight for Red.

Surprised the hell out of her when I tackled her in mid-air from behind.

I felt something soft and tingling. In an instant, she was awash in electricity--it swept through me like fire, burning through my veins and muscle. I refused to let go--but rather than descend, she soared.

"Release me!" she said, and the lightning intensified. I could tell she was testing me--trying to figure out where my limits were. She clearly didn't want to fry me to death--but as my hold grew more persistent, her power grew more reckless.

I realized this was going to end one of two ways: Either she was going to electrocute me to death or I was going to squeeze so hard that I'd snap her ribcage.

I brought my mouth as close to her ear as I could, and whispered above the growl of energy: "I'm the Skull. Take us down."

We plummeted like a rock.

"Retreat!" she cried, her voice carrying over the teens in the alleyway. At once, they scattered--and MeatFreak followed suit. I could see Bonesaw staring up at us with impotent rage, unable to reach us--meanwhile, Red swept over the rooftops of nearby buildings, struggling to keep aloft.

When we hit, it wasn't with any particular care or grace. We rolled across some tiles before I let go of her; I dropped flat on my back, wheezing as wisps of soot rolled up off my arms and chest. My jacket had melted to my skin--I could feel blisters covering my entire torso.

Slowly but steadily, the blisters were receding--but it still hurt like hell.

"Know this," Red said as she struggled up to her feet. "If you are attempting deception, I will--"

"Shut up," I groaned. "Just, shut up, okay? This really, really hurts, and I need a moment."

She became quiet. She watched intently as my wounds healed, her glove pointed squarely at me. On occasion, a tiny arc of energy would roll between the knuckles of her gauntlet.

After about a minute, the pain had receded enough for me to sit up. "Okay," I said. "That really frigging hurt."

"You said that you are--"

"I lied to get you to land. But I know the Skull," I said, holding up my hands defensively. "I'm here on her behalf." She wouldn't buy that. Not in a million zillion years. But I had to give it a try, right?

She lowered the gauntlet. Somehow, her hood had remained up during the whole mid-air wrestle; it obscured her eyes and most of her face, making it hard to see what she was thinking.

"You said you are here on her behalf?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"Then you can bring her here."

Holy crap. She was buying this. "Yeah," I said. "I mean, sure. I'm here looking for somebody, but if things are getting serious, I can definitely call her in."

It occurred to me then that Sumerset had been rather uncharacteristically quiet--I touched the transmitter in my ear. I could hear the distant hum of static--had Red's lightning disabled it?

"Things are indeed 'getting serious'," Red said. "And I require the Skull's aid."

"Why?"

She gestured to the cityline. "I have reason to believe that within two days' time, the Stix will cease to be."

~*~
Next->

Red - 5

<-Previous
~*~
It wasn't long till Voodoo Jones put me to work.

I woke up to the soothing sound of someone hammering on my door; Bonesaw was waiting for me with a sullen glare and a bag of cheesy chips. She threw the bag to me as I stumbled out of the room; I caught it with one hand and blinked at it groggily.

"Wake up, princess. Breakfast of champions," she said, and then: "I'm showing you the ropes."

We walked through the hotel. It smelled of stale cigarettes and washed out insulation; the walls were black with old soot and damp with rain-water. The beds were cracked and broken, there were holes in the ceiling above us, and kids in sleeping bags were strewn everywhere across the floor. As we walked, one of the kids I had seen last night on the platform joined us with a grocery sack.

The one who looked like she had no skin--her wet muscle left visible and twitching. She was dressed in a loose jacket and jeans, and apparently only answered to the name 'MeatFreak'.

"What's with the names?" I said. "What's wrong with your old ones?"

"You wouldn't understand," Bonesaw said. "You're pretty. Ain't a monster. Out there, that plays in your favor. Down in the Stix? It's the monsters who rule."

I found myself staring at the network of scars that covered her; I wondered when she first started getting them, or how long it took for her to start wearing them with pride.

"Kids these days," Sumerset said through the transmitter in my ear.

"So why Voodoo Jones?" I asked as I tore open the bag of cheesy bits Bonesaw had thrown me.

"Why do you want to work for him?" Bonesaw said, and I caught something accusing in her tone.

"Heard he was the biggest and the baddest," I said between bites.

"He is. But I don't work for him just 'cuz of that," Bonesaw said, and she turned away.

"He took us in," MeatFreak said. "You know, if you look like this--but you can't level buildings with eyebeams or light people on fire with your mind--"

"We got work," Bonesaw cut her off. "Let's get to it."

We stepped out onto the street. I noticed that the people who caught sight of us--the people who saw Bonesaw, or MeatFreak--were quick to move out of our way. I kept a brisk pace behind them, dusting my fingers of the flavored powder and following as they moved through the morning ritual.

We hit several stores; the owners ranged from those who were pleased to see Bonesaw there to those who were marginally terrified. All of them talked briefly with Bonesaw, then handed over some of their wares to MeatFreak, who loaded them up in the grocery sack. After the fifth stop, I asked Bonesaw what was going on.

"What do you think is going on, princess? People paying their dues to Voodoo Jones. For keeping the Stix safe and organized."

"With snacks and sugar-drinks?" I asked.

Bonesaw rolled her eyes. She reached into the sack that MeatFreak had, taking out one of the six-packs of generic cola and wedged the cans apart. A small yellow envelope was taped between them. When she tore it open, I could see what looked like several crisp bills inside.

"Extortion?" I said.

"Not like capes or police'll keep this neighborhood safe," Bonesaw said, and then she grinned. "Somebody's gotta fight crime, right?"

The next storefront we hit was a liquor store; the owner--a burly looking man with dark skin and a bushy mustache--didn't have all of that week's payment.

Bonesaw didn't say a thing. Instead, several serrated blades just sprouted out of her knuckles.

The store-owner nearly stumbled over his stock as he dove into the office. A few minutes later and he gave Bonesaw an envelope near-bursting with Voodoo Jones' money.

When we stepped out, Bonesaw and MeatFreak were grinning ear-to-ear.

"You see that poor bugger's face?" MeatFreak said.

"Looked like he was about to shit his pants," Bonesaw said. She grabbed the back of one of the boney potrusions that had sprouted out of her knuckle, giving it a twist. It made a slow crackling noise as she drew it out of the flesh. She grimaced, throwing the dried husk to the ground. The open wound on the back of her hand bled a little, but quickly sealed up--leaving a puckered mark in its wake.

"Does that hurt?" I asked her.

"Fuck off, princess," she said.

"I just--"

"Hey!" A kid up ahead was waving us down, running toward us. He didn't look like one of Voodoo Jones' crew--by which I mean he looked relatively normal. A little dirty, but normal. "Hey! Hey, Bonesaw! It's her--it's Red!"

The whole mood shifted. At once, Bonesaw was sprouting all sorts of extensions--crawling over her face, her knuckles, sprouting out of her clothes. She glared at the kid, who stopped mid-run--and then, with a low growl, she spoke.

"Where."

"D-down on Copper street," he said, backing off.

The bones crackled, growing larger. Serrated barbs laced every inch of them--her jacket was starting to rip and twist as a set of blades extended out of her shoulders.

"Jesus," I whispered, stepping back. MeatFreak stepped back with me--I felt her arm on my shoulder.

"Just stay out of her way," she said.

Bonesaw sprang in the direction that the kid pointed in--she leapt forward, her boney portrusions scraping across asphalt and stone. I followed, with MeatFreak somewhere behind.

"Who the hell is Red?" I yelled.

"She leads another gang," MeatFreak shouted behind me. "Call themselves the 'Hoods'."

"She thinks she's a freak like us," Bonesaw said, her voice a snarl. "Fucking bitch doesn't even know the meaning of the word. When I get ahold of her, I'll show her what it fucking means to look like a freak. I'll carve her up till--"

We came around the alley into the center-square. Lightning ripped through the brisk morning air, slamming straight into Bonesaw's chest--it sent her soaring into a far wall, smashing against concrete and opening a smoldering hole in her jacket.

Another bolt lashed out like a whip and caught MeatFreak and me, throwing us both to our knees. MeatFreak groaned; I felt my muscles clench beneath the crackle and heat. I'd taken enough hits from Scourge's Crimson Claw to know what to expect; this wasn't nearly as intense. I could already feel my body recovering--but I kept down, faking injury.

"Bonesaw. MeatFreak," a voice said. "And a new member. But I am not here for any of you."

"What's going on?" Sumerset said. "Getting interference--some sort of static. Lightning?"

"Yeah," I whispered, and I lifted my head to watch the girl who had just laid all three of us low.

I could see right away why Bonesaw hated her; she was beautiful--a hovering apparition of red and black. She floated above us as if caught in a warm, upward breeze; she was clad in a red hood that obscured her eyes and flowed naturally into a dress. Her left hand was engulfed in a studded leather gauntlet, with its claw-like nails dipped in metal--as I watched, coils of lightning crawled their way through her fingers and up her arm.

It was then and only then that I realized we were surrounded--other kids were crawling out from behind the dumpsters and out from the windows. It was an ambush, and we were in the center.

When she spoke next, her voice was clear and penetrating--and her words raised the hackles on my neck.

"Tell me: Where is the Skull?"

~*~
Next->

Red - 4

<-Previous
~*~
"Introducing the new girl... versus--BOOONE-SAAAW!"

Didn't like the sound of that.

Also didn't like the sound of my head cracking against iron bars, or the feel of a blade-laced fist against my chest, but what are you going to do?

The attacker hit me fast and hard. Edges bit through flesh as my skull and back slammed into the cage. Air rushed out of my lungs; it was a struggle just to keep afloat.

Whoever they were, they were hard all over--as if they were armored. Power-suit? Maybe. Scales, or plated flesh? But they felt sharp--like they were covered in porcupine quills.

Adapt, I heard a voice in my head say.

I threw my knee for their stomach. Felt something soft and yielding give beneath it.

They stumbled back, giving me a chance to assess. I shifted my posture and clenched my fists, letting details about my attacker flood into my brain.

Around my height. Blood-red eyes, dark hair, pale skin. Girl by the looks of her--dressed in a jacket and jeans. Gnarled, bone-like portrusions surrounded her face and jaw, each inch of them barbed with wicked points. Her fists were engulfed in the same greyish-white extensions--blades that had sprouted out of her knuckles and fingers.

As I watched, the portrusions grew with a low crackle and creak. They were emerging from her skin--ripping through flesh and muscle. That's when I noticed that every visible inch of her skin was covered in a network of deep scar tissue.

She grimaced, then grinned. A pair of fangs gleamed from inside her mouth.

I touched my chest where she had cut me; the bleeding had already stopped, but I could feel where the puckered flesh would leave a scar.

"Bonesaw, huh," I said, wheezing--acting like I was still significantly hurt. "They call you that on account of you looking so pretty?"

Her grin turned into a snarl. She leapt at me, swinging her bladed fists down for my head.

I stepped back--let her over-extend herself--then slipped to her flank, catching her bone-wrapped wrist in one hand. Hard, sharp barbs cut into my palm as I grabbed it along with her shoulder and swept out her right foot.

She went down with a howl. I kept my hold on her wrist, slammed my foot down into her shoulder, and used it as leverage.

With both hands on her arm, I pulled.

Her shoulder slipped out of its socket.

She shrieked. The crowd roared, rage mixing liberally with excitement; I released her arm and stepped back. Bonesaw struggled to get to her feet, but by the way she was clenching at her right arm, it was clear the fight was over. She hissed and lurched away, getting ready for another charge.

When she did, she favored her left side heavily. I flanked her and grabbed her dislocated shoulder, shoving hard. Again, she shrieked and tumbled to the ground.

"It's over," I told her. The audience continued to cheer and jeer; I heard someone steadily clapping behind me.

"Bonesaw," Voodoo Jones said, his voice cleaving through the sounds of the audience like a battle-axe. "Stand down."

The red-eyed girl snarled and spat, but did as she was told. She limped away from me, throwing back a hateful glare.

I frowned. I didn't enjoy the words I used against her; I didn't enjoy the way I had hurt her. But you did what you had to do to survive. I liked to think that when this was all done, I'd be able to do something for her--for the other people here. But what could I do?

I focused my attention on Voodoo Jones. One of his men was opening the cage; the spectre-like figure who seemed to rule this place stepped forward, holding his hands out to me in a gesture of friendship.

"Wonderful," he said. "We'd be happy to have you, my child. Tell us; what is your name?"

"You can call me Sally," I replied. "Sally Bruiser."

"Welcome to the Stix, Bruiser," Voodoo Jones said. "I think we can find a place for you."

~*~

"I don't like this," Sumerset said. "You're surrounded by a crapload of powers. Class 5s, probably, but Bonesaw sounds like she might be a solid Class 4. If they suspect anything--"

"Then you call down all the fury of Epoch," I cut him off. "They can probably be here in minutes."

We were nestled away in one of the hotel's rooms on the upper floor; all of Voodoo Jones' 'precious children' got their own. There were quite a few of us--apparently Voodoo Jones was building his own street army.

I had spent the last few minutes whispering every last detail of what I had seen so far to Sumerset, who, I noticed, was growing more and more pensive with each word. "You don't even have a lead on finding this girl of yours, yet," he said.

"Gina," I said, and nodded. "I'm going to start asking around tomorrow, I think."

"Just be careful, kid. Remember the safeword."

I remembered. Sumerset had set it up so with just one word, the software he was monitoring this channel with would proceed to set off a myriad of alarms--including a distress signal sent straight to Epoch's number, along with my coordinates.

"I'll be fine, old man. Go to bed," I told him.

"I already napped," he said. "I'll stay on the channel for now. Anything sounds wrong, I'll wake you up."

"You're going to listen to me sleep?" I said. "Creepy."

"Lot less creepy than watching," he said. "Besides, I've got TV down here."

"Tell me if Justifier makes the finals," I said as I yawned and fell back to the bed.

~*~
Next->

Red - 3

<-Previous
~*~
When the smoke cleared and it was made obvious who was in charge, they offered to take me to their boss.

Except, y'know. For real, this time.

"Keep sharp," Sumerset said, but he didn't have to tell me twice. I trusted these guys about as far as I could throw them.

Well, maybe not that much.

I tried not to giggle.

The man I'd smacked down limped to the front and lead the way. His two friends stayed behind me--but I kept an eye on their shadows. We wove through the streets of the Stix, into the network of alleyways and zig-zagging passages.

When we finally arrived, I could hear the dull thrum of voices in the background--that, and a thick, tangy scent that grew heavy on the back of my tongue.

It wouldn't be until later that I'd recognize it as blood.

The building was an ugly thing, just like the rest of them--it had once been a hotel by the looks of it. The windows were boarded up and the front entrance had been barricaded shut. The only way in was through the side, where two wide-bodied thugs kept constant watch.

When they saw the three men and me, nods were exchanged--and they stepped aside.

The interior was dark, but big. Really big--the ceiling above us had been stripped out to make room. There were faces everywhere, along with people shouting and cursing. Right away, I could make out figures that ranged the gambit from human to merely humanoid. Skin, scales, and horns were all present.

"Lots of powers here," I said aloud, over the roar of shouts. More for Sumerset's benefit than anything else.

"How many?" Sumerset asked.

"Must be thirty, forty. Maybe even more," I continued.

"Yeah," one of my guides replied, shouting back. "You'll fit right in, gorgeous."

"I don't like this," Sumerset said.

In the center of the room was a large metal cage--the ground was covered in sand with dark stains. Some of the people up front were pressed against the metal, holding fistfuls of paper.

"Looks like some sort of--fighting ring?" I said.

We were moving past the cage, up to a shoddily made platform where several men and women sat--all of them with some sort of physical aberration. One girl's eyes were pure white, with no pupils or irises--a boy had pink, slithering snake-like worms for hair. Another girl had no visible skin--her body resembled strips of bacon, twitching and spasming with every gesture she made.

At the top of the platform was a fancy mahogany throne with damask cushions; in it sat a man with skin like chalk and eyes like embers. He wore a dusty, battered tophat, and had a black suit dense with grime. His age was indeterminable--but his face had a shallow and hungry look to it. Like he hadn't eaten for weeks.

And when he grinned... His teeth were nightmarish. Little more than rotting slivers with jagged little points. Reminded me of Sharkface, except much worse. At least Sharkface brushed his.

"And what have we here?" he asked as he looked to the men who flanked me.

"Askin' for work," one of the men--the one I had delivered the beating to--replied. "She's a bruiser, boss."

"Is she, now?"

"I am," I said, and then I stepped forward, assuming my best cocky stance. "You want me to prove it?"

"What do you want, lil' girl?" he asked. "Why have you come to Voodoo Jones' court?"

Seriously? 'Voodoo Jones'? His 'court'?

"Looking him up," I heard Sumerset say.

"What's it matter? I'm here," I said. "I want some work. I can punch things. Do you have anything or what?"

Voodoo Jones gestured to the people around him on the platform. I noticed they were all around my age--some were even younger. "Powers come to Voodoo Jones because they've been thrown away, child. But you--you could pass as a normie. Why would you come here?"

"Not getting anything," Sumerset said. "Nobody's heard of him."

"Or is it something else?" Voodoo Jones asked, rising to his feet. As he walked, he gestured for me to follow; we moved toward the base of the platform. "You look normal, but maybe you aren't. Maybe something's wrong with you on the inside."

I walked in his footsteps, keeping my eyes on those around me. Several of them didn't like me--I could feel their stares on the back of my head. Measuring me up.

"Either way, child, Voodoo Jones accepts you," he said. "Prove yourself, and Voodoo Jones will keep you warm--keep you fed--put a roof over your head."

"Does Voodoo Jones always talk about himself in the third person?" I asked.

He laughed, then; it was a terrible sound, full of dust and age. "Silly thing," he said, and then he stepped aside.

Without thinking, I stepped forward. It didn't even occur to me until a moment later that I was stepping into the cage.

"What--huh?" I said, turning around. How had that happened? Had he controlled me, somehow? Or--

The cage door slammed shut with a clank. Voodoo Jones smiled at me through the bars.

"Prove yourself," he said. "Then we'll talk about a job."

I turned back around. On the other side of the cage I could see a figure--someone was being loaded into the entrance.

"What's going on?" Sumerset asked.

"Apparently," I said, glancing to the chalkboard to the right of the cage, "I'm getting 1 out of 10 odds."

"What?"

"I'm in the arena," I said, my voice low. "It's an underground fighting circuit."

The gate on the other side opened.

Something shrieked at me and launched itself forward.

~*~
Next->

Red - 2

<-Previous
~*~
The bus hissed to a halt. I walked to its exit, alone.

The driver gave me a look that I recognized. It said: You're a pretty little girl about to step into a whole lotta trouble. Go home.

I gave him a smile and threw him a look of my own. Its rough translation: I can dodge bullets and throw cars. I think I'll be fine.

Dunno if he got the message. Probably not. I got off and stepped on the streets.

There was Downtown Metro, and then there was Downtown Metro--the part colloquially known as 'The Stix'. Named after Congressman Jerald Stixler--the man who had secured the funds to build it almost within the same breath he used to abandon it. It was six whole city blocks of Mind-Your-Own-Damn-Business, full of dilapidated slums and crumbling infrastructure. Sumerset told me that the police and capes would swoop in every so often--smash down a few doors, arrest some drug-dealers, come out looking like heroes--but otherwise, it was ignored.

Potholes deep enough to fall into lined the streets. The buildings were old and ugly--just heaps of brick stained with smoke, with boarded up windows and broken doors. What few shops dared operate in this part of the city did so with iron bars across the glass and shotguns under the counter.

"You can turn back any time you want," Sumerset said. His voice came through loud and clear from the tiny, nearly invisible ear-piece.

"No," I replied. I kept my voice soft--didn't want to convince everyone here I was prone to talking to myself. "I'm doing this."

"Just stick to what I told you."

"Yeah."

I walked. People didn't pay attention to me--there wasn't any reason to. I was just another girl on the streets. Probably a runaway.

Sumerset had made me memorize the directions and repeat them six times without a mistake before he had let me go. Two blocks down, one block to the left. Seventh building on the right--vomit-green tile on the roof. It was a six-story apartment complex, the exterior on the verge of collapse; a fire had hollowed most of it out. The building must have been condemned--but no one cared enough to come in and finish the job.

Three men were outside, grinning and talking. When they saw me coming up with my hands in my pockets, they all got quiet.

"I came here about a job," I told them.

~*~

Sumerset had fought me tooth and nail when I suggested that I go in undercover.

"You aren't ready," he said. "Not even close."

"Is there any point when I will be?" I asked. "Look, we've spent two weeks on this. I've talked to her friends--you talked to her parents. We've compared notes with the other cases--it just makes sense."

"It isn't a question of whether it makes sense," he said. "It's a question of whether or not you're capable."

"I can do this."

"You aren't ready."

"The police can't do this. No one in the Stix will even talk to them," I said. "You told me that right at the beginning of this--people don't talk to badges or costumes. They talk to other people."

"You are not going into the Stix alone."

"Sumerset." I leaned forward. "I can heal broken bones in minutes and punch guys through walls. It's not me who's going to be in danger."

~*~

Inside, the walls were scorched and blackened; the air was heavy with the stench of mold. Two of the three men were taking me upstairs. To talk with their 'boss'.

"How many?" Sumerset said. "Cluck your tongue."

I clucked twice.

"Once means no, twice means yes. Does it look like they might have guns?"

Once.

One of the men looked at me and scowled at the noise; I smiled back.

"They'll hit you hard and fast. As soon as you step into the room," he said. "One'll probably hang back, the other will come in hard. Knife at your throat, maybe, or a blow to the back of the head. Don't let either of them behind you for long."

We went up the stairs. One of the men moved to a cracked and splintered door, opening it. The other stepped aside. They waited expectantly for me to go in.

One of them--to the left--shifted. I saw something glint in his palm.

I smiled and stepped into the room.

And instantly turned around.

I was surprised at just how easy it was--how quickly my muscle and bone moved, how swiftly my arm responded. I caught the man's extended wrist with my hand and gave a savage twist--he cried out as the knife clattered to the floor.

My knee met his stomach as I yanked him into the room. The air rushed out of him as he went down; I slammed the door shut, braced myself against it, and twisted the knob until I felt the rusty metal crinkle and snap. I heard the knob hit the floor on the other side.

I dropped the one on this side to the ground. I could hear the trapped man's friend behind the doorway, struggling to open it; meanwhile, I brought my foot down against my new prisoner's chest.

"Hi," I said, and then I exerted just a fraction of force.

He shuddered and groaned, grabbing my foot.

"Just so we're clear: If I kick you, my foot will go straight through your chest and grind your heart into a meaty paste on the floor," I told him. "If you'd rather not see that happen, all you have to do is answer two questions."

The door continued to rattle behind me. I heard the other man yelling, calling for help. I figured I had at least another good fifteen seconds.

"Who do you work for and where can I find them?"

~*~
Next->

Red - 1

<-Previous
~*~
"There are only two things certain in life, Doctor Dismay," Justifier said, delivering a punch capable of cracking concrete to the villain's perfectly chiseled jaw. "And I'm not the tax-man!"

The blow sent the spandex-clad doctor through a wall of stone and into the electrified mote that waited on the other side.

It was a Friday night--which meant Anna, me, PJs, a bowl of popcorn, and a two hour marathon of Powered Wrestling Federation highlights. We were prepped and ready for a night spent watching giant musclemen punching each other through walls while spouting some of the most ridiculous one-liners this side of a James Bond movie.

"I'm writing you a prescription--for DEATH!" Doctor Dismay fired back, emerging from the moat with electrical currents rolling up and down his arms.

"Justifier forgot that Doctor Dismay's powers are based on generating and controlling electricity," Anna said.

"Duh," I said, rolling my eyes. "You know it's all fake, right? Like, they're all powers, but they're actors, too."

"Don't take away my dreams, Sue."

A commercial break came on; Anna seized hold of the remote and started flipping. As she searched for some bit of entertainment to carry her past the adverts for hemorrhoid cream and fast-food, she stumbled onto a news-cast with a familiar picture wedged on the upper right screen.

"Hold off a second," I told her.

"...are requesting that any information about her current whereabouts be forwarded to local authorities," the reporter said.

The picture was of a smiling Gina McKennith. We'd been close friends for a few years through middle-school, but had gradually drifted apart.

"Another one?" Anna said.

"Huh?"

"You haven't heard about this?"

"No. Heard about what?"

"There've been a lot of kids disappearing recently," Anna said. "Like, eight kids this semester alone. Most of them look like runaways, but there's been a big stink about it."

"Huh."

"Oo. Show's back on," Anna said, turning back to the screen.

Justifier was in the process of beating the crap out of Doctor Dismay with a robotic shark he had yanked out of the moat.

Best. Show. Ever.

~*~

After the marathon, we filled the rest of the night's sleepover with videogames and my attempts to justify my stuffed unicorn collection to Anna. I spent the next morning in the bunker beneath my house--training for my night-job.

Sumerset had been training me for over two months, now; he had started showing me everything. Quick takedowns, nasty takedowns, how to react to a gun, how to react to a knife, how to take on bigger opponents--even how to kill.

I wasn't happy with that last one, but he had made it clear that if I didn't learn, he wouldn't teach me anything.

He had reset the obstacle course earlier. It consisted of an arrangeable set of blocks, varying in size from as large as a basketball to the size of a refrigerator. Included were a variety of adjustable, mobile challenges--monkey bars, ladders, flagpoles--with a dummy on top of one big block and a red flag dangling between two others.

I stood at the start position, dressed in gym-shorts and a tank-top.

"Kick the dummy's head off, retrieve the flag, and return to the start position--in thirty seconds," Sumerset said, holding a pocket-watch.

I scoffed. "Is that all, old man?"

He drew his other hand out of his coat, revealing a nasty looking paint-gun. "While under fire."

Crap.

"Go."

I moved. The soft pft-pft-pft of the gun kept pace with each of my steps; I heard wads of paint splatting against the wall behind me. Sumerset wasn't messing around--when it came to my training, he never did.

I felt a harsh, painful sting spear up my thigh as he clipped me. I kicked my feet up and threw myself into the air, grasping the edge of the block where the dummy sat. I flexed my shoulders and threw myself up over the edge, moving behind the target.

A paintball smacked the dummy's chest. "Good cover," Sumerset said. "But now you're stuck right th--"

I knocked the dummy's head off and launched it for the space directly over his head. Sumerset flinched, pulling back; I used the opportunity to leap for the next block.

"Good," I heard Sumerset say. "You're thinking laterally. That's how the Skull wins his fights--by refusing to play by other people's rules."

My fingers wrapped around one of the flagpoles, using it as a linchpin as I turned hard--catapulting toward the dangling flag. My fingers snagged it as I fell into a roll, disappearing behind another block. "It's her fight now, old man."

"You ain't the Skull yet, kid," Sumerset replied. "Get the flag back home without getting shot again. Maybe we'll talk."

The blocks were assembled along several rails that criss-crossed the obstacle course's floor in a grid; they were 'set' in place by metal pins that locked them down. I reached for them and yanked them out of place--the giant block was suddenly free. I seized hold of it and pulled it with me, rolling it towards the start position.

I heard Sumerset cursing and moving. But by the time he circled around the moving cover, I was already crawling on top of the block--with a single flying leap, I hurled myself over his head and landed behind him on top of the platform.

"Gruh," he said.

"Would you like some ketchup? To go with the words I just made you eat, I mean."

"Mmn. Good work," he said.

"Um. Sumerset?"

"Mm?"

"I wanted to ask," I said as I dropped down to the floor to rub at the paintball that had hit my bare thigh. "You know, I've been doing this training thing for a while, and--"

"You're not ready for the field yet."

I bit my lip. "I'm not talking about going out and, like, punching masks in the face or anything. But what about some investigative work?"

Sumerset gave me a look, but remained silent. I took this as a prompt to go on.

"You've been teaching me how to fight, and move, and defend myself, but you haven't really touched on any of the crime-solving stuff. And you told me how Elizabeth, the second Skull--how she was this amazing detective--"

"You got something in mind?"

"Kids have been disappearing," I told him. "A lot of them. Almost all of them as reported runaways, but--something seems fishy about it. One of the girls was on the news tonight. I recognized her, back from middle-school. She used to be a good friend of mine. I thought maybe I could track her down, see what happened."

"Investigation is boring work," he told me. "Mostly involves research. Staring at patterns until you go crazy. You willing to give it a try?"

I nodded.

"All right," he said. "Then let's investigate."

~*~
Next->