The implications of what Kai just told me are incredible. It also paints an even bigger target on my back. Is the phenomenon unique to the woman we captured? What does the combination look like? Are the original powers permanently fused, or can I extract one of them? I have far too many questions, and I will only be able to get answers once I get V back. All I can do right now is finish righting the ship.
Rorschach and Tuesday are in the conference room, with the former sitting down gleefully counting the cash. The five gold bars are stacked up, and the diamonds are spread out in front of Rorschach. She’s mixing the bank money with the O’Rourke cash, creating stacks of five thousand dollars. For the first time since meeting her, Rorschach looks happy. I do not know anything about her, her name, address, likes, or dislikes. There is not a single member of this group who I know anything about beyond their role in my plan and their base desires. Even Vivienne, the person closest to me, is a stranger beyond her surface-level interests. Once freed from my responsibilities of acting human, it slips my mind to pretend to care. Tuesday is standing, looking over the base through the one-way mirror. The money doesn’t seem to catch her attention in the slightest. She’s much more focused on the base itself.
“How’s it looking, Rorschach?” I asked.
“Absolutely wonderful. I’ve never seen so much wealth in one place. I mean, these bars are worth four hundred and fifty thousand if we sell it to the right people,” she said.
“Four hundred and fifty thousand? That doesn’t make any sense,” I objected.
“The price of gold has risen steadily ever since Tinkerers first emerged. They use it for its conductivity, and that’s made the price skyrocket. The real crime is the fact I can’t get a pair of gold earrings for less than three hundred because of the braniacs buying it all up. It’s bullshit,” Rorschach said.
“You know, I figured I was joining a group that was struggling, given how we met. But you guys are actually thriving. I mean, this base alone is incredible, and you’ve got robots, like actual little robot guys that can do stuff,” Tuesday said.
“I never said we were struggling. You came to that conclusion on your own,” I said.
“Combining the cash from Isaiah’s heist, the Irish infusion, the coke money, and the gold, we are looking at around two point three million dollars. I know a fence that should be able to handle the gold, but the diamonds will be tougher to sell,” Rorschach said.
Two point three million dollars is quite a sum. I can use it to purchase a small business or two in Quinstin. Things are trending in the right direction. Once Vivienne is back, I can dive into the experiments with Kai in full force. I may be mistaken, but I believe I am happy.
“Keep the diamonds for yourself, Rorschach; think of this as your signing bonus. I do require something from you. The Breeton police have arrested V, so I want your eyes all over that building. Tuesday and I will have to pay a visit to the Breeton Police Chief,” I said.
“Well, jeez, they say diamonds are a girl's best friend, but you might be a close second. But how on earth did they even get her? I’m surprised she went down without a fight,” Rorschach said.
“Being captured without revealing her power shows her intelligence and restraint. She knows that transforming would only have hurt my goals and our organization. V did the correct thing, and as the leader, it is my responsibility to ensure her release. Rewarding compliance and forward-thinking is only right,” I said.
“So we’re taking on the police next? I know I asked for excitement, but it’s nearly six am,” Tuesday said.
“We just have to finish this, and this eventful night will finally be over. Sleep will be for after we have put out this last fire,” I said.
“Alright, what’s the plan? You going to wait at his house until he gets home and then ambush him?” Rorschach asked me.
“No, thanks to our newest recruit, we can visit him at his job,” I answered.
“Uhhh, are you sure, Nobody? That seems wicked ballsy,” she said hesitantly.
“I have calculated the risks, and we will be fine. After taking on Cowls and Capes, a few regular police are nothing. My helmet prevents me from being seen by technology and Tuesday can handle herself. We are more than enough to handle some cops,” I said.
“Okay. I got some ink in my car, so I’ll grab that and then send out some critters,” she said, walking out of the room.
Once I can’t hear the sound of Rorschach’s shoes on the steel stairs, I glance over at Tuesday. She is the first one I have collected that is truly a monster. Isaiah is a trained hound, but this is me letting a fox into the henhouse. Playing with fire does not do this justice. I believe that I am capable of controlling her, but that could be bleeding over from the pieces inside of me. I have five weeks left until I leave for Quinstin and only six until classes start. I do not have the time to waste carefully vetting her. I will have to do it on the fly.
“What do you hope to gain out of all of this?” I asked her.
“What do you mean? I’m here to have fun.”
“Sit down and answer my question,” I said, taking my seat at the head of the conference table.
“Oooh, you’re being commanding again. Meow, mister,” she purred, continuing to stand.
“Tuesday, I am not in the mood for this. Have a seat,” I said.
“Alrighty, but don’t you go tellin’ nobody about this, Nobody. If people find out I can be reasoned with, well, then ya girl loses a little of her Jenny say kwah,” she said, this time using an old-timey radio voice.
She does not stop. This almost makes me long for the days when I used to pretend to care about my friend’s problems.
“What do you want? You claim to be someone who acts on whims, but there must be something else motivating you beyond a love of chaos.”
She answered after a moment. “I want to hurt people. I want to be the last thing they see before death. There’s something euphoric about harming another person, about being reduced to hunter and hunted. It’s delicious; honestly, it’s better than sex. I’m a simple girl, Nobody. I just wanna fuck and kill,” Tuesday said.
She is a psychopathic serial killer, a complete and utter monster. Am I making the world worse just by letting her live? Maybe one day, I will have a personality piece that makes me regret this, but not yet. Callback’s compassion does nothing to temper my profound selfishness. There is no line I would not cross to accomplish my goals. Tuesday is like a lion or a bear; she cannot be domesticated, but I can steer her impulses toward helping me.
“Well, you’ll have to find your own people to fuck, but I can certainly provide you with targets to kill. What you saw tonight is not the norm for us, but it will only get more dangerous and exciting. My goals will eventually put me at odds with everyone in Quinstin: cops, Capes, Cowls, government officials, the BNA, and the Heroes’ Union. And some of those can only be solved by a knife to the throat. You get the same deal as the others: equal equity in what we’re building as long as you follow my orders and rules. I won’t ask you to do anything you wouldn’t naturally do,” I said.
“I already told you I was in, but what kind of rules are we talking about?” Tuesday asked, her voice returning to the musical, singsongy tone from when we first met.
“We don’t hurt kids. The woman you are helping me free will cook you alive if you violate this,” I said.
“Don’t stab babies. Got it! Next?”
“Anonymity is paramount to our success. I do not exist, and neither does my ability. Out there during jobs and missions, there is no leader of this group. This is a company I am building, and that means a certain level of decorum and professionalism for everyone. I promise you that there will be plenty of opportunities for you to hurt and murder people,” I said.
“All sounds good to me, boss,” she said.
“Then let’s go. I’ll explain the plan on the way there,” I said.
----------------------------------------
Breeton Police Station is a two-story gray and black stone building with single-pane windows. Everything has hard edges and is made out of a bunch of rectangles slapped together. Daniel would say this is an unfriendly design. The place is oppressively authoritarian. It looks similar to a prison more than a police station. Five squad cars are parked behind the barbed wire steel gate that doubles as the impound lot. Tuesday and I took Isaiah’s car, and I’m sitting in the backseat while we wait for Rorschach to give us the update. We’re across the street from the station, parked underneath the shade of some trees. The street is empty; the police station isn’t located near any of the main roads in Breeton.
Before we left, I took the opportunity to remove my helmet and put a communication device in my ear. Having the helmet on for too long is going to give me claustrophobia. Having the device inside my helmet means my voice is revealed to both women, but it is the price of doing business. I cannot rely on other people to communicate with Rorschach. Once we have Vivienne back, I am going home to sleep for a day. I am deeply exhausted and have been awake for over twenty-four hours. Isaiah should be stable by then, and I can focus on experimenting on our volunteers.
“I got my eyes and ears all over the place,” Rorschach said.
“What are we looking at?” I asked.
“It is early enough that there are only eight bodies in the building. There’s the Chief in his office, two clerks manning the front desk, three patrol officers, and two detectives. V is being held in the basement with the other people awaiting sentencing,” Rorschach answered directly into my ear. That is incredibly handy.
“You’re clear on the plan, right?” I asked Tuesday.
“Yep, go in and pretend to need to talk to a detective. Use my power on everybody. Don’t kill or maim anybody. Once I’m done, you will go do your thing with the Chief and then we free this V lady and get out of there,” she answered.
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So she can take things seriously. Good.
“Your voice is different than I imagined,” Rorschach said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s hard to describe, but I guess I’d say that it is softer than I imagined,” she said.
“No, I know what you mean. He sounds normal, like just a regular guy,” Tuesday said.
“Exactly. I figured the motherfucker who stared down a group of five Cowls would sound more badass. You know, like some sort of rough and gruff mastermind,” Rorschach said.
“Yeah, Nobody, you don’t really sound like an evil criminal overlord,” Tuesday said.
“You expect a raspy, throaty voice or a really high-pitched evil tone. Instead, you could be anyone. Which I guess is the point,” Rorschach said.
“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you both. If you’re ready, Tuesday, then begin,” I said.
“Roger, Roger,” she responded, sounding like some sort of robot.
Tuesday changed at the warehouse. Her giant pauldrons, mask, and oversized sweatshirt are gone. She has on jean shorts and a white spaghetti strap, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. A friendly face with a perpetual grin, her scar does not detract from the fact that she is pretty. Maybe it is due to my study of expressions, but it is clear that her smile is that of a shark. She steps out of the car and skips across the street. Off my psychopathic minion goes to incapacitate an entire police station.
“Inform me when you are finished,” I said.
Now that we are so close, I can pinpoint exactly where Vivienne is. I can sense that she isn’t moving. The first person I have ever cared about. Should I be upset that she was arrested? There was never any doubt that I would get her back; she is far too valuable to leave rotting in a cell. I am confident that being around her creates a pleasant feeling within me, and I enjoy the time we spend together, but is this just how people feel about their pets? Is that the best my brain can do with compassion and affection? Am I stitching together my personality like Frankenstein and his monster, creating a pale, dead imitation of something? What will I do if I amass all the possible emotions and gather countless idiosyncrasies just to end up some neurotic, deranged homunculus of a person?
----------------------------------------
“Alls done, Mista,” Tuesday said with the voice of a child.
“Then I’m heading in.”
I step out of the car into the bright morning sun. For the entirety of my admittedly short Cowl career, I have operated exclusively at night and in the shadows. I am slowly coming to terms with the idea that my anonymity cannot exist forever. The plan is not to be out in the open, but I will eventually have to meet with other people face-to-face. I put my gun on the car seat and bring the Police Chief’s folder as I confidently walk straight into the police station.
The inside matches the outside. All the walls are made of bare concrete with overbearing fluorescent lights hanging above and the steady hum of air conditioning. It’s like you took a corporate office and made it even more drab and soul-sucking. Daniel once said that the death of art comes when functionality trumps personality. Wherever we end up building the next base, I will make sure it does not look anything like this. The front desk has a man and woman dressed in cop blue, passed out, with their faces on their keyboards. I stroll past them unhurried, taking my time to observe. I pass by some detective cubicles with their owners fast asleep on the floor. No obvious signs of torture or harm. Acceptable. An office water cooler sits next to the bench, where I’m guessing people sit waiting to be seen. The natural light of the sun refracts through the window panes, making my eyes snap toward every twinkle. Relax, Rorschach would have told you if there was anyone else here. I walk by the police breakroom, my power alerts me Tuesday is inside. She’s sitting at a brown composite table that leans to one side. Her legs crossed on top of it as she holds a box of donuts.
“Aye, boss, I went ahead and took da liberdee of seizing us some, uh, evidence hea,” she said with an exaggerated gangster movie accent. “Uh, one of thems resisting arrest. Stop, or I’ll be forced to use a completely unrelated amount of force compared to the crime. He’s got a gun. Oh god, watch out, he’s got a gun. Damn it, you leave me with no choice,” she said, stuffing one of the jelly donuts in her mouth.
“Are you done?” I asked.
“I feel like my joke doesn’t really land unless you can see what I’m seeing. Like if you just take off your helmet for like a second, then I can make the donuts look like little bad guys, not like human bad guys; I’m not into Vore or anything like some kind of sicko. It’s just like little donut people, and they’re wearing orange jumpsuits and striped shirts,” Tuesday said, her regular voice returning.
“I don’t like sweet things,” I said.
“Who the fuck doesn’t like donuts? God, you are evil.”
I resist the urge to sigh. They would both hear it, and that would encourage this behavior.
“You did well, Tuesday. It's time to have our talk with Police Chief Matherson.”
“Sure, just gimme a second to grab something,” she said, sprinting out of the room back to where the unconscious officers were.
She comes back wearing a patrolman’s hat and twirling two guns. “Ready to protect and serve.”
Tuesday follows me as we leave the breakroom and round the corner. There’s a staircase in front of us going up and down. I sense Vivienne below me in the cells, which means the offices and storage are up. The stairs are windowless, dusty, and filled with fake plants in an attempt to offset the dreariness. Our footsteps echo despite the best efforts of the plastic foliage. The upstairs are divided into offices and the chief’s is tucked into the back corner. A metal nameplate adorns the otherwise mundane grey door. Tuesday steps forward and knocks.
“Excuse me, Chief. I have some files that need your signature,” Tuesday said in a voice I’d never heard before.
“Cassie, how can there already be paperwork this early?” The Chief grumbled.
“Crime doesn’t sleep, and apparently, neither does bureaucracy,” Tuesday laughed.
“Door’s unlocked. Bring it on in,” he said through the door.
Tuesday twists the knob and rushes in, guns drawn and aimed at the chief. I follow swiftly behind her, absorbing the contents of the room. The room is warm, and not in a temperature sense. It looks and feels lived in, the way Aubrey’s house does. A portrait frame on our left has several medals and awards inside it. Bookcases on either side and several filing cabinets make the office feel full, and it isn’t helped by the large desk the chief is sitting at. Paperweights, photos, staplers, and several other knickknacks cover the desk, leaving a small place for a computer.
Police Chief Matheson is an older black male with the face of a doting father who’s worked a stressful job their entire life. Smile lines mixed with deep wrinkles showcase the decades of service he’s worked but his gut suggests his role is not an active one. The file had over twenty confirmed bribes and hypothesized a hundred others. “Protect your ass and serve your own interests” is the motto of him and others like him. Not that I am any different, but I don’t play pretend about being a moral paradigm. To his credit, he does not scream or shout at our entrance. I take the open seat in front of him while Tuesday stays near the door.
“Hello, Mr. Matheson. Sorry, do you mind if I call you Karl?” I said.
The helmet’s distorted choir voice does get a flinch out of him.
“Who are you, and what have you done to Cassie?” Karl asked firmly.
“Caring about one’s subordinates is an admirable trait in a leader. Unfortunately, you lack a backbone or any sense of integrity,” I said, tossing the file onto his desk. “None of your people have been harmed, and there is no plan to cause them harm. Depending on how you respond to my request, that could change.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. Your kind isn’t always the most caring of others, let alone members of law enforcement. But I asked you a question: if we’re going to have a working relationship, I’m going to need a name,” Karl said, ignoring my insult.
“Karl, you do not need to know my name, and I do not plan to have any kind of relationship with you. This will simply be a one-off transaction. You give me what I want, and you can keep the only copy of that file.”
“Alright. You said transaction; what kind of compensation are we talking about?” Karl asked, rubbing his hands together.
“Your compensation is the file. Don’t get greedy.”
“Listen, my standard rate is five percent of the profits. Doesn’t matter if it’s looking the other way, procuring something from lock up, or just information. I get my five percent,” Karl said.
Such blatant greed and he has no shame about it. This is taking too long, and the lack of sleep is going to make me irritable. Bottomfeeders only understand things in terms of gains and losses. I should motivate him to make this go faster. I take one of the photos off his desk; it’s a digital frame that cycles through multiple different pictures. They are all some variation of Karl, his wife, and their two children. I hand it off to Tuesday as she puts one of the guns onto a nearby shelf.
“And a hundred percent of fuck all is fuck all. Tuesday, give the man a glimpse into his future if he doesn’t stop wasting my time.,” I commanded.
Tuesday smiles like the Cheshire cat as she walks over to the seated man. She swats away his hand and puts the gun into his sputtering mouth. Climbing onto his lap, she presses her body against his, doing a weird vocal trick that sounds like a mixture of purring and shushing. Tuesday kisses his forehead softly and then starts doing what I asked of her. Is she trying to put on a show for me? A highly dangerous, violent pervert is not the type of partner I want or need. I have my hands full with a pathetically obsessive, chronically paranoid, unstable waif.
Karl is sobbing, choking on tears and the gun in his mouth. Whatever horrific imagery she inflicted is not my concern. I just need her to keep this up long enough to make him compliant. She is still sitting in his lap as she arches her back and turns toward me, her face lit up in euphoric ecstasy. I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction or response. Instead, we face each other, unmoving and silent as minutes tick by. The only sounds in the room are Karl’s labored breathing and the squeaks from his chair as he frantically twitches at illusionary ghosts. Sweat pours down his face, droplets hitting his desk with every jerk and spasm. Tuesday pulls the gun from his mouth, and I can finally understand what he’s been saying. His murmuring and mumbles inform me of what Tuesday is showing him. He is watching his family forcibly eat each other. Familial cannibalism is an oddly specific choice of vision to show him.
After fifteen minutes of continuous visual torment, the man is slumped in his chair. His tear ducts are empty, his posture is gone, and Tuesday stands next to him, waiting. The job is done, and I tell her to free him. Slowly, the cloudy, distant look in his eyes fades as he stares at me.
“It- it wasn’t real?” He croaked out.
“It could be,” I said.
“Please, don’t hurt my family. Whatever you want, just leave them alone.”
“Open the cells below. As long as you do that, you will never see me or any of my associates again,” I responded.
“You did all that just to release three people?” He asked.
“Asking questions will only make me return, and you do not want that.”
“Understood,” he said, pulling out a metal object the size of a Poptart.
He presses two buttons on either side of the object. It splits down the middle, revealing an unlit light strip and a keypad. I watch Karl punch in a six-digit code. Nine, seven, two, four, one, one. As the last number is entered, the strip lights up green, and he places it on his desk in front of me. Karl leans forward and buries his face in his hands. He will have to come to terms with whatever he saw.
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Tuesday, and I leave the disturbed man behind. We make our way out of the room and down the stairs to the cells. Here I come, Vivienne. The basement floor contains eight cells, each big enough to fit four people comfortably. There’s a toilet, sink, and metal benches in the cells. Thick metal bars protrude from the floor to the ceiling; there’s no door with a keyhole. To the left of each cell is a small rectangular box with three lights, all showing red. We pass a cell with two men passed out, clothes dirty and wet. Drunks. Vivienne is being held in the last one on the left.
As we approach, I hear snoring. Vivienne is fast asleep on the metal bench, one arm on her chest the other fallen to the floor. Has she been sleeping this whole time? I expected to see her distraught, not contently napping. There are no injuries, and she is uncuffed. Feelings of joy rise up inside me. I am glad she is okay. This is definitely more than the affection for a pet. I truly care for her. I step up to the lock panel and wave Karl’s key near it. All at once, the red lights change to green, and the bars shudder before they begin retracting into the ground. The sounds from the moving metal start to awaken the drunks and Vivienne. With the former blinking her eyes open and squinting toward the sound. She glosses over Tuesday and focuses on me.
“Whoa, I was not expecting you to come personally. I figured you’d send Hotpants,” Vivienne said.
“He is currently unavailable. A lot has happened since we last spoke. Do you know where they put your keys and your car?” I asked her.
“My keys should be at the receptionist’s deck along with my ID. I assume they have my car outside in the impound lot. I can’t wait to hear what I missed, like, who’s this chick?” Vivienne asked.
“Greetings, fellow patriot. I am Officer Tuesday,” Tuesday answered with a deep baritone.
“That is a cool trick. Power or natural talent?”
“Power. Unfortunately, I was only blessed with perfect teeth and a body that just won’t quit,” Tuesday said, adopting a surfer's voice.
“Hell yeah. That’s sick. I can’t wait to see what else you can do,” Vivienne said.
“I’ve shown you mine; now show me yours. What can you do?”
“I can’t really do it here without making everything a lot worse, but I’m sure you’ll see me in action soon,” Vivienne said.
“You two can talk later. We are on a bit of a time crunch,” I interrupted.
“Gotcha,” Vivienne said, sprinting up the stairs.
I use the key to unlock the drunks, and they look at us, dazed and confused.
“You’re in luck; someone’s paid your bail. Wait until we’ve left before you slip out,” I said.
Tuesday, and I climb up the stairs, ready to help, but V has already found her stuff. She’s holding an evidence bag with her wallet, keys, and real phone. She left the burner in her car. Smart, that’s my lieutenant. I place Karl’s key device onto one of the nearby desks.
“Tuesday, you take Isaiah’s car back to base. I will ride with V, and we will meet up there,” I said.
“You trust me enough not to take the car and dip?” She asked.
“You aren’t dumb enough to try. Also, there is nowhere I could not find you, and I’ll send her to repo you and the car,” I said, pointing at Vivienne.
“Now I have to find out what she can do. My mystery meter is going bananas. I’ll see you both back there,” Tuesday said.
Vivienne and I go out the back door that’s attached to the impound lot. Her bright white SUV is hard to miss amongst all the shitboxes that litter the place. They parked it right between two police cruisers. Vivienne squeals joyfully and runs over to her car.
“Oh, thank god they didn’t hurt you. Don’t worry baby, momma is here,” Vivienne said, hugging her car.
I leave V to her reunion and get into the backseat. I quickly transform my helmet, pull the ear mic out, and turn it off. All at once, the excitement leaves me, and the exhaustion sets in. The backseat feels better than any bed I’ve ever been in, and I feel like I’m melting into it. I give V one last look through the front window before I fall asleep. It is good to have her back.