“So, what will you do then?” Mason inquired. “Go after Jalen Nkanga yourself? Because even though you are a dear friend, I cannot, in good faith, sign off on any other superheroes joining you on this suicide mission. You are effectively alone, Mark. I advise you to stand down. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Liam.” Mark’s head hung low, not meeting his friend’s gaze. Then he directed a sidelong glance at a lone picture frame resting at the far corner of the interface table. “My moral compass compels me to fight back against this unjust world brimming full of evil characters who run unchecked. No matter the cost. As long as I have taken the time to plan contingencies, I must follow through.”
“Is this about what happened to your mother?”
A fire lit in Mark’s eyes, his brows plummeting to display an angered visage. “Watch it.”
At last, Mason lit his cigarette. “You’re right. This world is as unjust as it gets. Misery. Cruelty. Death. If you are looking for it, you will find it in every foul-odored dumpster. However, I think your efforts are a country mile misplaced. It’s the demons now that are terrorizing this city, seeping into every facet of society as we speak. I could use your help in finding the spider one, for instance.”
“Is that not what the Knights of Arixxer are here for?”
“Oh, it is. But their hands are unbelievably full and it doesn’t mean you can’t chip in. Every helping hand saves countless lives down the road.”
“My decision is final,” Mark said, without further thought. “Evil is evil no matter what skin it wears. My expertise lies in hunting down organized crime, while Persia is more suited to things infernal. Goodbye, Liam.”
He cut the call before Mason could pressure him further. Then his fingers danced on the interface once more. “Any new info on The Apparition?”
Sheppard’s voice sounded. “Nothing comprehensive, sir.”
On the large display, all information pertaining to Jalen Nkanga’s case vanished, and in its place, a detailed analysis of The Apparition—the woman with the gunmetal helmet shaped like a cat’s head—that he met over a week ago appeared. She turned out to be based in Northern Manhattan, her web of influence reaching as far as Queens. Her presence in Hermosville meant that his years of tireless work was impacting The Black Book significantly. So much so that they deemed it necessary to send her down their top asset.
Once again today, he stole a quick look at the dark wood picture frame beside him. Then he stood up and closed the distance, a faded photograph of a blonde woman in her late forties shimmering into view as the reflective light cast against the display glass subsided.
“I will never stop, Mum,” he muttered, picking up the frame. “Not after what they did to you.”
“Diagnosis complete,” Sheppard announced, breaking the somber silence.
He placed the frame down gently, as if tipping it over was not an option, before returning to his worktable. “Let’s hear it.”
“Gauntlet articulation operating at peak efficiency. However, the cooling system proved inadequate during the stress test. I recommend beefing the micro-channels to allow the circulation of more coolant.”
“No problem. Improve the schematics and send it in for manufacturing.” He toured the large room, inspecting the work of his autonomous robot arms. The finished protium weave for the chest plate had some irregularities which induced structural issues. He frowned. It seemed he would have to do that part himself.
“Anything significant happen at the church?” He asked Sheppard.
The Cathedral of Saint Francis Xavier in Old Town was one of The Black Book’s last strongholds. He had intentionally left that location to function as the safe house it was to those criminals, luring them into a false state of comfort. After all, if Declan thought the church was uncompromised, he was more likely to hold up there. Mark grinned at the prospect of finally catching the elusive underboss and putting a nail to the coffin of The Black Book’s diminishing presence in Hermosville. Then he would turn his sights on the Colombo Syndicate and continue to grind down the criminals until Hermosville was devoid of their influence. A lofty goal he knew that to be, a thorny path ahead that would rip painful chunks from him. Still, he elected to thread down that path, no matter the consequences.
“Nothing noteworthy has happened in the church according to our surveillance, sir. However, it seems they are still amassing numbers and weapons.”
He paused. “I see. Keep me updated from now on everything related to the church. This is their final stand before I send them to the afterlife, so they are prone to exhaust all their options like a cornered animal. ”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Then he took an elevator down to the furnace to reforge the protium weave. Everything had to be prepared to a meticulous standard for the upcoming showdown.
❊ ❊ ❊
“Goodbye, Mrs. Reese,” August said.
The woman, with a warm smile, who sat behind the wheel of the school bus, nodded at her. She hopped off the bus, then stared down the street as the bus picked up speed, turning into another street. When the bus disappeared, a frown dawned on her face. There was only one place to go now—up the hilly road to her mother’s house where Tom lived.
“I hope he’s passed out from all the Jack Daniel’s he consumes,” she said, walking up the hill.
“I wouldn’t place a bet on that gurl,” Lily said, floating beside her. “That dude can out-drink a freaking blue whale.”
She took her time trekking up the hill. Her heart sank when she saw his beat-up truck parked in the driveway. Her steps slowed even further as she stopped at the front door to calm her nerves. The nose-clenching odor of cigarette smoke slapped her in the face as she pried the front door open.
Tom sat with his belly out on his favorite chair, paying apt attention to the soccer game on the TV. Empty beer cans lay littered around him. With no interest directed her way, she silently rejoiced, sneaking in behind him.
However, Tom had other ideas. “Your medication is on the kitchen counter. You best take your arse there.”
She grumbled. “Can’t that wait till after dinner?”
“Nope. No ifs, ands, or buts. You can’t weasel your way out of this, young lady. You need to start taking your disorder seriously.”
With a scrunched-up face, she stumped her way over to the kitchen. The medication for her supposed schizoid personality disorder sat alone on the counter, away from the fruit basket and an ashtray. Vile built up in her throat when she peered into the bag at the antidepressants, mood stabilizers, and antipsychotics, all designed to make her numb and dull her senses. The smell alone nearly made her gag.
“Surely, there is no way you’re considering taking that poison?” Lily asked when August uncapped a bottle.
She shrugged, whispering. “What choice do I have?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Throw it, hide it, bury it, burn it, boot it up to space for all I care. You aren’t having another pill. There is nothing wrong with ya.”
She gazed at the red pill held between her thumb and forefinger. Zephyr emerged through the counter at blistering speed and snagged the pill between her beak, trying to pull it away. The fairy hummingbird succeeded, whisking the pill high into the air, away from her grasp.
“Did you two plan that?” she asked, turning to Lily. “There are over a hundred pills where that came from, you know?”
“Please.” Lily dropped to her knees on the counter, clasping her hands together. “There is nothing wrong with ya, Augie. You are the bestest friend I’ve ever had. I can’t sit still while these people slowly kill ya.”
“It isn’t that much of a high bar, considering I am the only friend you’ve got.” Her lips spread into a small smile. “It’s okay, Lily. I won’t tak—”
“Quit yapping with those pretend pals of yours and swallow the damn pills!” Tom’s loud voice boomed from across the room. “If you make me get up from my chair, you goddamn psycho, you’re gonna be sorry after I’m through with you.”
She shrunk into herself. Lily had the opposite reaction, the fairy’s pink hair bursting into flames.
“Screw that dickhead, Augie,” Lily said. “The next time he tries something, I’ll set his arse on fire.”
“No, you can’t do that. He’s my mum’s boyfriend, remember?” she muttered under her breath.
Lily rolled her eyes. “And that’s precisely why you’re still getting abused. If you’d let me interfere at least, the dickhead will leave you alone. I never said I’d kill him. Trust me, gurl. I’ll only torment him for a little while.”
She shook her head, remaining firm in her stance, despite Lily’s enticing offer. While contemplating how to navigate her current situation, an idea popped into her head. She reached for the medication and fished out her required dose—all four pills—to Lily’s horror. Then, clenching the pills in her hand, she entered the living room and stated that she had taken her medication. It was a tense few seconds waiting for his reply. Her pounding heart wanted to jump out of her chest. Anticlimactically, Tom merely grunted. So she turned toward the stairs.
“Hey!” he said. Her legs rooted on the spot at the sound of his voice. “Grab me a cold one from the fridge.”
When he snatched the beer can from her hand, his eyes never leaving the TV, she ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door behind her. Lily floated in through the floor.
“Can you stand by the staircase and watch him for me?” she asked.
The pink-headed fairy, wearing a concerned expression, nodded and slipped through the door. Then she waited thirty seconds before moving into the action. The bathroom was at the end of the corridor, past her mother’s bedroom. On her tip-toes, she glided across the old wooden floor that groaned and creaked despite her best efforts. Still, Lily remaining downstairs meant Tom was unaware, so engrossed in the soccer match. It was when she reached the bathroom that she nearly cursed herself for her stupidity. Why would he care about her whereabouts in the house? Her guilty conscience clouded her decision making.
She tossed the pills into the toilet, bunched up some toilet roll into a messy ball, and dropped it into the toilet as well. Then she flushed. And anxiously waited, confirming that the pills had truly gone down. Her trip back to her room carried heavier steps. If Tom somehow asked why she’d used the bathroom, well, she’d say, she had to do the number two. Then he would shut up, she hoped.
She spent the next few hours battling her homework. Math, in particular, gave her a steaming headache. Science-based subjects were never her forte. She loved reading, drawing, writing, and any other medium she could use to express her imagination. Luckily, Harry Tophat had been kind enough to guide her through her struggles with the linear equations.