As my feet took me into the alleyway beside the derelict offices, I made the mental note to question my current hunger later on. The times that I’d had to use the emergency function of these stims had been few, and I wasn’t sure if the desire to consume food was a side-effect we hadn’t come across before.
Part of me wanted to believe it was the old me remembering eating food from when I used to have a mouth. A terrible thought when combined with my recent bad mood over having a gun-arm. I had become an odd juxtaposition of being more of my own person as I strode to the future, but internally yearning for the scraps of my past.
Something to worry about when I was soaking in a warm, bubbly bath.
The alley itself was just about what I had been expecting. Refuse and debris. Dark, given the lack of street lighting thanks to the angle. A place long forgotten and unassuming.
But I did assume it.
Too practiced in sneaking through the shadows around some of the worst places in the city, I knew better than to dismiss appearances. Especially when I had a weird draw to come over this way. I tried to pinpoint which of my jumbled perceptive sense was sending the alarm in my head, but couldn’t.
There was the chance my fight and stim use had just knocked my brain a little loose, or I had some residual curse affecting my thoughts. In a moment of rare self-care, I brought up the Health Report into my lens.
-Stim Withdrawal
-Fatigue
-Nutrition Low
Interesting. I put the puzzle pieces together and guessed that they were all due to injecting most of my stim pack. The hunger was brought on by the cocktail of chemicals eating up whatever calories and residual energy my body had stored. A glance back to the alley entrance, and I resigned myself to plucking out one of my nutritional canisters from the bike storage once I had finished my detective work.
It was no meal… but I couldn’t eat anyway, so I wasn’t sure exactly what game I was playing here.
I shook my head as I reached the end of the alley, my thoughts also hitting a brick wall. An overflowing dumpster and several waterlogged trash bags cluttered this area, with a boarded up side door the only other point of interest.
Something familiar found its way through my re-breather. A smell that I’d come across a few times in my past…
I stepped forward, closer to the dumpster, and leaned in. Yeah, that was definitely it. Compound F, also known as 'the comfort' or CF2 on the streets. A typical life-ruining gateway drug. Half the chemicals involved weren’t even created in Goldarch, so it had always been a mystery to me how it kept cropping up in places.
That said, now that I knew more about the city, I had some ideas.
I had occasionally come across it when kicking the teeth of one of my contracts in. It was by no means a high-class drug, but like any illegal narcotics, it was always sought out. One contract was actually in a bedsit that had a little cooking operation going on, and if memory served, that all went up in literal flames when I was done. Although I had done my fair share of performance enhancers through the stim packs, Compound F had little real benefit.
There wasn’t even a high to chase. Just dissociation, escapism, and an ego boost. A spiritual pat on the back that also destroyed your internal organs. There was nothing better out there for self-confidence… for as long as you could get your hands on it.
To have such a large building this close to the city center either producing it or involved with the trade was appalling. I turned and grimaced at the small side door. At first glance it appeared nailed shut, the decaying boards preventing entry… but a few moments of thought and I saw through the ruse.
There was a clear gap through the trash on the ground that suggested the door swung outwards. Regular enough to prevent the grime and sodden refuse from building up over time. Without the light of day, it was hard to really do any further detective work, but I had a way to brighten my mood.
I paused as I drew the torch from my vest. A residual wave of embarrassment vibrated through my skull as I remembered not only my cliche lines at the graveyard but also the puns.
Who had I become?
An easy question to answer. I simply excelled at whatever challenge was placed in front of me. Contract killer. Team leader. Wasteland mercenary. Boyfriend. Heroic media darling.
I sighed and flicked the light on; the beam picking up particles of dust dancing through the alley. Puns, though? I really needed to keep myself in check. At first, the bright light didn’t reveal anything else other than this place really needed a proper clean. Then I noticed etched words over the doorway.
Subtle, filled in with mottled brown and black so that it almost faded in with the wooden frame. Camouflage and currently indecipherable. My hand raised, but paused. I had already been the hero. I was tired and hungry. I desired nothing more than to rest my legs and get into a bath with Roxy.
The best thing to do would be to report this to the authorities. Law enforcement could handle it. Even it if was something more than a drug den… then the League should be involved. Sure, I was figuratively a vigilante anti-hero, but I didn’t get extra credit for shooting criminals in my free time.
I cast Comprehend Languages, and the phrase was revealed to me.
Down with the League of Heroes.
I furrowed my brow. It was probably not an uncommon sentiment, especially for those hiding criminal activities. To write it in this unknown language above a doorway was either a petty jab about hiding in plain sight, or there was an alternate reasoning.
[Up with the League of Villains.]
One of the wooden boards clicked downwards slightly, at a slight angle. With how often my shots in the dark landed, I was starting to think I had echolocation. In truth, I had seen something similar in the past. Not a magical lock, but something that responded to a simple line repeated to it. It made sense that those who hated the League would champion their budding polar opposite, but I still chalked this down to luck rather than skill.
I glanced back to the end of the alley. Returning to my bike and going home was the sensible option… but I knew I’d never be able to rest without knowing what was giving me the ick about this place. At that point, Roxy and Clara would rope themselves in, and the League would bust our balls for freelancing. It would be better for me to scout around quickly and dip once satisfied.
If it was just a den of drug producers or traffickers, a few Nerve shots and I’d call the League on the way home to smooth things over. Anything more than that and I’d request backup. I’d get home safe and in one piece. Surely.
I gripped at the edge of the shifted board and pulled the door open slowly. The space revealed to me was only slightly less untidy than the alley, but at least had one dim bulb attempting to provide light. A stairwell leading to the floors above. Across from me was another doorway, cracked open by an inch. I took two brisk steps inside, allowing the door behind me to close quietly.
The room ahead was noisy, with the sounds of several figures in discussion. I couldn’t tell if it was a mild argument, or they were bantering about something, but the stronger smell of Compound F could only mean one thing. I paused and eyed up the staircase. Mentally, I made the note to ask Clara to test if the stim withdrawal affected my decision making skills.
Despite knowing the answer already, I still walked toward the steps. Was it that part of me thought this strange feeling might be leading me toward one of my old squad members? Not exactly. While I didn’t discount that, it wasn’t likely. I trusted my intuition, and it was currently leading me to ascend further. If the lower floor was the drugs lab, what could be higher up?
The next floor gave me a few answers. Another closed door, but the boxes on the landing drowning in small plastic bags made this likely to be where they packed things up and got the drugs ready for distribution. Why this wasn’t on the ground floor, I didn’t know. Seemed inefficient to have to bring things up and down the stairs. Too much cardio.
I stepped quietly around the debris and made my way up to the next floor. This doorway was locked, and my common sense started to seep back into my mind. So far, this didn’t look like the hideout of a League of Villains member, nor anything to do with the ‘Dark Council’. One brief look upstairs to see what was tingling at my nerves, and then I’d dip out and just notify the authorities. I didn’t have the energy to fight a gang of drug dealers.
The next spiral of stairs flickered ominously as the dull bulb struggled to function. Aesthetics were on point, at least. Wallpaper long rotted and falling from the painted brickwork left piles of dried mulch around the edges of everything. Discarded trash and cigarette butts dotted the landscape from top to bottom. It was the type of authenticity you couldn’t fake, which made me wonder how many pockets of blight lurked within the city. Too many to combat, and just enough to keep the heroes busy.
I paused near the top of the staircase, where the door leading to the office floor was slightly ajar. Straining my ears, I couldn’t hear anything at all from within. There was a lump in my skull telling me that it wasn’t empty, however. I believed I was right and finished ascending up to this entrance.
Pressing myself up against the wall, I leaned my head to look through the gap. The room within was rather dark, not lit at all… but there were lights slightly further in other rooms. A brief corridor with offices on either side, perhaps. It might open up further in, judging by what illumination I could see.
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If the occupants of the building were aligned with villains in any way, then this is where there might be evidence. While some lower ranked villains might hobnob around with drugged out criminals, most had too much of an ego to run alongside gangs. Something about having actual powers made you feel above others. Ironically, that was a very human trait.
I pushed the door open gently, waiting for the inevitable creak or groan. None came, until it was almost fully swung, but it just stuck to the mound of detritus up against the wall. The air up here was cool and calm. Not quite as chilly as my spar with Bonemeal, but it was certainly set apart from the workings of the lower floors. I briefly considered if Bonemeal was now going to be my nemesis. That would be pretty sad, if so.
The first darkened room was indeed more of a corridor, just a little wider. Perhaps it held a printer or water cooler at one point in time. A place for people to stand around and have a break. Any furniture and furnishings had long been torn out or destroyed, leaving mysterious rectangle shapes of discoloration where they had previously lived. I moved through, keeping my eyes peeled at the two offices coming up.
Both had windows covered on the inside with plastic slat blinds, clogged with dust and neglect. No lights inside, so I couldn’t see what was in there. Perhaps those downstairs just used the space up here for sleeping. A temporary dorm so that they didn’t have to wander the streets smelling like the foul chemicals they’d been brewing. Or too out of their mind to find a place more fitting to rest.
I passed by closed doors and continued to the open space beyond the offices. No doubt this had once been bustling offices, with tables and computers arranged in the most efficient way to fit as many low-paid workers in without them being able to interact with each other too much.
Tired Dubs was quite the cynic.
I let those thoughts linger for a second, my eyes passing over what was beyond the open space—a few more offices along that side, and possibly a small elevator—before clocking the table over to my right by the back wall. Compared to everything else in the building, it wasn’t labored with an abundance of dirt and trash, but was relatively clear… aside from stacks of paperwork.
A treasure chest of potential clues just waiting to be plundered. There was even a dusty lamp standing at the side, as if it was illuminating the pages solely to draw me in. Well, my hunger couldn’t resist. If this was Dark Council plans—or anything similar—then the League would be pinning a gold star on my uniform before the day was out.
Gun-arm at the ready, I stepped cautiously toward the table. I could use my lens to take photos of whatever information I could quickly gather, and then it would probably be a good idea to fess up to the others what I had been up to instead of coming home. Maybe I was just sour that I didn’t get more injured in my semi-staged fight. I had broken more from the norm quicker than-
Reflex burned through my system, but I still couldn’t react quick enough. While my tired mind danced around idle thoughts, my eyes had been focused on the light of the lamp. Something had been waiting in the shadows to the right.
An explosion took me from my feet, and I spun away, colliding with some empty shelving racks across the room. My vision was bright white, before it faded to black. Briefly, I feared my eyesight had been lost. I ignored the burning pain still humming at the front of my body while shards of the broken drone jabbed me in the back.
I blinked and could finally see the outlines of things. My goggles had shattered, the green lenses falling out and thankfully not impaling my eyes. A burning smell filled my re-breather, the single use shield on my belt now completely burned out. V-Drive hummed into life as I tried to gain my footing. Out from the shadows, my assailant stepped into view.
There was no question that this was a villain. A middle-aged man, gray hair running through his beard and his temples through otherwise dark brown hair. Muscles that could be seen through his super suit, the outfit a reflective silver, flecked with dancing crimson lights at his extremities. Deep red gloves and boots. A matching cape that wavered behind him as he hovered an inch off of the floor. Eyes that screamed bloody murder.
I could put two and two together, even without the bag symbol on his chest giving the game away.
Red Dust.
“You’re a little too large to be one of the usual roaches scurrying about this damned place,” he begun, his voice deep and commanding. “Who the fuck are you?”
I couldn’t respond at first, to the point where I briefly thought my vocalizer had become unattached. But, no. I was just taken by rage. Exhaustion took a back seat, long forgotten, as I found a very valid alternative emotion. Vengeance trickled through me, rivulets of pure violent intent.
[Gunquake. I am your end.]
Gun-arm flicked up and fired an Overcharged metal ball right at him, my chamber racking back and forth already to load in the follow-up. I stopped in place, briefly frozen, as the man caught the projectile right out of the air.
With almost no change in facial expression, he crushed the solid steel ball in his hand, allowing the remnants to drop to the floor. “Why would someone like you have such a death wish?”
I cursed myself. A day where I had my wasteland loadout, or we had gotten the Sanguine stake shipment, and I would feel a lot better about this situation. As my anger boiled around, I tried to think of what his weaknesses would be.
[You murdered the family of someone close to me.]
Red Dust continued to stare at me blankly. “That doesn’t really narrow things down.”
It unnerved me how dead his eyes were. Other than disdain for my existence, there was nothing else going on in there. For all the madmen and killers I had met in my life, this villain was truly dangerous. Without my lens I couldn’t track his Threat level, or… let the others know I had found him. I could use the STAR screen embedded in my wrist, but I doubted Red Dust would wait around for me to get it out and type out the message.
[Your fight against Angel. In the suburbs.]
In his first display of emotion, he sneered at me. “Oh, you’re a League fool. How eagerly you lap up their side of the story. Heroes can do no wrong, after all.”
[You are saying… Angel caused those explosions?]
Red Dust raised his hand, palm faced towards me. “I’m saying, roach, that there is no ‘good’ and ‘evil’ as they try to convince you. Only fucked shades of gray. We play out these charades not by choice, but for survival. Shame that your final curtain call arrives with this revelation.”
I dove to the side as his hand flashed bright red. The shelving units and part of the office wall behind it exploded outward, showering my rolling body with debris. As I righted back into a standing position, I loaded in a triple shot of-
He was already here.
A kick struck me in the chest and I flew backwards, slamming against the wall of the middle office and shattering the window inwards. Part of my ribcage had been bent inwards and was pressing against my lungs. I gasped for air as my head swam. Stims were dry, and I received no burst of painkillers.
Red Dust appeared in front of me again, as if he had teleported. Not as fast as Roy, I was sure, but with how tired my brain was-
His follow-up punch put me through the wall, across the dark office, and out the back of the next wall. I rag-dolled over the broken bricks before stopping against something metallic and wide. Left arm felt numb, but I’d somehow managed to avoid getting my chest caved in further. Would probably be bruised in the morning. If I survived.
Back up to my feet, I glanced around before aiming my Triple through the hole in the wall. Powdered mortar and flaking paint obscured where the villain might be. Current building was some manner of factory workshop. Plenty of workbenches and solid chunks of machinery for me to use as cover.
I fired and then moved. Nerve, Tazer, and Smoke. Truth be told, I didn’t expect to do anything to him with them. More time bought until I had a better plan. Any plan. I snaked between the built up machines as a gray cloud filled the office of the other building.
“A personal vendetta rather than sent by the League. You must be new, or half of your brain was replaced with faulty mechanical parts as well, if you thought coming for me was a good idea.”
Telling him it was just a lucky happenstance would just give away my new position. I loaded my gun-arm with another metal ball, but if he could just catch them out of the air, then my only real option was…
My muscles tensed up as a beam of light shot across the room. Twin beams, that were melting straight through the entirety of the room. Eye beams. I sat, crouched and motionless, as the attack stopped just a foot away from me. Glowing amber lines remained on the machinery, before each of them split apart along the melted sections.
…the only real option was something that hadn’t really come up in my life. Realistically, I couldn’t bullshit my way to a win in this situation. Unthinkable after all that I had achieved, but I just wasn’t built to stand against a villain that was on the edge of S-Rank. My eyes went over to the side of the room. Windows leading back to the street. We were rather high up and my rappel was fresh out of foam. I might just have to eat the fall damage to get to my bike.
“Regardless. Now that you have found me, I have no option but to kill you. Throwing your life away for people I do not even remember, let alone care for, is shortsighted at best.” Debris shifted as Red Dust walked through the broken wall. “Goldarch is due for a change, and soon enough, your life will be but a single tally amongst thousands. Goodbye.”
I let off a Flash and Smoke grenade on my own position, using whatever energy I had left in my system to power forward. Three wide steps and the warmth of the laser eyes passed by me. I hit the glass, and it burst outwards. Vertigo, and then the solid street below. Air knocked from my lungs. Dislocated shoulder. My cybernetics scraped along the ground as I rolled to a stop.
Pain shook my body, but I had survived it. I glanced over at my stationary bike and tried to push myself up. I could not.
As I gasped for air, I turned to look at my uncooperative legs. Blood pooled out around me. Lots of blood. I had not escaped the eye beams at all. My lower legs were missing.
An explosion rocked the building I had fallen from, and I looked up to see the silhouetted villain hover down out of the destruction.
“My laser would have cauterized the wounds, but the fall ruptured the injuries. You'll just bleed to death.” His eyes were still cold and unmoving as he descended. “Now you have made a spectacle of this. I’ll have to relocate.”
Blood continued to pump out of my stumps at an alarming rate. Light-headed, I tried to raise my gun-arm. The shotgun shook, but didn’t rise to meet the man. I cursed… everything. Red Dust raised up his hand, his palm illuminating with crimson light again.
The surrounding air swirled as the explosion echoed around the empty street. Dark smoke washed away, allowing my dizzied eyes to frown at what was around me.
A familiar domed shield.
Captain Snaps put down Belle beside me, the two squaring up against the villain. I tried, but couldn’t vocalize a warning.
Red Dust sneered. “I’ll not waste my time with more League dogs. Keep your dying cripple, then.” He crouched slightly, preparing to leap up into flight.
Although my vision was spotty, I watched as the villain paused in place, a torrent of intense wind pushing him down in place. He growled and glared up at Ren on top of the building. As he raised his hand toward her, a shadow dropped down. The impact vibrated through my body as broken shards of the street ejected from the landing place of the super.
My vision started to fade away, and I felt cold. The enraged Roxy took one brief glance at me before grabbing the pinned Red Dust by the throat. As she lifted him up and he tried to pry her away, her hand burst into lava. I watched as her fingers melted through his neck, one last pained gasp escaping his mouth, right before I passed out. Poignant, maybe.
Curiosity killed the cyborg. Or at least, I felt dead. My consciousness struggled to exist, wavering in and out while mixing with odd fevered dreams, to the point that I wasn’t sure if anything was real or my brain was just giving up. Slowly. I tried to grasp at what seemed closest to reality.
Flashing lights, sirens, and arguing voices.
A familiar darkness and rumble that vibrated through my numb body.
Then finally, bright lights. Some movement before I was stopped, stationary. Still laying down. Cold and dazed. Numb. Unable to move or speak.
The last memory that sunk into my mind was a figure moving over me, blocking out the intense overhead lights. White apron and rubber gloves. A wrinkled face with a gray mustache and unkept hair. Deep green eyes looked me over, worry clear as day on his expression. I closed my eyes for one more sleep, as his words barely made it to my ears.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”