CHAPTER 16 - SABRA

It made sense to lie low following an empowered street brawl, but it didn’t mean Sabra had to like it. A day after she had stopped a bank robbery—a thought that still seemed unreal, and still left part of her wondering how you robbed an electronic system—she was back to stacking shelves.

It hadn’t been her idea. Mike and Jamar had both sent her messages moments after it hit the news, advising her to keep her head down. The idea seemed ludicrous, given that the man who had shot her father, that Leopard, was still out there. But then she’d heard sirens, and she’d had the chilling thought that they knew who she was and were coming for her, before the APD patrol car had screamed past, lights blazing.

After that, Sabra figured she’d take their advice under consideration. She’d had a victory, after all, as small as it was. The people who shot her father were still in the city, and they wouldn’t get off the island anytime soon. She could take a few days to wait, and listen, and prepare. Next time, she doubted it’d be one-on-one.

The feed was ablaze with the brawl, though. Sabra had to settle for that. By now, it was clear that no one had died, thankfully, which meant that the bad guys were playing by the rules. How that fit in with shooting her father in the chest, she had no idea. But she was sure she’d get to ask them soon.

The only person who seemed to have been hurt was the Star Patrol cape who had responded first. For whatever reason, he—Wedgetail Warrior—had called it in and gone in without backup. Now, he’d be out of action for a few weeks, and people were upset. Apparently, he was some darling child of Australia on his first international assignment. Sucks to be him, Sabra thought, and blocked all further mention of him.

There wasn’t much about her. Hell, there were more people wondering about the identity of whichever cape had blinded the city block just as the fighting was about to intensify. Not even Mike knew anything about that. Still, it seemed like people credited them with breaking up the fight before it got worse.

But it’d gotten bad enough for some people. There was talk of a curfew, of a stronger APD presence, of more registered hero groups being brought in. Had Sentinel not been dragged away, some said, no one would’ve been brazen enough to pick a fight in downtown Asclepion.

Maybe. Or maybe he would’ve gotten the hostages killed with his invulnerable, flying, super-strong godhood. He’d never been one for subtlety, and he’d long ignored the Blocks she called home. It was hard not to see the people calling for assistance, angry that their lives had been endangered, realizing they’re pleading with something that didn’t care about them, and not think: this is how it feels, eat it.

Sabra sighed. She had to be better than that. Not give into hate and anger. At the end of the day, everyone on Asclepion, everyone across the world, was human, and she was because they were. But still, she’d savor it, and try to ignore the sour chaser of guilt.

The door chimed. Sabra looked up from her phone and raised her eyebrows. Of all people, Feline Fancy stepped into the store, hands in his pockets, and looking as weary as he had the last time he’d showed up. Had a few more grey hairs, maybe.

“Hey, Sabra,” he said. “We need to talk.”

She looked back down at her phone, busying herself with the screen to buy her time to figure out what was going on. Blackmail? Surely not. Maybe he just wanted a discount.

Wait, Sabra thought, that’d still be blackmail, wouldn’t it?

“Yeah?” Sabra said, feigning disinterest or ignorance. “What about?”

“I think you know.”

Great.

“Hey!” Sabra called out, waving to the only other occupant of the store. “You! Down the back! Pay or get out, we’re closing for lunch.”

Feline Fancy stood by the door as the other guy filed out. Once he was gone, and Sabra had locked the door from her console and turned off the security cameras, he stepped over to the front counter.

“How’d you find me?” Sabra asked.

“Are you serious?”

“I asked the question, so, yeah.”

He crossed his arms, artificial fingers standing stark against his jacket.

“I have this thing called memory, Sabra. I came in here to buy cat food. The next day, you ruin my morning coffee and my good mood and make a crack about the cat food. All I did was put two and two together. The name’s Pavel Fisher, so, now we’re even.”

That was true, too. She hadn’t counted on him remembering her, much less recalling where from. Asclepion was a big city and everyone understood the value of the veil between cape and civilian. So what was this dude’s problem?

“Okay, Pavel,” she said. “Well, sorry about that. I wasn’t operating on much sleep.”

He squinted at her. “And you went out to pick a fight?”

“Sort of, yeah. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time to hear it. So, why on Earth would you—”

“Well, someone had to,” she said. “Look, are you here to try and blackmail me?”

“No, I’m not. But I do want to talk about that little brawl.”

Sabra crossed her arms. “Is this about the coffee? Look, man, I said I was sorry. How much do I owe ya?”

“It’s not about the damn coffee,” he snapped.

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Fisher pinched at the bridge of his nose, sighed.

“Look, the fight,” he said. “You did okay out there, Sabra. Not great, but okay.”

“You’re not supposed to use the nametags, man.” She plucked it from her shirt and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Sue me.”

“Whatever,” Sabra replied, shrugging. “I was doing better than okay, anyway.”

“No,” Fisher said, “you weren’t.”

“Yeah? And how would you know?”

“Because that woman killed my partner.”

That took some of the wind out of her sails. “What?” It was all she could think of to say. “No way.”

“Yeah,” Fisher said, shrugging it off. “She’s my old nemesis. Goes all the way back to the Golden Age. God knows what she’s doing here. The name Impel ring a bell?”

Sabra thought for a moment.

“Nope.”

“Well—”

“Is her name Impel?”

“What,” he said. “No, it’s Taurine.”

“You mean like the energy drink?”

“It’s combination of Taurus and marine, actually—a portmanteau.”

“Oh, word?”

“Yeah,” Fisher said, squinting at her again. “It’s a word.”

They stood there for a time. Someone came by and knocked on the doors of the store. Sabra waved him on, then returned her attention to Fisher or Impel or whatever he called himself, whoever he was, whatever he wanted.

“This’s fascinating and all, but you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“It’s a long story of my own,” he replied. “Do you want a rematch?”

Her heart sang her answer. She wanted it like she wanted another breath—didn’t even have to think about it, and her body screamed the longer she resisted it. Eluding that Revenant had been one thing, and even that seemed like a joke now that she’d gone toe-to-toe with a super strong minotaur-woman.

But that wasn’t why she’d gone out there, and still wouldn’t be.

“I thought you said she was your nemesis.”

“She is,” Fisher replied. “That’s why I’m asking—because with my knowledge and your skills, I bet we can make it a rematch where you win.”

Even just the thought of that victory was intoxicating. She could see herself standing in front of the Citadel, Taurine in cuffs at her feet. Bringing down a Golden Age supervillain, someone who had eluded capture for so long? It felt like everything she wanted.

But it wasn’t. At least, not yet. She shook her head.

“I’m not interested in a rematch,” she said. “She was just in the way.”

Fisher stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “What?”

“You were there, right? How much did you see?”

“The whole thing, from when you got thrown through the window to that bright flash.”

“Did you see the people who were with her? The ones in black, with the animal helmets.”

Fisher nodded. “Yeah.”

“They attacked a ship a few days ago, just as it was coming into port. My father was aboard, working as a councilor for the refugees. It was a refugee ship, Christ and Allah, packed full of people. And my father was on board. They put six bullets into him.”

Fisher was silent. Sabra watched his face. Whatever he thought she was going to say, that wasn’t it.

“Jesus,” he said. “Sabra, I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not like you had anything to do with it.”

“Just offering condolences, no need to bite my head off. So, those are the people who hit the Adriatic,” he said, like he was talking to himself. “And no one’s following it up, except for me.”

“What do you mean? You’re not a cop, and I’m guessing you haven’t been out in costume for a while.”

“You can probably guess I’m not from around here. I’m working for a private security firm out of Geneva. I got given this stupid job to keep me out of trouble.”

“You mean the Adriatic.”

“Yeah. It was just a joke, but now... I think there’s something happening here, Sabra. Something big. No one’s mentioned those mercenaries having that gear before, much less working with Taurine. I was just supposed to be filing reports—”

“What good will that do?”

“Exactly.”

“What’s Geneva like?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. Look, the way I see it, we’re already in this together—we just haven’t made it official. I have to get to the bottom of this, and you want to bring in the guys with the animal fetish. But you’ll have to go through Taurine first.”

Bring in? Maybe. Sabra wasn’t sure. It was what she was supposed to say, and it was what she thought. But the next time they stood before her, and she was humming with that adrenal song, she wasn’t sure there’d be any room for mercy.

Sabra let that thought sit. “Well,” she said, “look, one thing—what do you get out of this?”

Fisher held up three fingers.

“Three things,” he said, and began ticking them off. “I hate a mystery, for one. Two, I get to make sure we do this right and you don’t get yourself killed. And, finally, I get the knowledge that one chapter of my life has finally been closed.”

“Okay. So, what now?”

Fisher grinned, but only barely. Wasn’t much of a surprise. Sabra figured his face might’ve forgotten what it felt like.

“Now? I’ll track down somewhere for us to train. Give me your number and I’ll send you a message when I’ve got a location.”

Sabra looked down at her phone. Was she really going to give some washed-up former cape a way to track her down? Well, one more way than she already had? But he hadn’t sold her out, and that counted for something. And if she wanted to get to Geneva, it’d be good to have friends there. Whatever was going on here, it seemed to mean a lot to him.

“Okay,” she said. “Sure.”

“Great,” Fisher said, entered it into his phone, and slipped it away. “Oh, Sabra. One more thing. Mind humoring me?”

“Feel like I already am, Pavel.”

“Your suit isn’t exactly factory-spec. The power cell—did you take that from a local Dynazon facility by any chance?”

She couldn’t help it. The grin split her face, wide and proud. “Don’t know,” she said. “Will you have to write me up in a report?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Just a hunch I had. Glad to see I’ve still got it. Bodes well.”

Another person was knocking on the door now, gesturing at her and Fisher, mouthing demands and queries. Sabra rolled her eyes and unlocked the door, flipped the cameras back on.

“So,” she said to Fisher, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Abacus,” he said.

“What?”

“You can count on it, Sabra.”