Earlier that day.
A mask protecting her from the morning mist, Joanna stretched her arms and rotated her shoulders, maintaining a light jog. Joanna was what you'd call a "short fuse": one meter fifty-five of compacted muscle and grit. Even her platinum blonde hair held up in a ponytail, her pale skin and rosy cheeks would not convince harassers to mess with her. She rather enjoyed being a quiet threat.
Joanna was trying to limber up a little, and feeling guilty about the soreness. She hadn't kept up with her training the past week. Or done anything, really.
Sometimes you can get a bit lost when you lose your only job and purpose.
Not that she regretted it, really! Between the PR team making her wear those cutesy outfits that got in the way, and a partner that constantly acted like she was solving everything on her own… well. A bit late for regrets.
She was done being a sidekick, for now. She had thought she was a good fit for the role, but there was a gulf between her expectations and the reality for League-contracted Supports. Five years of doing the odd jobs, creating distractions and evacuating people when her Front got trigger-happy. She had proven herself many times over. But her bunny persona was ill-suited for fronting or even a solo carrier, they thought, and she had stayed at the bottom of the League ladder. No paid leave for extra training, no medals, no shiny office, and frankly mediocre pay.
Five years, and nothing to show for it. Sometimes, she thought she had been too good at being a nanny for the League's number one troublemaker. Maybe she should have messed up on purpose.
Shaking her head, Joanna started doing side-jumps on the green path next to Upper's wall. Construction wasn't allowed close to the wall for "security reasons" since the Factory Riots, which meant that an entire strip of middle had been changed into a park, or at least allowed to grow. The Ring tracks ran alongside the green for most of it. It was mainly grass and weeds with a spattering of aggressively trimmed shrubs and trees. Still, a bit of nature went a long way in a cramped Tier like Middle, where some streets could barely fit two people side by side and the industries from Lower gave the city its famous drifting fog.
As she stopped to stretch, a couple other joggers trotted past, leaving a musky trail in the crisp morning breeze. Joanna smiled and pulled on her elbow. She felt better. She had spent far too long in her own head, and that never made her happy. Letting her body loose? That was good fun. She was out, no more management breathing down her neck, no press smiles, no coordinated victory poses.
Freedom. Freedom tasted good.
The plan was to go indie again. Without a sponsor, she would have to unmask, for real this time. Scary. When you were on your own, things could get out of hand really fast. But she wasn't about to give up and run back to Mommy and Daddy like a coworker had so graciously suggested. No, she would show the League what she was capable of on her own.
She ran for a while, sticking to a regular human pace, even when a couple stairs and ramps made her wish she could become invisible for a couple minutes and run across the rooftop. Not part of her Gift, though. Invisibility was Shifter shit.
The crowd of workers had cleared out a while ago, and all she could hear in the distance was the hubbub of the South Market. A few elderly people walked their pampooses, a bunch of kids were playing a ball game in the grass with a trolley conductor as audience. The woman was quietly making sure they kept off the tracks.
Joanna walked home with a light heart, a short breath and a sweaty brow. As a finisher, she powered through the three flights of stairs that twisted towards her flat. Accessible buildings were at a premium in the neighborhood, but given that she could have run up the front of the building instead, she wasn't about to complain.
Her flat was pretty nice, all things considered. A steady job had allowed her to make it comfortable, decorated with a few quilts and painting. She had tried plants, but the only one that survived was a succulent named Velma the Fourth, after her three predecessors. Velma was uniquely capable of thriving though the succession of cracked-soil droughts and savage waterings Joanna subjected her to.
She was getting ready for a shower when she heard a few knocks on front door. Out of habit, she ducked and waited a couple seconds, then moved as silently as she could towards the peephole.
The silhouette of her elderly landlord appeared, warped by the lens. Joanna opened with a breath of relief.
"Hi, Mr. Beajan, how are you doing?" she asked.
"Bah," said the old man, "not any worse, not any better. The Anti won't have me just yet."
Mr. Beajan put a hand inside her vest and recovered a crumpled letter without a name or address. The enveloppe was completely blank.
"Another mail from your secret admirer," he said, winking. "You were moping so much these days, I thought things were over between you two!"
Joanna paled a bit, the tingly feeling of adrenaline and stress building up un her torso. "Something like that," she said, taking the letter. She looked at it, lost. "I'm… honestly not sure what they would have left to say."
She steadied herself and thanked the old man. Just before leaving, he added, giving the letter the side-eye: "You tell me if someone is causing trouble for you, all right?"
Joanna gave him a weak smile. "I will, Mr. Beajan, I will."
Then she was alone with a letter from the League.
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The League had communicated with Joanna through covert mail plenty of times. Last-minute orders, extra shifts, special assignments. The ordinary-looking letter had a barrier woven into the enveloppe, impossible to open without a League seal. Which she had given back with the rest of her high-tech gear.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Joanna stared at the letter, confused. She had signed all the paperwork over a week ago. They had even recorded the mundane name of any Vigil she knew into her NDC before they let her leave. As if she wasn't going to stand out more by not being about to talk about… these… people… Eh, screw it.
Maybe she could just forget it? Not being able to open the letter was a pretty good excuse to trash it or bury it in a drawer. But what if this was an opportunity? Or more trouble if she ignored it? Joanna really didn't want to go back to the headquarters just to have a clerk open the letter for her.
She may not have to.
Joanna got up and wrestled out of a closet a wrinkled Vigil-proof training mat from her first indie phase. The cybered mat had cost her a little fortune, and after the falling out with her family, she had held onto it, anticipating hard times.
The specifications escaped her, but the mat was built to withstand supernatural strength, and the letter was not. It was a deterrent for mundane snoops, not a bank safe. Top Vigils had access to much better gear. Could she dispel the barrier by just kicking it hard enough?
Joanna removed the bindings and unrolled the training mat. It was of good make, but time and subpar storing conditions meant the artefact looked beat-up. She raised a knee to her chest, ready to strike at the puny piece of paper that was resisting her. Then she thought twice. What happened if she destroyed the contents along with its protection?
Despite being treated like a gopher in the League, Joanna had attended basic Vigil education: it was mandatory. She knew most supernatural shields had a "rebound point". When they failed, they released a burst of energy. The effect scaled with the strength of the last hit. Joanna was gambling on finding a sweet spot between tapping the enveloppe harmlessly and overwhelming barrier and rebound. A small, mass-produced artefact like this one couldn't pack that much power.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Her first two attempts were underwhelming. Her leg fired twice in rapid succession, the impact on the enveloppe a dull, muted "thump" that signaled the mat absorbing excess strength. The League letter, though, looked fresh out of the mailbox. Joanna frowned.
For the third attempt, she went with her signature heel dropkick, which was probably overkill. The impact triggered a resounding crack, like a wooden beam breaking in a really echo-ey place. Only her enhanced reflexes allowed Joanna to anticipate the rebound and go along with it. Her leg stayed in one piece, but she impacted the ceiling hard and fell back to the floor in a shower of debris. Bewildered, Joanna bit back a scream.
"Never use your powers in civilian settings" was one of the basic rules imposed by the League, and the constant breaking of that rule was what had officially led to the Unmasking. As the dust settled and she started developing a full-body ache, Joanna looked up. The impact was not that deep, but a good chunk of plaster had been powdered by her heroics and a bit of the insulating fiber hung low.
"Fuck my deposit," said Joanna, unable to look away. Even without considering how she had endangered her mundane identity, old man Beajan was bound to ask questions. What a disaster.
The sound of a broom hitting the floor came from above, along with a garbled scream that sounded like "quiet down there!". A few more small pieces of plaster fell. Joanna groaned.
The letter was wrinkled and singed but otherwise intact. Two pages, written in legalese. Her last communications with the League had been of that nature. The first paragraphs had her frown even further. By the time the second page ended in a large amount of footnotes, Joanna was seething.
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The absolute gall of these people! Joanna stormed through the League entrance, white dust still covering her sportswear. She zeroed in on Victory Hall, only to be stopped by a goon wearing all black.
"Sorry ma'm, this is a restricted area," said the lanky woman. She sounded like she was reciting from a script.
"Bite me, Asha," said Joanna, blowing her cover out of spite. "I have a meeting at the top!" She brandished the crumpled letter. The League's parting gift. A cease and desist.
"Ah," replied the Vanguard, brows raising over the uniform sunglasses. "I see." She looked at the letters in more details, sighed and stepped aside.
"I didn't see you, you didn't see me," she warned the ex-Support, gesturing for her to move along. Joanna bolted towards the pump lift with a grunt.
Joanna Vespa, formerly known as Halo's Support Vigil "Miss Bunny" is to forfeit any claim to the "Miss Bunny" name and brand, which are property of the League. She should also avoid associating her future work with the "rabbit warrior" persona in any circonstances.
On a surface level, this was comically petty, bordering on the absurd. What would the League even do with the "Miss Bunny" name? String along a new Support with similar powers? There couldn't be too many of those. If anything, Joanna was relieved to be out of the PR team's clutches. They advertising tactics had, in her opinion, done more harm than good.
But despite how she felt about it, she needed the rabbit persona. Indie Vigils sometimes spent years building trust with the public, and choosing a new persona and name meant hitting the reset button on that trust. She couldn't afford it. Then there was the claim that her persona was the League's property. As if she hadn't been known as Jackrabbit even before she entered their ranks. Joanna grit her teeth.
She made irruption in the Trident's office, not bothering to knock, and paused a second. In her way stood a flustered young woman on the verge of crying. Very pretty, light brown skin, gorgeous blue eyes and hawkish traits that reminded her a bit of Halo herself. Family member, perhaps? Whatever, she didn't have time for distractions.
"Halo, you bitch, you better have a good explanation for this."
She sidestepped the woman and focused on the Vigil sitting behind an expensive desk. Her former teammate and tyrannical boss, Halo, looked at her and rolled her eyes. Behind Joanna, the door closed quietly.
Joanna strode towards Halo and slapped the letter on her desk. "What is this?"
Halo looked at her, perplexed. "Hi, Joanna, I didn't think you were still allowed in here?"
"Explain this to me. The League is keeping my name and persona? Like everything even a bit rabbit-themed? I came up with Jackrabbit, and I sure as hell didn't get any help promoting Miss Bunny. Daquemere himself said the rebrand was a mistake!"
The top Vigil got up, sighing. "Listen, I can't help you with PR. You know how departments are, I don't have much influence over them."
Joanna scoffed. "Bullshit," she replied.
Halo spread her hands in a pacifying gesture. "Beside, as you said, maybe Miss Bunny was a mistake? You were always tougher than that. Wouldn't you be better suited for a stronger persona? Martial artist, ninja maybe?" she added, with as much diplomacy as she could muster. It was not her better quality.
All the while, Halo kept advancing, forcing Joanna towards the door. She stopped, standing her ground.
"A white lady in ninja cosplay? That's your suggestion? Really? Listen, Sh-ow!" Joanna winced, her arm lancing with pain as the chip activated. "Fuck!"
She shook her arm to loosen the nerves. Halo waited, her face blank. "I need this. I'm gonna be an indie competing with the League. I'll be lucky if I get local firewatch as it is. You can't take away the only thing that could give me a jump start." Joanna's voice cracked a bit as anxiety choked her. "We were a team, right?"
Halo nodded, then shrugged. "We were. Until you had enough of that." She kept ushering Joanna towards the door despite her resistance. "I'm sorry I can't help you. You should take this up with PR, they might make some allowances." They reached the door and she held it open.
Joanna snapped a bit as she was getting pushed out, not wanting to resort to violence. "Come on, Sh… Ow! You-you can't do this to me! I know you could make them drop the injunction with a single fax!"
She was fully out now, the door blocked by the League leader's imposing stature. "I suggest," said Halo, "that you send them a letter instead of barging into their offices. I am certain they will be more willing to cooperate that way. Good luck, Joanna. I mean it."
The door shut in her face.
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Val got back to the Arrow building just before 02:00 p.m. Fear quietly built up as the bell-kid pulled the lever again and again, rising through the tower. At best, she was getting a blame for the ruined ledgers. At worst, she might just be handed her things in a little box and sent away. Would they have to take out her chip? How did it work? Her head swam.
The Junior Accounting department was quiet as usual, the scratch of pen on paper melding with the clickety-clack of calculator buttons. Val's desk was clean, new ledgers replacing the damaged ones. No one turned around with a pointed comment, not even Celize, apparently absorbed in her own work, splitting her attention between a yearly chart and an abacus. She wasn't the only one: the accounting department mandated for both abacus and calculators to be used in addition to the computing stations. It was redundant, but that was the point: Cyber machines tended to work very well, until they didn't, and then only a Cyber could repair them. A small error could easily compound, particularly in a department this big.
Was that it? Was no one going to call her in for an explanation or a dressing-down? Val tried to relax and failed, her shoulders bunched up as she tried to write down what she could remember from her morning notes.
Predictably, she jumped and almost dropper her pen when her manager called her from behind.
"Ms. Marredine," said Mr. White, cold as usual. "Back so soon?"
"Oh!-Mm, yes, Mr. White, sir. A simple misunderstanding." That was a bold white lie, as a League summon was notoriously rare and important. But she didn't want the office to know her sister was a top-tier Vigil. People never looked at her the same when she did. They got weird, inquisitive. They got close and then suggested visiting the family. She had to answer for any Vigil's collateral damage. More than anything, they could not stop comparing Val to Shaadi, to the latter's advantage.
Damian White nodded, unperturbed. "So it is. Will you be able to make up for this morning?" he asked.
Val nodded and bowed. "Yes, sir. I'm very sorry for my mistake and for damaging Arrow property."
Her manager huffed. "Stop apologizing for something you didn't do. It's unbecoming, and you don't have what it takes to be a martyr." He looked at her up and down. "Is your shirt still stained?"
Val paled. "Yes, sir. I will have a replacement ready for tomorrow, sir."
Mr. White tapped his lower lip, pensive. "Ms. Marredine, if you want respect in the office, you need to look the part. No more of you little middler costumes, is that understood? Arrow is a serious business, and any of its employees is a reflection of the company it serves."
"I, yes-I, uh…" Val desperately looked for the appropriate answer. Was her manager asking her to buy a tailored suit in Upper, where she could barely afford a meal? She stared at him, at loss for words.
He stared back, then nodded. "As long as you understand. Find me when your shift is over, we will find you something better. Now, focus on the job, please. We lost enough time as it is."
"Yes, sir," she said hastily as he walked back to his office without looking back. His words took a while to fully register. Find me after your shift. Was Mr. White taking her shopping in Upper? Was he feeling responsible in some way?
Was this a date?
Val's felt numb for the rest of the afternoon. In a way, this was an excellent test for her professionalism: if she could complete her revisions on time with her current state of mind, she could do anything.
If only her heart could stop beating so fast.