VOLUME III, PREQUEL CHAPTER TWO
Conversation with a Mad Man
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“Trickster,” Crow-Man growled.
As he slid into the Trickster’s room, the shadows washed over him like he’d become a part of them. Seeing him almost disappear like that caused a chill to trickle down Bethany’s spine before she followed after him and shut the door behind them.
The lights lined along the corners of the ceiling lit up to illuminate the room for the Trickster’s new guests.
“Oo~oh, that’s far too bright for me after a month in the dark,” The Trickster blinked. “There’s no need for the light. I won’t bite. Or fight.”
Crow-Man glanced over his shoulder and scowled at Bethany. He didn’t like the light either.
Bethany responded with a shrug before pressing a finger to her left ear. “Can we dim the lights on cell forty-two?”
The lights lined along the ceiling began to weaken so that they emitted a soft glow that allowed the shadows to spread around the room once more.
“Thanks,” Bethany called.
Beneath his cowl, Crow-Man smiled. He didn’t like to admit it, but Crow-Man thought that the shadows clinging to his suit made him look more intimidating in the eyes of those around him. And intimidation, as he’d learned back in his days’ training as an acolyte of the old Court of Crows, was a necessary impression for a task like interrogating one of the slyest villains he’d ever met.
Crow-Man’s gaze focused back on the Trickster, and with his gift of sight, he analyzed every minute detail he could devour; from the villain’s body language, the half-hearted grin on his pale, malnourished face, and the dark circles underneath the Trickster’s crimson eyes.
Bethany had done the same, although without the benefit of True Vision. She thought that the Trickster looked sick. Like a drug addict during a heavy fit of withdrawal.
“You’ve grown your hair,” Crow-Man noticed.
It was true. Short, wavy, pumpkin-colored hair had grown out of a head that had once been as bald as the ass of a newborn baby.
“Like it?” The Trickster’s smile widened slightly. “I’m trying out that grunge look you Americans made popular in the nineties. Might even grow a mullet while I’m here in this fancy room they’ve got me in. At least until I decide to leave it.”
Crow-Man growled. “You’re not getting out of here ever.”
“Oh, there’s no need for threats. We both know this prison won’t be able to keep me locked up for long. I’m far too wily for these walls to contain.” The Trickster leaned forward. A smile played on his chapped lips. “Besides, I called you here so we could chat like the old friends we are. Buddies. Confidants. Brothers from another—”
Crow-Man growled again. As if he was warning the Trickster not to say that last word.
“You make it so easy for me, don’t you,” the Trickster cackled.
He ignored Crow-Man’s glare and leaned his back against the wall so he could get more comfortable.
“Oh, by the way… have you heard from our little healer?” the Trickster asked. “I hear he’s had a spot of trouble recently… Cats and dogs and dragons. He-he-he-he… sounds rather fun.”
He turned his face toward Bethany and winked at her, causing the Crucible’s lead warden to frown.
“How do you—”
Crow-Man placed a shoulder on Bethany’s hand to calm her, making the warden bite her lower lip in agitation. She’d asked him not to let the Trickster get a rise out of him, but here she was getting easily provoked by the mad villain and his even madder cackle.
Bethany couldn’t help herself though. They weren’t exactly friends, but her brief encounters with Sam caused her to rely on him. Not only did Sam save her life during that incident in the Bronx, but he’d also helped Bethany move on from her regrets of quitting the hero biz after he accepted ownership of Onus from her. Bethany saw it as Sam taking on both War Maiden’s burden and her legacy, which made him a bit of a special existence for the former hero turned warden.
“Aren’t you curious how I know so much about what’s happening outside these walls?” the Trickster asked.
Crow-Man’s fingers tightened on Bethany’s shoulder. It was his way of asking her not to respond. The Trickster may know how to push their buttons, but Crow-Man also had his number, and a showboat with a seemingly disinterested audience would eventually crash and burn on his own.
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After a while of silent staring, the Trickster frowned. “You two are boring me now…”
Well, it’s not like Crow-Man needed to play the Trickster’s game. He’d already deduced the few ways the Trickster could have gotten information on Sam’s adventures despite the Crucible’s policy of blocking out outside information for its high-profile inmates.
There was the Trickster’s connection to his giant master, the evil shadow that had first revealed itself at the hospital during their showdown that led to the Trickster’s arrest. Crow-Man didn’t think this likely though as the villain’s sickly countenance suggested he was cut off from the evil power that had guided his murder spree against Olympus’s oracles and their relics. The second possibility, and the more likely one, was a human ally. Not his lawyer. From what Crow-Man knew, villains on the fourth sub-level didn’t get lawyers. So, it must have been one of the guards or doctors who serviced this sub-level.
“Who’s been in here recently?” Crow-Man asked Bethany.
She quickly caught on to his hunch and pressed her finger to her ear. “I need a list of all personnel assigned to cell forty-two.”
The response to Bethany’s inquiry was quick, causing her brow to furrow suddenly.
“Corporal Jensen… isn’t he on sick leave today?” Bethany confirmed.
The response on the other end of the line made Bethany’s brow crease even more.
“What is it?” Crow-Man asked.
“One of the guards assigned to watch over this floor called in sick earlier. He’s never called in sick before though…” Doubt flashed on Bethany’s face. “It might be just a coincidence, but—”
“It might be more than coincidence,” the Trickster cackled.
In a single fluid motion, Crow-Man leaped over to the Trickster, picked him up by the scruff of his neck, and then slammed the cackling villain against the back wall.
“Crow-Man!” Bethany yelled in alarm.
The Trickster kept cackling in Crow-Man’s face though. Not seeming the least bit intimidated by his old foe. “So, quick… to violence. It’s a wonder… that people think… you’re a hero,” the Trickster whispered despite the pain in his throat.
Bethany’s hand latched onto Crow-Man’s shoulder, and he could feel the slim film of energy coating her palm.
“No one’s allowed to touch the prisoners,” Bethany insisted.
Crow-Man ignored her warning though. He just slammed the Trickster against the wall again.
“No games, Trickster,” Crow-Man growled. “Why did you call me here?”
“I… told you… I wanted to… chat,” the Trickster managed to say despite how tight Crow-Man’s hold on his neck was.
“What do we have to chat about?” Crow-Man pressed. Although he also loosened his grip on the Trickster’s collar. Not because he cared about the villain’s safety, but because Bethany’s hand on his shoulder was beginning to hurt.
“Something wild and unimaginable,” the Trickster replied after a second or two of coughing. “I’ve got a prophecy for you, Crow.”
Crow-Man frowned. “You’re no seer.”
“One need not be a seer to receive divine revelation, as you very well know,” the Trickster hissed. Chuckling afterward. “Well, do you want to hear how the world ends, or are you the type to hate spoilers?”
Crow-Man’s grunt was his only response. The Trickster took it as a ‘yes’ though.
Unlike Farsight, the Trickster’s crimson irises didn’t fade into whites. Nor did he exude the aura of a prophet experiencing a vision. The one thing he had going for him was the tone of his voice which dripped with the mysticism of one who had the secrets of the cosmos on his lips.
“The curse of pride will surely rise, to slay the gods and darken skies,” the Trickster rhymed ominously. “Calamity comes to the land of the dead, while the world above meets misery and dread.”
With all that he’s seen and done, Crow-Man rarely felt fear take hold of him. However, today was not one of those days he could just brush away the chill that crept up his spine while he listened to the Trickster’s prophecy. Try as he might, he couldn’t argue against the authenticity of what he heard, and, from the fearful expression he glimpsed on Bethany’s face, Crow-Man knew she’d come to the same conclusion as him. The Tricker was a liar and a cheat, but this time he spoke the truth.
Unfortunately, before either of them could force the Trickster to elaborate, an earthquake rocked the room they were in. One far stronger than the quake they experienced in the elevator. The Trickster’s cell rumbled, causing both the hero and his warden companion to stumble.
“Oo~~oh, what could that be?” the Trickster cackled.
Crow-Man glanced sideways at Bethany who was already busy listening to the report in her ear. She turned to him with eyes widening in alarm. “There’s an intruder at the entrance. It’s bad.”
“I thought that wasn’t possible,” Crow-Man reminded her. “Your defenses—”
“I know!” she snapped. “I guess you’re not the only one who can sneak their way into this place…”
Off the top of his head, Crow-Man deduced that there were very few gifted with the power to overwhelm the Crucible’s security. Perhaps someone with a gift related to…
“It’s either Vesuvian or Helfire,” Crow-Man guessed.
“Helfire’s locked away on the 3rd sub-level and Vesuvian’s last known whereabouts was in Russia,” Bethany shot him down. “Besides, they are both men. Our intruder’s an unidentified female gifted…”
“A woman?” Crow-Man repeated. “What are her—”
Then the lights turned off, and all that remained for them to see was the soft glow of the molten veins running along the cell’s craggy walls.
“The inmates—”
“It’s okay,” Bethany cut Crow-Man off. “The Crucible’s security system has a lot of redundancies to ensure—”
They both heard the click that heralded the door of cell forty-two sliding open.
“Styx,” Bethany cursed.
“Oh, my…” the Trickster’s eyes widened in delight. “It looks like you’re in trouble!”
It wasn’t just cell forty-two that had opened automatically either. All the doors along both sides of the corridor slid open, which Bethany explained was a situation that was only supposed to happen if the prison experienced catastrophic damage to its base structure, ensuring that the prisoners wouldn’t die horrific deaths from the magma surrounding the Crucible.
“Styx,” Bethany cursed again. “This was supposed to be theoretical. A fail-safe. Not a godsdamn certainty.”
“She has quite the potty mouth,” The Trickster noted. “You’re hanging with a rough crowd these days, Crow.”
“Shut up.” Crow-Man shoved the Trickster against the wall once more. “Warden Carlyle—”
The first of the prisoners stepped out of their cells, and, perhaps through luck or some twist of fate, all their eyes turned toward cell forty-two and the two heroes trapped within it.
“You know, I was afraid I’d be stuck in this hellhole long enough that I wouldn’t get to see it myself.” The Trickster’s grin widened, reaching to the corners of his cheeks. “But my fears were misplaced… I get to watch you die, after all, Crow. Now, isn’t that a fun twist of fate?”