There’s something beautiful about the Red-Light district.

It’s not the people – frankly, I try not to think about who they are or why they’re here – it’s the environment. There are probably more lights here than there are anywhere North of the glowing city on the other side of the channel, but it feels less harsh than those brilliant streets.

It’s in the colour of the lights – how the red glow seems to only create deeper shadows – and in how they have been placed. It’s like they’re here to give definition to the darkness, rather than to banish it. The red lanterns stretched on wires between the buildings are like fireflies in the forest, the curving red and purple tubes shaped into names or female silhouettes like the flickering fire in a dark lounge, forcing people to lean in close to see the face of the person in front of them.

It creates a sense of intimacy. All darkness is intimate to me – a pitch-black alleyway that nobody in this city would willingly enter feels welcoming to me, even though I know it should be terrifying – but the Red-Light district is intimate in a way that can be understood by the rest of the city. It’s a space where light and shadow – my city and theirs – merge together into somewhere both can exist side by side, even if they never know I’m here.

People feel free to let themselves go, in ways they can’t in the rest of the city. They feel free to act out on their fantasies, to take risks and experiment in ways that, frankly, I’d rather not think about.

They feel free from all their inhibitions, but that can cause problems when left unchecked.

Which is why I spend my nights crawling along the rooftops of the district, peering out from behind neon signs at the crowds of drunks and soon-to-be-drunks. I don’t really like looking at the people, but it is my job to understand them.

Some of them come in groups. There’re two types of them, really. The first are from outside the city – outside the edge of the world, as far as I’m concerned. They come here fuelled by stories about this little nest of sin and vice, and they carry that nervous energy in their walk. They never seem to go as far as they think they will, or they go too far too fast and burn themselves out.

The second groups are all locals, dressed in overalls or suits or whatever they wore to work. Normally, they’d spend their evenings in regular old bars before staggering home, but tonight one of them had the bright idea to go a little further. So they came here. They’ll go as far as they dare, push each other to go further than any of them would if they were on their own. The woman have it worse; either quietly moving with the group or hiding their uncomfortableness behind false bravado. Well, most of them are like that. Some of them are surprisingly brash.

The ones who come here on their own are generally older than the ones in groups. They’re looking for escapism, rather than thrills. Some of them want to escape things every night, to the point where I’m starting to recognise some of them. They’re addicted to this place, but at least it’s an addiction that won’t kill them. I don’t know what they’re running from, and I suppose it doesn’t really matter. My job is to watch them, not to wonder about their past.

I watch them, because sometimes things get out of hand. Passions are high here, and that can cause problems. It’s why we have the bouncers, the cameras and the teams of guards on standby in case anything big happens. I’m just a small part of that; three pairs of eyes looking out of unexpected places, catching things the others might miss.

Across the street, in an alleyway between two brothels, a spot of trouble has been caught in our web. Two of the bouncers, their suits ruffled and their clip-on ties hanging loose, are pushing a brute of a man up against the wall. The bouncers are bulky in their own right, but the man has a foot in height over both of them and he’s built like he lifts tree trunks as a hobby.

He’s also clearly drunk, and the two bouncers are struggling to hold him down.

I tear my eyes off the struggle, quickly slipping into the darkness, up the back of the sign and out onto the roof. From there, it’s a quick hop, skip and darkness-assisted jump over to the other side of the street. I dash along the rooftop – actually using my legs this time – and lean over the edge of the rooftop just in time to see everything go wrong.

The brute twists, slamming the bouncer holding him against the wall hard enough that his grip slackens as he staggers back, clutching a broken wrist. The other bouncer rushes forwards, one of those electric shock batons held out in front of her, only for the brute to rip it out of her hand and drive a wicked punch into her face.

As she collapses, I’m already pouncing off the rooftop. The alleyway is recessed from the main street, lit by a small lamp hanging over the side door to one of the clubs. There’s a metal cover on top of it that directs all the light downwards, which leaves the space above it in near-total darkness. I use that patch of shade to accelerate my fall, emerging into the light and barrelling into the brute at an absurd speed.

It knocks him back and down, his leg buckling beneath him even as he somehow manages to stay on his feet. My own forelimbs ache in protest, a line of white-hot agony travelling up from the point of intact as I spring off the man. For a moment, our eyes meet – mine yellow and inhuman, his wide with slowly-dawning fear – before his drunk state gets the better of him and he lunges forwards, kicking at me with his injured leg.

The force of it drives the air out of my lungs, sending me skidding along the ground. Instinctively, I try to slip into the darkness, but I’m surrounded by light. Instead, I push through my fear and lunge forwards, leaping up and clamping my beak-like jaw down on his right arm, just like Ember showed me. He flails, hitting my side with the other arm as the sickeningly metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. He hardly seems to notice the wound. Maybe he’s too drunk?

I let out a sigh of relief at the sound of boots on concrete, letting go of the brute’s arm just in time for a grey-uniformed security guard to fire one of those electrified wire guns right into his chest, causing him to spasm uncontrollably. A moment later, he’s slammed to the ground by two others, ignoring his cries and his still-bleeding wound as they force his hands into cuffs.

“You okay, Nightcrawler?” Jaarsveld – Ember’s head of security – asks me as he steps into the alleyway, his accent unique even by the standards of the city. I flash him a quick ‘okay’ hand sign, one of a number of military signals I’ve been learning in case I ever end up in a complicated fight.

He nods, taking me at my word and stepping over to the two bouncers. One of them is moving his arm around experimentally, making sure he didn’t break it, while the other is holding up a tissue to her bleeding nose.

“Cassidy, Butch, what about you?”

“Think he broke my nose,” Butch answers, her voice noticeably nasally.

“Alright. Cassidy, take her back to the station. Go through the backrooms of this place” – he slams a fist against the wall of the brothel – “I don’t want anyone on the street knowing one of ours got hurt.”

He steps over to the restrained man, still struggling even as one of the guards wraps a bandage around his arm. Jaarsveld squats down in front of him, looking down at his head with a worrying smile on his face.

“As for you, you waste of space… You’ve really screwed the pooch, ja? Fooked with one of my boys, and I can’t be havin’ that.” He leans in closer, reaching out and fishing through the man’s pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a little plastic card, squinting a little as he reads whatever’s on it, before reaching for the radio clipped to his shirt.

“Control, it’s Jaarsveld here. Got a dronkie here who’s hit one of my people and I want to know if he’s anything important. Name of James Shaw.”

“Wait one,” a woman’s voice comes back through the radio. “There’s a James Shaw on the VIP list.”

“Is he bald and built like a brick shithouse?” Jaarsveld snaps back, a little angrily.

“Nope. Brown haired and skinny. This one’s all yours.”

“Fookin marvellous… Hear that, buddy?” he asks, leaning in close to the struggling man. “Looks like you’re not worth any special treatment.”

He stands up, gesturing for his guards to lift the man off the ground.

“But don’t worry, friend. None of this is gonna make its way to court. Can’t let those crime statistics go up, see? It’d drive away the customers who’re actually worth a damn. So we’ll make the lesson stick – make sure you know not to pull this shit again – and then it’ll all be over.”

The man has stopped shouting now. Instead, he stares Jaarsveld dead in the eyes before spitting in his face. Jaarsveld reaches up with a gloved hand to wipe away the spit, before curling that hand into a fist and driving it into the man’s stomach in a blow that has me wincing.

“Right!” Jaarsveld exclaims. “Show’s over. Let’s get this prick out of here.”

He starts walking back to the end of the alleyway, before turning back to look at me.

“Almost forgot… Ember’s looking for you, Nightcrawler. You want a lift back to the compound?”

I nod, then follow him out into the red-lit street. The alleyway has been blocked off by a couple of security cars, with yellow flashing lights mingling with the rich red and deep shadows. Of course, the spectacle has brought a crowd of people who’re mingling around the cars in various states of sobriety. Jaarsveld takes one look over the crowd and steps forwards, his arms outstretched and a smile on his face.

“Just a bloke who’s been enjoying himself a bit too much, folks! A night in the drunk tank will see him right!”

The crowd chuckles, watching as the drunk is manhandled into a caged-off area in the back of one of the cars before starting to stagger off, the entertainment over. Jaarsveld holds open the door of his car for me with an apparently genuine “ladies first.” I smile up at his impromptu display of manners, before slipping into the darkness beneath his seat.

I don’t bother looking out as we move through the city streets – it’s not like I’d be able to see anything other than Jaarsveld’s boots, instead simply settling into the darkness as the car shifts beneath me. I can hear Jaarsveld talking into his radio, but I’m not really following. I don’t really get a lot of the technical language he and his people use on the radio, and I have more important things to learn.

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The district isn’t big, but it’s still faster to cross it by car than on foot. I don’t like being seen, so when I’m on my own I’ll try and cross the city without ever straying into the light. There’s no real reason to do it; word of my presence here has spread, and some of the clubs have even started leaving cushions on their roofs in case I want to lay down for a bit – like I’m some sort of good luck charm to be courted with milk and cookies – but I still don’t like the way people stare.

Things are different around the other people who work for Ember, which is why I don’t mind stepping out of the car and into the well-lit compound. I’m here often enough that I’ve become perfectly normal, almost anonymous. Sometimes, some new person who’s only just arrived in the city will stare a bit, but there’s usually someone nearby who sets them straight with a few terse words. I’m not sure if it’s because they like me or if they’re just wary about upsetting a Cape, but it’s appreciated.

I duck into the administrative building, heading up past the stairs to the server room and onto the second floor of the converted suburban home. After knocking twice on the door to Ember’s office, I reach up to the handle and creep inside.

It’s a lot darker than it was before. Ember keeps the main light off now, relying on the glow of her computer and a small lamp to get her work done while leaving the rest of the office in a comfortable twilight. She doesn’t have to do it, but I’m grateful she does.

She smiles at me from around her screen, waiting as I get comfortable on the couch in the corner of her office before speaking.

“So, how are you today?”

I stand up straight, idly rubbing my hands together as I try to think of the right gestures.

‘I am very good, and you?’

Ember’s grin widens as she pushes aside her computer monitor so I can see her hands.

‘I am very good, thank you.’

I bounce up and down on the couch at my success. I can’t say much more than that, except for the real basic stuff like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye,’ but I’m glad I’m making progress. Even if it’s slow and frustrating progress.

At least I can take comfort in knowing that Ember is just as slow as me about it.

Once I’m done celebrating, I curl up on the couch and stare across the room at Ember, silently asking her what this is all about.

“A job’s come up. For you, if you want it. I’m just waiting on Jaeger, then I’ll explain more.”

I lean forwards, interested and a little nervous. Ember had mentioned that there might be one-off jobs beyond my usual work watching the district, I just hadn’t thought one would come so soon. I’ve only been here for a few days.

A knock at the door shakes me out of my worry, before Jaeger steps into the room in his militaristic costume, with polished silver buttons and a pistol in a thigh holster.

“A little dark in here, don’t you think?” he says, in what Ember tells me is a ‘Canadian’ accent – wherever that is.

“I prefer ‘atmospheric,’” Ember says as she leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the desk. “I feel like the gritty detective in a noir film.”

“Except you don’t smoke,” Jaeger retorts as he takes the seat opposite her, “and I’d make a poor dame.”

Ember makes a show of leaning forward and scrutinising Jaeger, her finger and thumb resting on her chin while she contemplates.

“You may have a point. You’re not nearly pretty enough.”

I chuckle from my spot on the sofa, a low whistling sound that has Jaeger staring at me from beneath the peak of his helmet.

“Now that you’re both done having a good laugh,” he says, his tone nothing but professional, “shall we get down to business?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ember replies, though she doesn’t stop slouching in the chair. “I’ll start, shall I?”

Once Jaeger nods, Ember ignores him and looks right at me.

“You remember what I said about the Triad? How they’re allies of ours who’re making a power grab?”

I nod.

“It doesn’t make any sense. The odds aren’t in their favour, and the head of the Triad isn’t the sort of person who’d take that sort of risk.”

“Lo Yiu Hong is a cautious man,” Jaeger interjects, “and he’s as slippery as a serpent. There aren’t many human-run crime syndicates left, and for good reason. Not many baseline people can keep up with Parahumans, or hold their loyalty. Unfortunately for us, the head of the Seattle Triad is one of the few who can.”

“Before they split from the Elite, their headquarters were in the covered market in Ballard. You might have run across it before you met me,” Ember continues, looking a little annoyed at Jaeger’s interruption.

I think back to the market I found, full of exotic-smelling spices and signs warning pickpockets that they’d lose their hands if they tried anything. I nod in agreement.

“Well, they’re not there anymore. The Triad have pulled out of every single site we knew about, with a lot of our informers in their organisation going missing. We’re assuming the worst.”

I wince.

“With the leadership underground and the foot soldiers barely aware of anything important, we’ve been on the backfoot since this gang war started. Our boss thinks that you can break the stalemate by getting us some real intelligence.”

I hold up a hand, trying to think of the right gestures.

‘You want me to…’ I fumble for a moment before giving up and putting my hand over my eyes like I’m looking intently at something in the distance.

“To spy on them? Yeah.”

I nod, slowly. It sounds scary, but I’m very good at people watching.

“Of course,” Jaeger speaks up, “you’ll have to find them first.”

Ah. That might be harder. I raise my hands to try and sign something, realise that there’s no way my limited vocabulary would be able to get across, and mime myself writing on my palm.

Ember understands immediately, tossing my notepad and pen over from where it had been sitting on her desk. I scribble out a quick message and toss it back to her.

“You’re not sure how,” she reads out loud, for Jaeger’s benefit. “I know. That’s why Jaeger’s here; he’s our go-to guy for sneaky things.”

“I prefer covert operations specialist, if it’s all the same to you. Although I am less suited to it than you are, Nightcrawler. Our last reconnaissance-focused Parahuman… went over to the other side, so to speak.”

He shakes his head like he’s dislodging a bad memory.

“Anyway, the thing you need to understand about the Triad is that the closer you are to Lo Yiu Hong, the more stringent his security. The people immediately around him are his closest associates, the ones who’ve been with him since they were driven out of Hong Kong. You’ll never find them.

“Once they arrived in Seattle after Leviathan’s attack, the Triad started rapidly expanding and absorbing local gangs. They changed their name to the Seattle Triad, to reflect their more diverse composition and to make it easier to assimilate their new American members. Those members are less disciplined than the original followers, but they’ve been shaped by the Triad’s culture of security and loyalty to Mr Lo.”

He leans forwards, looking at me with a satisfied grin on his face.

“The weak link are their newest recruits. The ones they’ve taken on since they split from us, promising them money and a life of luxury just as soon as they topple our hold on the city. We’re putting enough pressure on the Triad that all their Capes have had to hunker down, and hiding in some filthy safehouse won’t sit well with them. They’ll get stir-crazy, they’ll make mistakes, and that’s your way in. Find them, and eventually you’ll find the leadership.”

“You’ll have to be careful, though,” Ember interrupts, with a worried look on her face. “Just because they’re new to the Triad, that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. There’s… there’s one in particular I want you to watch out for. Bloody Mary.”

I cock my head. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t remember where I heard it. Maybe Ember mentioned it before?

“She’s insane,” Ember explains. “On her own, she’s about as strong as the average college girl and as deadly as the average college girl with a knife, but that doesn’t matter when she’s the most versatile teleporter in the city.”

“There’s an urban legend,” Jaeger picks up where Ember left off. “A woman gives birth to a child out of wedlock, so the people of her village turn on her, thinking her to be the bride of the devil. They put her in front of a mirror, and force her to watch as each villager cut her until she died. The legend goes that if you stand in front of a mirror and repeat ‘Bloody Mary’ three times, she’ll come back to enact vengeance on those who wronged her.”

“It’s all a bunch of shit popular with teenage goths with more mascara than sense,” Ember snarls, “which is exactly what Bloody Mary was when she got her powers.”

“Left unchecked, she would have left a trail of bodies across the city,” Jaeger continues, sounding a lot less emotional than Ember. “It was decided that Bloody Mary would be conscripted into the Elite and placed under my watch. I suppose she was your predecessor, in a sense; I used her to conduct this sort of covert reconnaissance.”

I glare at him, not at all happy about being compared to a would-be murderer.

“She can travel through mirrors,” Jaeger elaborates, apparently confusing my angry glare for confusion. “I had her watching targets from inside the reflections on watches, window panes or anything else with a reflective surface, making sure that nobody ever saw her. She hated that, which means she hates us.”

“So if you see some vampire-looking bitch staring at you from inside a mirror,” Ember interjects, anger warring with concern on her face, “you run away as fast as you can.”

I’m starting to feel a lot less confident about this.

“Look…” Ember says, picking up on my distress. “I know it’s a big ask, but… things are bad right now. We’re losing control of whole neighbourhoods, and they’re not going quietly. There’s blood on the streets, and I don’t know how long I can keep it out of the district.”

I sit there in silence, thinking it over. Things are nice now, but that doesn’t mean much if the violence is going to spread here. If I have the opportunity to stop my life from collapsing again, shouldn’t I take it? Even if it’s dangerous and terrifying, it has to be better than losing what I have.

‘I can do it,’ I sign, even as nerves well up in my chest.