Volume 2: Prophase

Issue 8: Missing the Forest for the Trees

Jannette Adrian Churchwell

By Nova

When I first started, I thought finding anything in the city was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I thought the city was huge and impenetrable back then—a modern labyrinth. Now I know I was naive; the city wasn’t a labyrinth or a haystack, but an organism. It lived and breathed, expanding and contracting, as millions of people, like cells, worked to ensure its survival. Cars and trucks transported vital goods along roads, like blood cells traveling along veins and capillaries—logistics resembling a massive metabolism. But there were toxic elements as well. Corruption struck at the city like a virus or a parasite, infiltrating the highest offices and subverting them for their own purposes. Meanwhile, infections and cancers took root along the streets, hurting the innocent and destroying the work of the cells.

Once, especially under Seraph’s guidance, I would have viewed myself and the police as an immune system, ensuring the survival of the organism by rooting out infection and disease. Now, however, the metaphor had become too perfect. Just like a real immune system, the city’s immune system was all too aggressive, all too… indiscriminate. Killer T-Cells destroyed infected cells with an enthusiasm that resembled the supposed protectors of people; people who found themselves homeless after yet another powerfight leveled an apartment block. The brutal abuses piled upon shoplifters by some heroes and cops reminded me of the reckless abandon of macrophages devouring pathogens…

The real immune system requires extensive checks to keep it in balance, which made it one of the most complex systems in the universe. Without these checks, the immune system would kill the organism; a fate that strikes at far too many who suffer from autoimmune diseases. But even in a healthy body, most of the symptoms of, say, the common cold result from an all too enthusiastic immune system. I considered myself a careful hero—a well balanced element of the immune system—as was Ripple and Ramirez by my reckoning. But far too many of us weren’t. Seraph might have been the worst, but she wasn’t alone. How much of this organism’s, this city’s, suffering was because of its immune system and how much was because of its disease?

I had no idea, but while I tried to stay optimistic, my mind went to the homeless man I tried to help—how he refused my aid and turned me away for being a “hero.” How out of touch was I? Were we?

But there was no time for philosophy. There never was. The First Way was building an army and no one had any idea what their next move was. All we knew was that they were assembling the powerchems in the city—another mysterious move that seemed to defy reason. The First Way had bases in the forests and mountains to the north; they branded themselves as mountain-men, animals, and other wilderness types. But all the evidence pointed to them basing this operation in the city… Why?

We’d talked about this after our meeting on the rooftop. Ramirez thought that it might be related to the attacks at Chapel High School—that they were turning people into monsters and setting them loose in an urban area to maximize the damage they would do. I had to admit, the plan made a sort of sense, but I had never heard of any powerchems that did that. Sure, street-made powerchems had the horrible tendency to mutate or kill those who took them, but outright turning them into monsters? It struck me as too specific, too reliable for the kind of powerchems you got from smuggling stuff in with the Wolfpack.

The lack of motivation, of a broader goal, made finding them all the more difficult. We figured they must have been somewhere in San Francisco—rather than elsewhere in the Bay—since the bodies I had found a few nights ago were biking in Mission when they got ambushed. I knew people could get pretty far on bicycles, especially when motivated, but, still, we had to focus our attention somewhere.

San Francisco isn’t big, in terms of pure mileage, but it is huge when you think about the countless little nooks, crannies, basements, and empty buildings scattered throughout the city. If I searched block-by-block, street-by-street, it would take me weeks to find anything. What’s worse, if the First Way had set up shop in the city, there was no way they didn’t have people watching their backs. They would have been reported by someone if they hadn’t kept a look out for stray passersby or patrolling heroes. This made everything harder, if they got wind of us searching for them, they were certain to either run or hide before the heat came down on them.

It was almost sunset before the search got started in earnest. Ripple took the north, as her powers granted her a much needed mobility around the skyscrapers of downtown. I stuck to the south, which I was more recently familiar with anyways thanks to my patrol through Mission. Ramirez focused on quietly reaching out to Starlight, the Titans, or really anyone who could help with the search. The idea of the First Way building an army was scary enough to get even the most independent heroes working with us.

Or at least that’s what we hoped.

I still didn’t have my bike, since it was completely busted and Ripple hadn’t had the chance to get Tarantula to take a look at it. This left me on foot, which wasn’t terribly unfamiliar to me. I got started without my bike, anyways. The feel of the pavement beneath my feet was… nostalgic. It was almost energizing, really, and I was reminded of simpler times, when I focused on keeping just a few blocks safe instead of the entire city.

Of course, that didn’t last long. Seraph discovered me pretty quickly and once I was under her wing…

The memory nearly destroyed my nostalgia but I tried to push it away. I had a job to do and my new mode of movement granted me some advantages I didn’t have before. I could vault fences, scramble through alleyways, and dive through construction sites with an ease that my bike did not allow. Since my power constantly repaired torn muscles, purged lactic acid, and gave me the illusion of infinite stamina, I could sprint for hours without stopping. This, I had to admit, gave me a bit more long-term speed than a baseliner.

But speed wouldn’t help me at all if I didn’t plan my moves carefully. I was still in full costume and—while I wasn’t exactly the most famous hero in town—I had a reputation and people knew me. As I vaulted a fence and landed in someone’s garden, I hunkered down, hopefully out of sight. It was time to log my search and it wouldn’t do to be noticed while resting.

I pulled out my phone and punched in a rough estimation of my path onto a digital map of the city me, Ramirez, and Ripple were sharing. I’d been running for an hour now and I hadn’t even seen the slightest evidence of the First Way and, despite my speed, I had barely covered five percent of what I’d volunteered to search.

I groaned and slid down against the wooden fence, sitting amongst the bushes. I checked to see if Ripple had any luck and, despite being able to cover a far larger area, she’d found nothing. The dotted line indicating her path criss-crossed the city… but still nothing. No update from Ramirez about whether or not he’d been able to swing any reinforcements either.

I had no idea where the First Way could be. They weren’t in the obvious hiding spots. If they had claimed any territory, they—based on what I’ve seen—hadn’t tagged it or given any other indication that they were here. Sure, I had only checked a tiny portion of the city, but how could they hide an entire smuggling operation without leaving any trace of their presence? The only evidence I had that they were even here was that I stumbled across three corpses and the word of a different gang. And we had no idea what that other gang wanted other than the First Way out. What did Los Reales have to lose… Why didn’t the Yakuza or Dragon’s Teeth or even an independent villain put forward this “peace offering?”

The realization hit me like a bag of bricks. In an instant I dialed Ramirez, my hand shaking as I waited for him to pick up.

“Stitch?” Ramirez said as he picked up. “This important?”

“Are there any places in the city that have reported less crimes this week than last week?”

There was silence on the line for a moment. My fingers tapped the garden dirt in anticipation. “What?” Ramirez asked. “Where are you going with this?”

“Think! Why did Los Reales reach out to us instead of any other gang?”

“Because we had their people in custody, they’re looking for amnesty, as well as taking out a competitor.”

“Sure, maybe, but that’s the thing… Competitor.”

“Look, Stitch, I-” Ramirez suddenly stopped, “Oh,” he said. “Oh shit.”

“I know it’s a gamble, and the First Way isn’t the type to even get involved in this sort of thing…” I trailed off, but I heard Ramirez grunt affirmatively on the other end.

“Maybe, but it’s not a bad idea,” Ramirez said. “If the First Way wants to stay hidden…” He didn’t finish the sentence as he stuck me on hold, but he didn’t have to. Los Reales reached out to us not because they wanted amnesty or because they were afraid of the First Way building an army—or, well, not completely because of those two things—but because the First Way had moved onto their turf for their operation.

And since the First Way wanted as little attention as possible, they would have chased off all illegal activities. Dealers, prostitutes, even car jackers and petty thieves. Any crime report, even an anonymous one, could lure a patrol car or a hero to the area to take a statement or investigate.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Depending on what they were planning, that could be too much of a risk. If I were right…

Ramirez interrupted my chain of thought after a few minutes of silence. “Alright, Stitch, we have a few places throughout the city that had fewer reports than last week, but I think you’re gonna be interested in this one: Inner Sunset’s reported fifty-two percent less crime this week than last, and they’re right smack-dab in the middle of Los Reales turf.”

Inner Sunset was mostly residential and it wasn’t big. This was great news. “Any specific areas I should look into?” I asked, just in case.

“Hold on…” Another moment of silence, before he continued, “there’s a couple of recently closed businesses… restaurants, corner shops, that sort of thing.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Let me know if this doesn’t work out, there’s a few other places in the city that match what we’re looking for… just not in Los Reales turf,” Ramirez said. “I’ll send Ripple the addresses of a few of them in her search zone.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Good luck out there.” He hung up.

I sighed and checked the map. It would take me about twenty minutes to sprint there from where I was. Hopefully none of their spotters had noticed me, but, to be safe, I’d be a bit more careful. Thirty minutes then. I scrambled out of the garden I was hunkering in—hoping the owner didn’t notice me—and back over the fence. I raced down the street, nearly barreling over a pair of teenagers, and right into a different alleyway. Block by block I charged through alleyways, over fences, and even onto rooftops if I found a ladder. I tried my best to keep off the main roads where possible, to keep any evidence I was here to a minimum.

All too often I felt unnoticed. Now I just wanted to keep it that way.

By the time I had scrambled all the way to Inner Sunset, my costume was slightly bloodied. A few falls, trips, and a briefly shattered pelvis had slowed me more than I expected. Not permanently, of course, but I was running a few minutes behind schedule and feeling a little more drained than I would have liked. This wasn’t the best, but the plan was to wait for backup anyways. As soon as I located the First Way, I would hunker down and wait for help.

Fortunately, Inner Sunset only really had a few places where the First Way could run a smuggling operation. Most of the district was a lower density residential area, with rowhouses squeezed together leaving little room for any long-term illegal action. The neighbors would have noticed by now if anything weird was going on.

This left the little commercial areas as my only real point of investigation. They were all clustered on Judah and Irvine and, once upon a time, were a fairly nice and prosperous strip of businesses, supporting the nearby University and its student population.

They were nice, that is, until a powerfight leveled the campus, inflicting damages too expensive for the school to recoup. While I forgot the specifics, I remember it as a full blown brawl between Sukeban and Seraph, resulting in an embarrassing defeat for the latter that—even when I met her a year later—she was still trying to live down.

Maybe that’s why she took me under her wing so quickly?

No matter, the battle left a scar on the district that, even five years later, it hadn’t recovered from. Reliably, new businesses would open on Judah or Irvine and, just as reliably, they would close down within a few months. Without the university—which had picked up and moved to the east side of the city—there just weren’t enough customers to justify the amount of commercial space.

I surveyed Irvine from the rooftop of a shuttered clothing store. To the north, I could see the green trees of Golden Gate Park, and, to the south I saw a nice church. My eyes scanned the street for any movement… but nothing looked out of place.

I sighed and checked my phone. Ripple hadn’t found anything either, and there was still no word from Ramirez on whether or not we’d have any reinforcements today. I was just about to run down the rooftops toward Judah when my eyes glimpsed a familiar looking van…

No way they’d be that stupid…

I hid myself low against the edge of the rooftop and gave the van a closer look. The plate was from out of state—Nevada—but everything else looked exactly the same. It came to a stop in front of an abandoned ice cream shop a few blocks away. A group of men got out. They were met by another group of men who were carrying a large crate, which they loaded into the back of the van. Were they the owners? Moving out? When did that place close? It looked pretty abandoned… From where I was, I couldn’t make out too many details, but it looked like one of the men was standing back from the rest. He was tall, at least a head taller than the others, and bald.

Oh, it was him.

I scrambled to the phone, then texted:

> I found them. Sasquatch is here.

I looked again; they were hauling out another crate and fitting it into the back of the van. Were they… leaving? Just taking product or abandoning this place entirely? Did they see me? How much time did we have? If they left by vehicle… Well, even with my powers, there was no way I could keep up.

I checked my phone. Ripple had responded,

> OMW.

I didn’t know how long she’d take, but, judging from her last log on the map, she was on the opposite side of the city. I still didn’t know her powers too well, but I guessed she’d take about five minutes to get here, maybe more.

Ramirez responded with less confidence,

> STAY PUT, WAIT FOR RIPPLE.

I frowned—I had no idea if we could afford to wait that long. I typed,

> They’re leaving. Don’t know if I can track them after they leave.

> STAY PUT

came Ramirez’s response. I didn’t reply.

I slid off the building into the alleyway, my ankle breaking as I hit the pavement. It made a loud crack, but I hoped I was far enough away that they’d not hear me as I hobbled toward the street, my ankle healing within moments. I never liked having to use my powers before a fight; digging into that energy reserve and not giving it time to naturally fill, but speed was of the essence. I saw them loading a third crate into the van. The vehicle looked full. Were they finished or would they wait for another van?

I started running.

One of them noticed me and shouting rose up from the group. I saw, in an instant, weapons raised, guns pointed my way, but no one fired. Sasquatch stepped forward. I could hear him saying something to his men as I neared. By the time I had made it to their block, he was standing in the middle of the street.

I would need to get through him to get to the others.

He folded his arms and stared me down as I slowed to a stop. Sasquatch wasn’t like most villains who made a modicum of effort to conceal their identity for legal or personal reasons. Sasquatch… He didn’t care. His real name was David Newaker, not that anyone ever called him that anymore. He only wore a black t-shirt and jeans. Tattoos covered his heavily muscled arms, and his head was a shining, pale ball. Even in the twilight, he stood out in a crowd, not just because he was, well, Sasquatch, but because he looked like trouble and stood nearly seven feet tall.

Even without powers he could probably overpower any random person he met on the street. He was the embodiment of the First Way’s “survival of the fittest” ideology, and wasn’t afraid to prove it. While we had fought him a couple of times before, and never lost, no matter how many security steps they took, he always managed to break out of prison.

“S-Sasquatch!” I shouted, trying to keep the shakes out of my voice. “G-give up, you can’t b-beat me, we both know this!” I felt myself flush slightly from embarrassment, even as the adrenaline began to take hold.

He didn’t say anything at first but slowly smiled. “So it’s true?” he finally asked, his voice deep and clear. “You and Seraph… broke up?”

I didn’t respond but I began to blush more furiously. “Give up… Now!” I managed, my arms raised in what I hoped would be regarded as a threatening stance. I glanced around—a few passersby had stopped and a crowd was starting to form around us. I wanted to tell them to get out of here, but my voice failed me as I stared right into Sasquatch’s eyes.

Sasquatch shrugged. “No, I don’t think I will,” he said. He cast a glance back at his men, who were scrambling to haul random pieces of equipment from the ice cream shop into the van. How long did I have before they left?

“F-final warning,” I stuttered. Why wasn’t I just attacking now? Was I stalling for time? I was the only one who had time to lose.

Sasquatch gave a short chuckle. His tattoos began to glow a bright white as he slammed his hands into the ground in front of him. I charged toward him, knowing what would happen next, but too late as tendrils of energy leapt from his tattoos and swirled around his body. He glowed and grew, his shoulders swelling and arms lengthening until he stood ten feet in height at the shoulder. I was still twenty feet away when the light faded and revealed him in full. In place of pale skin and tattoos was a thick brown wooly fur, which coated him entirely. His arms had lengthened to be almost as long as he was tall, his hands resting on the ground as he reared up to his new full height—which was mostly torso. His legs had not gotten any longer in his transformation but now stood like two stubby tree trunks. The only thing that hadn’t grown larger was his head, which now stood at the end of a long, thin, and flexible neck, at least a few feet long. But despite remaining the same size, and indeed being comically small on such a huge body, it had warped into an animalistic visage; a face like a dog’s muzzle, but flattened. Sticking out of a leering mouth were a set of knife-like teeth, which jutted at odd angles and from which dripped drool.

His transformation had only taken seconds and expanded his reach to the point that, before I had even reached him, he could reach me. An arm, moving with surprising speed, swung towards me. I dived toward the ground, just passing under it, and rolled to the side to avoid a second blow, which shattered the pavement next to me. Sasquatch laughed—a deep, inhuman sound that shook me to my core—as he raised his hand for another blow. I scrambled to my feet and leapt out of the way, just in time again as his hand slammed into the ground, spraying me with debris from the impact.

I spun around to face Sasquatch, who was still laughing as I scrambled around below him. I heard the gasps and screams from some observers—I’m sure they thought I was doomed.

But Sasquatch, despite his transformation, was still made of flesh. Flesh I could mold.

I leapt at the hand closest to me, grabbing it as he pulled it off the ground. I heard Sasquatch growl in response but it was too late. I wrapped my arms around his wrist and my power coursed through his body, through misshapen muscle and reinforced bone. I began tearing muscle and bone apart in equal measure, rendering his hand entirely useless in an instant. I felt unstoppable, his body failing before me; the only thing slowing me down was the sheer amount of biomass my power had to propagate through.

My power was nearing his shoulder, ready to strike at his inhuman heart and put him down. A thrill of victory ran through me, I didn’t need her, I could do this on my own—

I felt like a semitruck hit my side, ripping me off Sasquatch’s arm and sending me careening through the air. Every bone on the left side of my body was shattered, my left lung, stomach, pancreas, and more ruptured and destroyed. I hit the ground with a sickening splat and I felt my skull strike the pavement and break open.

And then… nothing.