If she were here yesterday, she would have stormed into the warehouse without a plan, recklessly barrelling through potential traps and a confrontation with a high ranking Fixer just to feel like she’d done all she could to save her friend. That the death would be righteous somehow, heroic and tragic, but worthwhile because she tried.

That girl from yesterday was still there, still screaming to take out her frustrations at their predicament with wanton destruction, but that kind of response wouldn’t help any of her allies. Instead, she moved towards the warehouse in a roundabout fashion. The warehouse spacing was naturally labyrinthine, a byproduct of city planning and maybe even a feature the Nest had pushed forth to keep the monsters and societal degradation out of view.

She took advantage of the routes that one would use to make a hasty escape, narrow alleyways and enclosed staircases from adjacent warehouses. She placed explosives in these areas, marking them down in her head and using loose trash to hide the dangerous traps. These paths were off-beaten enough that a passerby shouldn’t trip them.

Hopefully.

Every trap planted on the periphery put her closer and closer to the rusted fortress holding Peepers hostage. He hadn’t responded since the statement was made but she remained hopeful that the Banshee’s plans hadn’t changed and that they were still willing to use him as a hostage. Hostages have to be alive to be useful, right?

The windows were opaque and layered with visible grime. There were at least two floors to the warehouse, although the way the monstrosity had been stitched with other smaller warehouses, the layout of the overall building could prove to be as chaotic as its exterior. The roof looked metallic and brittle from the angles she could see it from and the risk of causing creaks from above didn’t serve to make it a viable entrance route. There were entrances on the ends of the buildings with two doors for each floor, or at least the first two considering the size inconsistency.

She took careful and measured steps up the flight of stairs on the end of the building and placed her back just to the side of the door frame. She closed her eyes and willed a few of her echoes to cross underneath the threshold of the door. Their little bodies squeezed through the cracks and out to the other side. She waited expectantly for a registration of danger on the other side, a trap or a figure or something that would lead to her death but nothing of the sort.

Foxtail took a sigh of relief and opened the door.

“Crrrnk Crrrnk!” A thread with strung cans rang out as the door opened. Fuck!

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The Foxtail from yesterday took a risk and leapt inside, frantically scanning the dimly lit metal pathways for a spot to hide. She pressed the door closed, causing more rattling to echo through the warehouse. Surely the Fixer wouldn’t appear in a blink of an eye but she didn’t want to take the risk by dawdling. Stacked crates and darkness made for a welcomed sight as she made long and silent strides towards the corner of the pathway. She climbed up and over the crates, making herself as still and silent as she could.

“Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap.” The footsteps made a beeline towards the door. Foxtail held her breath with the figure’s imminent approach, her eyes pressed to the gaps formed between the crates to get a better look at their opponent.

The Banshee ascended from the lowest floor and landed on the pathway with ferocious grace. If Foxtail hadn’t known the black cross was a heavy weapon of some kind, she would have sworn it was a prop with the way they wielded the tool like moving air.

“Pkjfdshoheiuhfsl.” the Banshee mumbled, the purple shawl around her mouth illuminating the lip movement. Immediately Foxtail’s head reeled from the alien statement. She could feel her blood leaking from her ears but she dared not make herself known. She just focused on the task at hand, taking in more of the Banshee for any useful detail, like the one she was experiencing first hand.

The figure was confirmed for Foxtail to be feminine. She used her severe blue eyes to scan through the darkness. Her face was angular and her skin was pale, the short black hair parted to one side doing no favors for the icy exterior she radiated. Her frame was slender, and yet she was capable of swinging a weapon her length and width around with ease, even in movement restricting attire like a suit. Or was the suit a source of power for her too in the same way her purple shawl had its own effects?

The Banshee lingered at the door before jumping down from the railing and ran back towards another section of the warehouse. Foxtail took another deep breath and rubbed the blood off and out of her ears.

She knew where to go but with the surprise of a simple trap like the one she had hoped to avoid… her body was exhausted from its overuse just a few hours ago but there was no other choice. Foxtail gestured a command towards her echoes to wait outside, taking another contingent with her to leap in and out of space with.

You are starting to use your head… a disappointment looking to prove themselves decisively… The wraith echoed in her mind, statements mixed with chill and expectancy but as to what Foxtail couldn’t pinpoint.

There wasn’t enough energy in her tank to fuel so many trips in and out of her fox holes so she needed to use them sparingly. Get as close to the high ranking Fixer without making herself known to learn as much as she can. Confirmation that the hostages were in the warehouse was one thing she had under her belt. And she even had traps on the periphery of the warehouse that could be used once they brought the assault onto her. If she pushed herself just a little further, who knows what more of an advantage she’d be able to leverage.

She wouldn’t disappoint. Not her allies. Not herself.