The slums had a way of swallowing things whole: dreams, hopes, and sometimes entire buildings. The old police station was one such relic, a testament to a bygone era when law and order meant something, back when these slums were part of a thriving city that paved the way for the metropolis that stood today.
Now the building stood as a rusted reminder, slowly decaying into the earth. A hollow husk whose halls and chambers once echoed with purpose and justice. The barred windows and doors no longer provided security or safety to anyone. No one was going to come to their rescue here. Not anymore.
Edith approached the entrance, her heels clicking against the cracked pavement. Each step felt like a commitment, a point of no return. She hesitated at the entrance, her fingers brushing the cold metal of the door handle.
This is it. The man inside could be the key to everything.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit interior.
Inside, the air smelled of old paper and dust, a scent that took Edith back to her days in the metropolis, in her pristine lab. But this was no lab. Old cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and dirt and debris littered the floor. The windows were cracked and filthy, letting in only tiny shafts of light through the grime. The paint on the walls peeled and chipped. The whole place reminded her of an abandoned tomb.
Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, taking in the faded wanted posters and photographs that adorned the walls, their faces staring back at her. Names and dates of arrests and sentences were scrawled beneath each, written in barely legible script. Many of the entries were crossed out.
A thin layer of dust coated everything in sight. Even the few pieces of furniture that remained seemed untouched, collecting layers upon layers of dirt. The only sign of life was the trail of fresh footprints leading deeper into the building.
Edith followed the footprints to a stairwell, ascending carefully to the second floor. The smell of musty air intensified, and she wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor. At the top of the stairs, she found a single wooden door, slightly ajar. Beyond it lay a large room filled with various desks, chairs, cabinets, and filing cabinets. The windows were boarded shut, blocking most of the natural light from entering. It was impossible to tell whether this had once been an office or a storage area.
She turned on her flashlight, shining it around the space. As expected, more boxes, files, and paperwork lined the shelves along the walls. This place had probably served as some kind of records room at one point, though what records those might have been, she couldn't guess.
Motes of dust floated lazily in the air as the light moved. On one wall was a map of the city, dotted with red marks and scribbles. There were circles and lines drawn everywhere, connecting different locations to each other. Some places were circled multiple times. Other parts of the city were left blank entirely. None of the writing made any sense to her. Edith's gaze traveled over the markings, but she couldn't piece together what they might mean.
She was so engrossed in studying the map that she almost forgot why she'd come. With a start, she snapped her attention away and focused on searching for the man she'd come to find.
She slowly paced the length of the room, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. She listened intently, trying to pick out the sounds of anyone else moving about. There was nothing, only her breathing. The building creaked occasionally, but she suspected those noises came from the wind blowing outside.
No, she was definitely not alone here.
She spotted another set of footprints leading to an open doorway. She crept forward cautiously, stopping at the threshold. A hallway stretched ahead, ending at a T-shaped intersection. It was dark, except for the beam of her flashlight and the faint glow on one side of the intersection.
Edith walked to the edge of the corridor, peering into the gloom beyond. She squinted, straining her eyes, but she could make out little detail. The door at the end of the passage lay wide open. Light spilled out from within, illuminating a section of the floor. Shadows moved around inside the room, but she couldn't tell what they belonged to. Whoever it was didn't seem aware of her presence. Yet.
Gulping, she forced herself to walk down the hall, her steps slow and hesitant. She clicked her flashlight off as she approached the door. She could hear someone whistling a soft tune inside the room. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
When she reached the doorway, she stopped. The shadows danced about on the wall, and the whistling ceased.
Alright, now or never. Hope whoever is in there is the one I'm looking for.
Edith stepped across the threshold.
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image [https://i.imgur.com/ocSmLoP.png]
Seated behind a worn-out desk at the far end of the room was a man who seemed as much a part of the station as the walls themselves. His hair was unkempt, and his bearded face bore the telltale signs of a hard life, with scars and wrinkles etched deep into his skin. A small scar split the corner of his mouth, and his eyes glowed eerily in the dim lighting.
He was dressed in a long, dark trench coat over a plain grey shirt, and a battered cowboy hat, the brim pulled low over his face. His disheveled appearance gave him the air of a vagrant or drunkard, yet Edith sensed there was far more to this man than met the eye. He had an aura about him—the same sense of danger she'd felt upon entering the abandoned police station.
In his hands was a large revolver, which he was meticulously cleaning with a rag. The weapon gleamed in the flickering candlelight, and Edith felt a chill run down her spine at the sight.
As she entered the room, he didn't seem to acknowledge her presence, continuing with his work in silence.
Edith cleared her throat, trying to mask her nervousness. "I've heard stories about you, Virgil Maddox. Or do you still prefer to go by our old moniker—Backfire"
Without looking up, he responded, his voice a gravelly drawl, "Stories tend to exaggerate."
"Perhaps, but there's something to be said about a man who once tried to keep peace in these streets." She took a tentative step closer. "I'm sure you recall those days, if your reputation is accurate."
Virgil finally glanced in her direction, the glow in his eyes seemingly penetrating her soul. "Those days are over," he muttered, turning his attention back to his revolver. "And you should get lost."
"Why's that?" She challenged.
"This isn't a place for good folks to wander aimlessly. Especially a beautiful young lady such as yourself." He chuckled dryly. "The gangs around here, they'll eat you alive and spit out the bones."
She remained undeterred and pressed on. "I'd hardly consider myself helpless, Mr. Maddox. And I've been living in the slums for over a year now. I know how things work. Why do you think I sought you out?"
Virgil paused his work and set his revolver down, resting his elbows on the table. "What exactly is your business?" His tone held a hint of curiosity, and she latched onto the opportunity to draw him further into conversation.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I need your help."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "A lot of folks do," he replied, his tone dripping with skepticism.
She stepped closer, trying to assert some semblance of control over the situation. "I've been working on a project, one that could change the fate of the slums. But I need someone with your... expertise."
Virgil scoffed, shaking his head. "Sorry, girlie. That's not my problem. Whatever you're planning, I ain't interested." He picked his gun back up and resumed cleaning.
"You haven't even heard what I want from you," Edith insisted.
She didn't come this far to be brushed aside by this arrogant gunslinger who hid in a dilapidated police station. "How do you know you don't want to get involved if you don't even have any clue what's going on?"
"Trust me, I've seen this all before." He grumbled as he continued polishing the barrel. After a brief pause, his expression hardened. "If you've come to try and recruit me, you're wasting both our time."
"No, that's not it. I mean, I do want your help, but not for what you're probably thinking," she quickly clarified.
Virgil shrugged indifferently. "Fine. Tell me, what exactly is so important that you'd track me down to this run-down dump?"
"I've come on behalf of someone—A girl. She needs training, guidance," Edith explained, trying not to sound desperate.
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Virgil scoffed, shaking his head. "Ain't my problem, lady."
Edith frowned, her frustration rising. "But you could help her, and with the right training, she could become someone to rely on. Someone who could make a difference in the slums."
He gave her a derisive glance as he stopped cleaning his gun, setting the revolver back down on the table with a thud. "And what makes you think I'd waste my time with some snot-nosed kid?"
"Because she's special," Edith pressed on, her voice firm. "She's the first metahuman born in the slums."
That seemed to have grabbed his attention. For the first time since their conversation began, Virgil appeared intrigued. "Is that so?"
Edith nodded vigorously.
Technically, she didn't lie. Fii was the first metahuman who was born in the slums, she just wasn't born as one but instead made into one.
"It's true," Edith reassured him. "I found her by happenstance. Right now, she's a diamond in the rough. She needs someone qualified to train her in combat. Isn't that what you used to do? Train people to fight criminals?"
Virgil chuckled grimly. "Train people to fight. Hah. Yeah, sure." He lowered his head, gazing at the revolver resting in front of him. "Haven't done anything like that in years. Those days are long gone."
"Then consider this an opportunity to return to what you do best. Help us. Please." Edith pleaded, sensing she may be making progress. She just needed a bit more leverage. Something to convince him.
Virgil shook his head, picking his gun back up and inspecting it closely. "Forget it. I'm not interested. Don't want any part in whatever you're up to."
He sounded determined, but his tone betrayed a hint of something else. Was it regret? Regret that he hadn't gotten out of his rut for a while.
Maybe there was still a chance to convince him.
"Wait," Edith interjected before Virgil could resume cleaning his firearm. "If not for yourself, will you at least consider helping us for the sake of the slums? You can't tell me you've forgotten what you tried to do here a decade ago. Or how that ended?" She took a gamble and hoped her intuition was correct.
At the mention of the word 'end', Virgil flinched. The hand holding his revolver trembled slightly, and he quickly set the weapon back down. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to meet her eyes.
Edith continued, sensing a possible opening. "Look, I get why you're not eager to get back out there. What you did, trying to create a police force in the slums, it was ambitious. Stupid, some might even say. But the fact you tried speaks volumes. You cared. That's more than most people can claim to have ever done."
Virgil didn't respond, but the tension in his posture relaxed somewhat.
She continued, "Maybe this isn't the exact role you envisioned for yourself, but it's something. Think of how many lives you'd be able to change. This is your chance at redemption. A chance to make a difference where you failed last time." She paused, letting her words sink in.
Finally, Virgil looked back up at her, eyes narrowed.
"I don't need redemption," he retorted, his tone harsh. "And I don't owe the slums anything."
Edith sighed, her hopes faltering. She'd misjudged him. Virgil was still too caught up in his own guilt and self-pity to care about the greater good. If she was going to persuade him, she would need to approach this differently.
She bowed her head slightly. "You're right. You don't owe them anything." She took a deep breath. "But if not for the slums, then do it for yourself. Let this be your legacy."
Virgil frowned, his brow furrowing. "What're you talking about?"
"I'll be blunt. I have connections. I can get you back into the metropolis. Clean slate. You can restart your life," Edith offered.
A look of disbelief flashed across Virgil's face, followed by confusion, and finally, curiosity. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"I can prove it." She rummaged through her purse and held up a data pad. "Check my credentials, search the net. Dr. Edith Weiss. I've got the means to make that happen."
He eyed her suspiciously. "That's not exactly reassuring. If you're so well-connected, then why are you here in the slums?"
Edith clenched her jaw. She should've known he'd ask. Of course he'd be skeptical.
She exhaled deeply, weighing her options. "Fine. I'll be honest. I got exiled. Just like you, I got banished for stepping on too many toes." She clenched her fists. "My research was deemed too dangerous, and I was framed for some serious crimes. We have a lot more in common than you think."
Virgil raised an eyebrow, seemingly contemplating her words. She hoped that she'd finally said something that resonated with him. He seemed like the type that would understand another outcast.
After a long silence, he finally spoke. "Let's pretend, for a moment, that you're telling the truth." He waved his hand dismissively. "Why bother offering me a new start? Why not find some other washed-up nobody? I'm sure there are others out there who could teach her the ropes of killing people. Why come to me specifically?"
"Because I want her to be a hero, not a villain," Edith pressed. "Fii is unique. She could be the catalyst for real change. With the proper training, she could become a hero to the slums, a symbol for those trapped here. All we need is an experienced mentor to guide her." She put emphasis on the word "experienced" hoping to convey the urgency of the situation.
Virgil sighed, running his fingers through his brown hair. He reached for his bottle of whiskey sitting atop the desk, taking a swig. After setting the liquor back down, he glanced over at Edith, eyeing her closely. "Suppose I agree to help you, hypothetically. How long are you talking about here?"
"It depends. Six months to a year, minimum. If you accept, I'd want you to relocate to my facility, the Aether Clinic. We'll work there in secret and give her adequate training without being disturbed. This wouldn't be easy, but you'd be compensated for your trouble. I promise you that."
She pulled a roll of ChitCreds out of her bag, placing the thick stack on his desk. "Consider this an advance. Take the time to decide and let me know later."
Virgil stared at the money, a flicker of temptation visible in his eyes. But his expression shifted, and he frowned. "So, what about you, Doctor? What's your endgame? Power? Recognition? Redemption?"
Edith paused, taken aback. She hadn't considered him asking her that question. What reason would convince him? She already revealed some of her personal information. Could she trust him? Did she have a choice?
Then she realized the irony of the situation. Here she was, trying to convince him to take a leap of faith, yet she didn't trust him enough to answer honestly.
She rubbed the back of her neck, exhaling wearily. "That's right. I'm doing it for recognition. She's also going to be my ticket back into the metropolis. You're not the only one with a chip on their shoulder. I'm doing this for myself too."
"Well, aren't we the selfish bunch," Virgil quipped dryly, giving her a wry smile. He tapped his finger against his chin thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair.
He then rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out a silver coin, flipping the object between his thumb and index finger. Without saying a word, he flipped the coin up into the air, and Edith watched as it spun, turning end over end before landing in the palm of his hand.
Virgil slapped the coin against his wrist, concealing it with his other hand, before extending his arm toward Edith.
She stared at him, perplexed. "What is this?"
"Call it."
"Are you joking?"
"Humor me, Doc. Call it," he urged, his voice calm.
Edith hesitated before making her selection. "Uh... tails."
He drew his hand away, revealing the result. Sure enough, a miniature pair of wings adorned the coin's surface.
Virgil pocketed the coin, grinning faintly. "Looks like luck's on your side. Today, at least. Alright, I'll play ball, doc." He snatched the stacks of ChitCreds off his desk, shoving the bills into his coat pockets. "When do we start?"
The sudden shift in attitude caught Edith by surprise, and she blinked several times, unsure of how to process this unexpected development. She'd assumed it would take more persuading. Either she had a knack for convincing people, or he was drunk. Maybe he really was a lonely man, desperate for companionship. Whatever the case, she'd succeeded.
"Um, that's... sooner than expected." She mumbled. "Do you mean you're seriously considering the offer?"
Virgil grabbed his revolver and whiskey bottle off the desk, standing up. He placed his cowboy hat on his head and adjusted the brim. Then he turned to face her. "Yeah. Like I said, we can talk details later. First, let's meet your protege." He tilted his head curiously, arching a brow. "What did you say her name was again?"
"Fii," she answered.
"Weird name," Virgil muttered, giving her a curious glance. "Fine, take me to her."
Edith suppressed a smirk, feeling elated. "Of course. Follow me."
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The pair headed downstairs to the lobby, neither saying a word.
The silence was awkward, and Edith struggled to maintain her composure. She'd convinced Virgil to join them, but she still had to convince Fii to accept his training. And what if Fii rejected their proposal? That would throw everything into chaos. He was a gamble.
Hopefully, it wasn't a bad one.
Just as Edith was about to ask him another question, a sudden crash echoed through the room, cutting her off. The heavy wooden door of the station was kicked open, splintering wood and dust flying into the dimly lit room.
In the doorway stood a group of armed gang members, clad in matching leather jackets bearing a skull with horns and knife motif—Reaper Posse.
Oh great.
The leader of the gang, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a bushy beard and a ponytail, strode confidently into the lobby, flanked on either side by his lackeys. He carried a spiked baseball bat loosely in one hand, twirling it absentmindedly as he surveyed his surroundings. Behind him, his gang fanned out, spreading throughout the lobby. The majority of the Posse were armed with pipe pistols, but a few brandished knives and switchblades.
"Well, what do we have here?" The gang leader sneered, flashing his crooked teeth. "Looks like you're right, Carl. The hot doctor from that clinic really did come to our part o' town." His beady eyes gleamed with menace as he leered at Edith, a sickening smile stretching across his face.
The gang member called Carl snickered, giving her a lecherous stare. "Yep, ain't no mistaking those curves."
The other thugs leered at Edith. "Looks like we're gonna have some fun tonight, boys."
Edith shuddered, clenching her hands into tight fists.
They'd been a constant thorn in her side ever since she arrived in the slums, harassing her relentlessly, demanding she submit to them, or give them access to her clinic. They were opportunists, and scum. She loathed them all.
As the gang members stepped further into the room, their eyes adjusting to the dim light, they seemed to finally notice Virgil.
He remained motionless a few steps behind her, seemingly unfazed by the intrusion. But Edith noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the way his hand moved ever so slightly towards the revolver at his side.
The gang leader sneered, his eyes flicking between Edith and Virgil. "Who's this? Your bodyguard? He don't look like much."
Virgil set the whiskey bottle in his hand gently on the counter, taking a casual step forward in front of her, his movements smooth and deliberate.
"Something like that," he remarked casually, tilting his head toward the thug. "Would you kindly mind removing yourselves from my property? We have business to attend to."