Sarie

Thursday, 7th of January, 198 A.C, 15:58

“To any listeners still on the fence, I ask you: how, exactly, is the Watch any different from martial law? They’re military in structure, they operate independently from the government, they run the courts, and they, alongside the Veiled, hold a monopoly on violence. Hell, the only reason the Veiled operate above the law like they do is because they’re the only people who outmatch them for sheer force. But hey, don’t take my word for it. Just look around. And while you do, keep on listening to these sweet beats coming at you from beyond the walls. This one’s coming all the way from Panacea, it’s ‘Once I was a Jangler’ by the Lamplights.” - Kel Carver, host of Rubble Radio

~Protector Hall, this is dispatch.

I tuned into the channel on my Chipper. “This is Protector Hall, come in dispatch.”

~We’ve picked up a disturbance call over by 63rd street. Sounds like a scuffle between Veiled.

I flipped the power switch on my motorbike. “On it. Can I expect any backup?”

~Not for a while. We’re stretched pretty thin today.

“Understood, dispatch.”

I heard the commotion before I saw it. In keeping with the Protectorate’s guidelines on discretion, I parked my bike on a neighboring street and made the rest of the trip on foot.

A crowd of spectators had formed to watch the fight. On one side of the fight were three members of Event Horizon, a squad whose sketches had become something of a mainstay in Watch offices (not that we could do much about them). Going toe-to-toe against them was a lone figure who I recognized despite his transformation. It was undeniably the Pugilist.

A pitch black aura had condensed around his eyes that was, for lack of a better word, soaking through his Veil. Blood from the reopened scars criss-crossing his eyes painted his Veil a darker shade of red and dripped down his face. His clothes hung off his frame, weighed down by the same liquid.

I cursed and ran towards the crowd. Civilians quickly made room for me once they realized I was a Watchwoman. With any luck, the Pugilist wouldn’t recognize me under my hefty Protectorate helmet.

Outnumbered and blinded, the Pugilist was holding his own remarkably well. The one I recognized as the Bodyguard was engaging him directly and taking the brunt of things, but was having a hard time getting through the Pugilists’ guard. The Landsknecht’s heavy slices and thrusts were relentless, but the Pugilist dodged each one with preternatural speed. The Needler was in the back, harrying the Pugilist with its Veil-generated spines. Whenever it wound up for a throw the Pugilist would strike the air, sending out a jolt of dark energy to send the spine tumbling away.

Still, the Pugilist was losing ground. He had to back up to evade the Bodyguard and Landsknecht, while the Needler kept him launching a counter attack. Beyond that, the blood loss would catch up to him before long.

I pushed my way past the last row of onlookers and placed myself in between the combatants. Luckily for me, both sides stopped.

I flashed my badge to the members of Event horizon, careful to not let the Pugilist see the name printed on it. “21st Protectorate Company. I’m going to have to ask you to stop the hostilities. You’re putting civilians at risk.” I deepened my voice a little as I spoke, hoping that was enough to disguise it.

The Bodyguard stepped closer in order to more properly loom above me.

“Oh yeah? And what’s a tin soldier like you gonna do about it if we don’t?”

“Not much myself. But Event Horizon is *very* popular back at the station. There are plenty of Watchmen who would jump at the opportunity to bring you in.”

The Bodyguard smirked. “Bullshit. Us Veiled would waste the Watch in an instant if you gave us a reason to.”

I adjusted my uniform. “Maybe. How many of you are willing to die to do that, I wonder?”

The Bodyguard shared a murderous look with his colleagues, then let out a sound that was midway between a sigh and a roar. “Fine. We’ll fuckin’ clear out. But you’d better watch your back, girlie.” He spit on my boot, then turned and strutted off. “Come on, guys. We’ve got better things to do than fuck around with a goddamn Watchwoman.”

I waited for them to disappear into the quickly dispersing crowd to release my breath. I turned to talk to the Pugilist, but found only a trail of blood and bewildered spectators who were now badly in need of a shower.

I dusted off my gloved hands. “Guess he’s good on an ambulance, then.” I headed over to the entrance of the store that the fight had taken place by. Someone (the owner, I assumed) was peeking out of the doorway and doing their absolute best to avoid any sort of eye contact.

I opened up a note on my Chipper. “Excuse me…” I gestured towards them.

“Avery,” the shopkeeper said. “The name’s Avery.”

I flipped up the visor on my helmet and gave Avery a reassuring look. “Well Avery, I know the last thing you want is a Watchwoman poking through your affairs. I’ve just got a few questions that I’ve got to ask, paperwork stuff, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Of course you do.”

“Are you the proprietor of this establishment?” A nod in response. “And do you know anything about the circumstances surrounding the fight?”

“Well, yes, actually. Event Horizon has been badgering everyone on the street, as textbook a protection racket as it comes. Except this time they came wanting info on a regular. They were roughing me up about it but then that other Veiled stepped in and things went from there.” They paused. “Is he okay, do you think?”

I glanced at the truly worrying amount of blood on the ground. “I think he’ll be alright. Hell of a drawback though.”

Avery nodded. “That’s good to hear. I don’t much care for all these people gallivanting around like they own the place – uh, no offense – but he did help me out.”

“None taken.” I closed the note on my chipper. “One last question: are you alright? No injuries or anything?”

“No, I’m just fine. That young man stepped in before…” He trailed off, something behind me catching his eye. His expression turned from idle curiosity to growing terror as he shrunk away from the door.

I spun around. A telltale dark pool had formed in the middle of the street.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The first thing that came out of my mouth was simply, “hnnnrrgghh.” Once I recovered, I added, “Alright then, a Capra. Not to worry. Get back, I’ll handle this.” The Psychon coalesced, a shadow wreathed, goat-like creature even bigger than a Taurus. Screams broke out as the crowd’s lethargic shuffling transformed into a single-minded fleeing.

“Avery,” I said, “out of curiosity: how long has Event Horizon been running their racket here?”

Their voice came from a now mostly closed door. “Oh, I don’t know, a few months? Half a year, maybe?”

“Right.” That would explain it. Capre were one of the more understood Psychon varieties, enough so that they were taught about in standard Watch training. Data collection on reports of Capre emergence found that they only ever showed up near the sites of rackets and other machiavellian dealings. Longevity of a racket had a strong correlation to the resulting Capra’s size. Ironically, the consistency with which Capre showed up made them perfect for a protection racket to take down and project legitimacy, but their growth over time incentivized operations to pack up and move before they got too big to handle.

In short, if you busted a racket, expect a Capra.

I flipped down my helmet’s visor and drew my service pistol. My top priority was keeping the civilians safe. If I had my Veil, maybe I could take it down. As things were, well…

The Capra let out a sound that wasn’t quite a bleat and charged at the fleeing crowd. I hastily placed three shots at the monster’s torso, hoping to slow it down.

BANG BANG BANG

Two rounds slammed into the Capra’s left shoulder, while the third went high and buried itself into the facade of the building across the street. Not Knockout, but they still did the trick. The Capra’s legs locked up and it went tumbling safely away from the nearest civilian. Unlike Knockout, however, the lead rounds did nothing to stop it from immediately getting up and turning to face me.

I opened a channel to dispatch on my Chipper

“Dispatch, come in. For the love of Spark *please* come in.”

The Capra shot towards me.

BANG BANG

One shot hit its jaw. The other glanced off its right horn. Neither slowed it down. I holstered my gun and set down into a wide, deep stance, arms out. If I dodged, it was going to crash straight through the door of the store. That would put Avery in danger and give me less room to work. My only option was to redirect it.

I grabbed the beast’s horns at the last possible moment, straining with everything I had to pull it to the left. It kept going, and for a moment I thought it would simply trample me and keep going. But then its head jerked to the side and it tumbled over me. Pain spread throughout my chest as its legs scrambled for purchase on top of me. I let go of its horns a second too late and felt a sharp pop in my right shoulder.

The Capra landed on its back, its right horn leaving a large gash along the shop’s wall as it slid to a stop.

~This is dispatch. What’s the situation, officer Hall?

The pain of what was surely a broken rib flared as I responded. “Got a Capra over here, dispatch. Urgently requesting backup.” Breathing hurt, but it didn’t feel like I was drowning or anything. Hopefully no punctured lung, then.

I stumbled to my feet, leaning on the store’s wall for support. The Capra was already up, no worse for the wear other than a limp jaw from my shot earlier.

~Backup is on the way, officer. Can you contain it until then?

I coughed, then winced. “I can sure try, dispatch.”

The Capra lowered its head, but didn’t charge this time. It approached deliberately, stopping just out of arm’s reach. We circled for a second until it had its back to the store. Then it struck.

A horn shot straight for my neck. I tried to duck but the pain in my ribs was slowing me down. My head snapped back as the horn hit my helmet and glanced off, cracking the visor.

I retaliated with a left hook to the Capra’s jaw. My fist sunk in, further shattering whatever these things had instead of bone. The beast let out a strangled sound that was a mixture of pain and rage, then raked its horns across my chest. My armor took the brunt of the damage, but, as the blood that began seeping out from the gash in the armor testified, it could not stop the attack entirely.

I latched onto the Capra’s neck with my arm and wrapped my legs up and around its back. I was effectively hanging off the front of it, a position that neither me nor the Psychon was very much enjoying. It thrashed about, first in a vain attempt to reach me with its horns, and then to dislodge me. For my part, both the exertion of staying on and the jostling from the oversized goat were wreaking havoc on my wounds.

With one final heave, the Capra threw me off. I hit the ground and rolled, landing on my back in the middle of the street. I gasped for air, watching as the monster approached.

Just as I found my breath, another horn came for my head. I rolled out of the way just in time, stifling a scream as my body weight pressed down against my dislocated right shoulder. The horn stuck into the ground, giving me enough time to get to my feet.

Movement to the left caught the my and the capra’s attention. A boxy van squealed to a stop a short distance away. Doors slammed open and several figures wearing the distinct armored uniform of the Protectorate emerged and leveled their weapons.

I had bought enough time.

KRACK-ta-CRACK-a-KRAK-ta-KACK

A hail of bullets slammed into the Psychon’s side. It lurched to the side, fought back against the onslaught for a few moments, then gave in and fell over. It managed to climb to its feet as the gunshots let up, but was quickly sent down again by a second volley. Still it struggled, until a final round of gunfire finally reduced it to mist.

No sooner had the bullets stopped than an ambulance screeched in alongside the van. Two paramedics got out and, after waiting impatiently for the all clear signal from the Watchmen, wheeled a gurney over to me. I complied with their whirlwind of questions, tests, and instructions to the best of my ability, but found it increasingly difficult to keep up with my surroundings. That didn’t stop me from flinching when they took off my armor to stabilize my wounds.

One of the Watchmen was swaggering over to me. His gear was noticeably more advanced than the others. He didn’t even have to take his helmet off for me to know who he was. Not that it stopped him from doing so anyway.

He came to a stop as the paramedics were finishing up loading me onto the gurney.

“Afternoon, Captain Tavern,” I said with the flatness of week-old soda.

I could hear his smirk beneath his helmet’s visor as he spoke. “Sarie! You’ve gotta stop with all the heroics, you’re gonna make the rest of the 21st look bad!” He went to pat me on the shoulder but was warded off by one of the paramedics. “Just joking, of course. Just joking. It’ll probably get written in as my kill anyway, since I finished it off. But hey, real good work softening the thing up for me, right? In fact, how’s about I give the paperwork to another schmuck? For a job well done.”

I gritted my teeth, and not just because a paramedic was feeling around for the broken ribs. “Very generous, sir. Wouldn’t want to have a stack of - *uurrgh* - papers waiting for me when I get out of the hospital.”

The captain read something on his Chipper and adjusted his belt. “Well, I’ve got another call to get to. Thanks again for the kill. Oh, and uhh. Yeah, good luck with the recovery and all that.” He snapped his fingers and returned to the van with the rest of the Watchmen.

The paramedics were finishing up the prehospital treatment. I turned my head to check in on Avery. They were now standing outside, leaning on the doorframe and watching me. They were just too far away for me to read their expression.

As the gurney started wheeling its way back to the ambulance, a sound made Avery look to their left. A pink-haired, wheelchair bound individual was hurriedly wheeling their way over, shouting “Avery!” again and again.

Avery’s clouded expression broke into joy at the sight of the individual. “Kelly! How are you!?” Once the individual – once Kelly – slowed to a stop, the two shared an elaborate handshake. It was clearly of Kelly’s invention, but Avery’s attempt to keep up was admirable for someone on the wrong side of fifty.

“How am I?” Kelly laughed. “Avery, how are *you!?* I come down to check out this mysterious new inventory you’ve been alluding to for weeks and I have to hide around the bend because a *Capra’s* tearing up the place??”

Avery waved their hand. “Oh I’m fine, I’m fine.” They glanced over at me. “That Watchwoman over there saved my hide. Only time you’ll hear *those* words coming from a Spark citizen outside Central!” They waved Kelly into the store. “Oh, but enough of the drama. Come in! Come in! You are going to *love* this!”

As the two of them disappeared into the store, the paramedics lifted me and the gurney up into the back of the ambulance. As my consciousness wobbled around the threshold, all I could think was that I hoped my recovery would be quick. I couldn’t afford to fall further behind on my schoolwork.