The Reckoning (closed for CurtailedAmbrosia)

The night sky was moonless tonight so shadows clung to every building and alley like a skin of drying ink. It emboldened those that used the darkness to hide their business from the eyes of the city. It was going to be a busy night for Vanguard.

He hadn’t used that name in years, though. In his new job role, Richter Jones took on a new nom de guerre: The Reckoning. Things in his hometown of Riverside had gotten bad in his absence. While he was off saving the world with The League, small-timers grew big and good cops turned dirty. The amount of money flowing in the underworld of its streets made it harder and harder to do the right thing. A 2 year war with the cops taught the good cops a good lesson: retire or fall in line. The third option was no good for the friends and family of Riverside’s Finest. Thankfully, The Reckoning had come to town.

Every night, Richter worked to get his city back. Block by block. Street by street. He was starting to make an impact; more and more cops were starting to do their jobs and bring in the bigger fish. All he had to do was to keep bringing them down. And so that’s why Richter, clad in his dark body suit, stood leaning against the top of the old Primrose Hotel building north of City Hall. He brought a pair of binoculars up to watch the pair of men in long leather jackets about a block away.

He wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but he recognized the tattoos on their hands that indicated they were working with the Russian mafia in town. Almost every Family had a presence in town and they were all still vying for supremacy over control of vice in town. For now, the Russians ran prostitution, the Italians ran gambling, the Triads controlled drugs, and the Yakuza ran the government. It was a rather nice arrangement for everyone involved, but Richter knew that soon enough there would be a mafia war as one of the Families tried to run it all. He hoped it would never come because there would be a lot of innocent people caught in the crossfire if that ever happened.

“One thing at a time…” he told himself as he kept up his vigil. Luckily, the sign on the Primrose died years ago or they might see him up there. Even at a distance, the criminal element in the city was learning about his insignia: a skeletal arm raised, holding up a set of scales. The white insignia stood out against the matte black fabric of his armored vest. Richter was good, but even he could die if he took one to the chest. His towering 6’6” fame made it tough for him to hide, but he’d learned enough in the military and with The League that he could hide his 278 pound frame well enough if the situation called for it. The thin corner iron of the sign’s frame was not enough, though.

Richter leaned a little more over the ledge as a car pulled up to the tw waiting men. Finally, his night was going to pay off. The two Russians were met by two men in suits, rumpled, old-looking suits. “Detectives…” he whispered to himself. Sure enough, they flashed badges at the two men who in turn turned to the van behind them and opened the door. The detectives seemed satisfied and the two large men pulled two women from the back of the van. Barefoot and clearly terrified, the women were thin and the detectives seemed to be talking things over with their supplier.

Richter didn’t need to know anything more. He was already running to the side of the building and leaping from ledge to ledge down the side of The Primrose and the building next door to reach the ground. Once down, he was off like a shot, running than any normal human could. As he ran, he pulled his bone white mask into place. The stylized skull was actually a ballistic mask to protect him from head shots, but it served a dual purpose. He charged through the alleys, hopping fences and dodging trash cans as he drew closer to the scene he viewed before.

Pressing his back to a wall, he listened as he heard one of the detectives called for the other to get the money for the transaction that was going down. Richter looked around the corner and narrowed his eyes behind his mask. The alley was lit by the headlights of the two cars; perfect to hide his approach. Sliding his twin stun sticks from the loops on his belt, he slipped to the rear of the detectives’ car as one ducked his head inside. As he came out with a case, he never saw Richter as he drove the club into the back of his head.

The noise of a man hitting the concrete drew the attention of the others and they looked at the blinding light of the car’s headlights. Using the misdirection, Richter circled around, coming up the alley where the van was parked. The two flesh peddlers joined the detective on the floor, bringing screams from the two women that quickly ran behind the van once freed. The remaining detective wheeled and aimed his gun at Richter but paused, terror on his face as he looked into the dark eyes and white mask of The Reckoning.

“No… this isn’t me. I’m just doing this because of orders… I…” the detective started to ramble. From the look of him, he was a career man. Richter also knew that this was his main money maker. He’d spent the first few months digging into every member of the RPD; he had to separate the wheat from the chaff. It was time to burn some of the chaff.

“Your name is Det. Andrew Reynolds. Twenty-two year veteran of the force. Investigated 13 times by Internal Affairs but never reprimanded.” Richter rambled off the facts as he knew them by heart. “This ring is closing; you’re going to give me the names of all your co-conspirators or you can join these other 3 in heading to prison… you know what they do to cops in prison, don’t you?” He says, towering over the older cop.

In desperation, the detective raises his hand, but he’s not fast enough. Richter’s practiced movements disarm the cop of his weapon and break more than a few finger bones for good measure. Holding the cop’s broken hand, he glowers at the uncooperative soon to be ex-detective. “NAMES!” he commands again, wanting information to take this further.

Det. Reynolds knew he had no outs here. There was no negotiation with The Reckoning and people in Riverside were beginning to learn that. Richter brought up his recorder as the weeping vet of 22 years spilled his guts on who was involved in prostitution here in town. Not just him, but the Chief of Detectives at his precinct. He had a few more high profile names that he knew were definitely involved, and a few that he suspected but couldn't prove. Richter took it all. He was after the whole rotten tree; he'd dig it out by the roots with his bare hands if he had to.

"Okay Detective, here's your story. Your partner was going to bring you in on the prostitution racket tonight. You decided that you couldn't traffic in human flesh so you managed to subdue the men when they were getting their respective wares: your partner when he went to get the money and the Russians while they were fighting to get the girls out of the van..." He turned slowly to see the now dumb-struck women looking at him. "Isn't that right, ladies?" he asked them calmly, not wanting to spook them further. They simply nodded, dumbstruck by how the night was going.

Seeing compliance in the man's eyes, he continued. "Why don't you cuff your partner while I see to these two?" He said, turning to the Russians and pulling their coats off. After providing them to the shivering women, he cuffed the two to pipes until the rest of the cops showed up. "If my story about to night isn't what's reported on the news, I know who to come find, remember." He said as a way of putting a button on their talk. Det. Reynolds nodded and started to call in for support to clean this up.

Meanwhile, Richter ran back to his surveillance post and gathered up his remaining equipment. Hopping down the fire escape to a waiting matte black truck, he through everything into the cargo box in the back and slipped inside the darkened cab. The modified truck roared to life and he took the back streets out of the area.

He ated taking these roads home; he crossed 3 different gang turfs to get there. Luckily, he seemed to be making an impact here. He hadn't heard a call from this neighbor hood in weeks. He was about to pat himself on the back when a flash of blue light to his left caught his eye. It wasn't a cop car's signal, so he skidded to a stop and craned his neck to see more that way. When he saw it again, he cursed to himself and whipped the ruck around and roared down the wide avenue in the direction of what ever what causing that.

"Can't be the League... no one is here." he murmured to himself as he tried his best to close on the now more rapid blue flashes ahead.

The bat swung and made a solid thunking noise as it struck the glowing blue buckler on the woman's left forearm. The energy construct absorbed the strike, the man's downward swing and momentum not yet fully complete as she vanished-appearing directly behind him with a solid elbow strike to his back.

He went down with a surprised curse just as she threw up another swirling blue shield in front of her-the incoming spray of bullets flattening against the other side.

Several men were on the ground at various locations on the side street-what had started as a simple enough fight had turned ugly, reinforcements arriving just as she'd downed the third-and what she had thought would be the final-man. When she had shown up they had been about to shoot a fourth man for apparently skimming off the top-a gentlemen who had fled as soon as she intervened.

Given how quickly more men had arrived, she could hardly blame him.

The metahuman heroine cut a slim, pretty figure in her costume-a dancer's royal blue leotard accentuated long legs, the stretchy material ending in a pair of knee high, lace up leather boots in a dark navy blue. Fingerless gloves matched her boots, a black bangle around one wrist to match her stud earrings. Everything was topped off by a bomber jacket cut from the same navy blue leather, a lowercase b pinned to the lapel.

A shock of dark red hair and hazel green eyes were offset by a dark, navy blue lipstick, her beautiful face currently contorted in an expression of concentration-and creeping anxiety.

She couldn't do this forever, and in the tight confines and crush of heavy, muscled men baying for her blood, she was starting to feel more than a little nervous about her chances. A van careened in, the side door opening to offload yet more thugs-thugs she briefly trapped within a swirling vortex of energy, the men racing forward and becoming confused as the alley seemed to stretch in front of them, becoming impossibly long and their target far, far away.

She kept one hand extended towards them, palm flat-and the other arm bent and lifted to shield her face as a man determinedly beat down on it with a brass knuckled fist. A wall was directly behind her, the surrounding thugs forming a half circle around her person.

She needed a distraction so she could 'step' out-but she dared not do so this instant, not with the recent arrivals in her vortex.

Just as the men seemed to be getting ready to spring from where they were surrounding the beautiful bombshell in the bomber jacket, an engine roared at the entrance to the side street and everyone turned to see the van that sealed off the entrance being plowed out of the way by a dark truck that barely reflected the streetlights. Reversing and then pulling into the entrance, the trucks high beams shown down the street, illuminating things further. Richter smiled to himself as he loved making an entrance like this. Besides, it looked like the heroine at the end could use a breather.

Cracking the door, he hopped out, using the bright lights to hide his body, so that all the mend down the block could hear him walking but not see him in the blinding light from his headlights. From the end of the alley, slowly, his silhouette came to a stop and the headlights flicked off, switching to the rack lights on the back. The blinding light was gone, but the new lights filled the side road with ambient light.

From the look on all their faces, they recognized him and Richter recognized them as well: The A-block Stunners. This particular gang was centered around the intersection of Anderson St. and Arcane Blvd., the latter of which was named for an old World War 2 era hero from Riverside. They did a little bit of everything, every criminal enterprise within 10 blocks of that intersection had the Stunners fingers all over it. It seemed their Reckoning had come tonight.

"Shoot him!" One of the leaders near the blue-clad woman called out and the two men near Richter racked their guns. They didn't count on how fast he could close the distance. By the time the one with the Uzi raised his weapon, The Reckoning had disarmed him and sent him shaking to the ground as he hit him under the armpit with 1000 Volts from his stun stick.

"It's the Reckoning!" another one of the gang members called out and for a second, they had forgotten about the woman they were trying to assault. It was a window too big to ignore.

Her concentration broke in surprise as the truck plowed into the van-the men caught in her vortex released and snapping forward as if shot out of a sling.

They collided painfully with the brick wall and crumpled in a pile at the base of it. Oops.

Everything else had stopped, attention on the truck, the figure they could hear but not see. Even blink went still, not quite as anxious as the rest-but she did have a pretty good idea who that might be...and she hadn't planned on running into him for a while longer yet.

"Shoot him!"

blink didn't wait for the men nearest her to remember her presence-she ducked an elbow and winked out of existence, popping up three men away in a dropped spin kick, taking a man clean off his feet.

It was fixing to be an all out brawl and she was right in the thick of it-as soon as the man began to fall she was already gone and reappearing elsewhere, her hands darting for the lapel of a thug's jacket and yanking him forward into a flying knee to his gut. She released him and stepped again-this time near a muscled man closer to one edge of the crowd, her arm hooking through his and yanking it back behind him while her opposite hand came down hard on his shoulder-a knee to the back of his to drive him forward into his fellows.

Each step made for a strange...something on the air, but was otherwise undetectable. Her energy constructs however-those gave off that bright blue light, swirling and thrumming with energy. She used them to fend off attacks but also as near bashing instruments on her elbows and fists at times.

Whoever this blue-clad bombshell was, she was good. She blinked in and out of existence over and over, bouncing from blind-sided gang member to gang member. Richter was going his best not to get shot in the mean time. Luckily, crowd control like this was what he was built for. Combat projections for his modified body put him at a 10-1 ratio in close quarters scenarios. Over the years working with the league, he's taught himself how to push that number to 12 and 15 to 1. It was a good thing, too; goons were coming out of the woodwork it seemed.

All the while, Richter was the calm eye of the storm. Men that he couldn't reach before he got to them were stymied by gas pellets to obscure their line of sight. If he was really pushed, he had a collection of 4" diameter steel ball bearings that he kept to use as throwing weapons. They weren't very high tech like his stun sticks but when he could put the velocity of a Major League closer behind them, transferal of momentum turned out to be a hell of a thing. More than one gun-toting gang member had the wind knocked out of him by one of those heavy steel balls in the minutes that followed.

All the while, Reckoning's tuned up battlefield awareness kept him apprised of the League rep and how she was doing. She was holding her own down the street as The Reckoning slowly, inexorably cut a path toward her. He wasn't getting there fast enough and the numbers game was catching up to her. He saw flashing steel from where he stood, flipping one gangster into another to prevent them from drawing pistols on him. "Knives!" he called out, unsure if she caught the reverse gripped blades they were starting to use on her. He hoped it was enough warning as he ducked and opened a car door as a quick make shift guard from another stupid kid with a gun. Once the glass shattered over his head, he quickly reached through the broken window, grabbed the guy by the arm and pulled him into the door, stunning him before closed the door on him once, twice, pinning him between the door and car frame a few times to knock the fight out of him.

"Knives!"

They seemed to have caught on that bullets weren't the most effective thing against her or her shields-the warning accompanying the glinting sheen of steel she caught sight of as she ducked a wide swing of a fist and slammed its owner back into another vortex. What should have been a short fall turned into a longer one, increased velocity and all.

She snapped four feet to her left and shouldered a man aside for the one behind him, tripping up the original-and stomping on the toes of the latter before blinking behind him and driving her palm into the space between his shoulder blades, a hard shove forward.

With an indignant roar a man now on her immediate left retrieved his knife and moved for her-catching her briefly off guard, the woman twisting to meet him. The circular buckler energy constructs were back on either of her forearms, meeting each of his downward thrusts with them-but she was on the retreat as he bore down on her, each step back losing her more and more ground. With a grit of her teeth and a feminine noise of exertion she reduced to just one arm to block, the shield widening-and spun a vortex behind her, arm outstretched-lengthening the distance between her and the alley wall.

It'd buy her time before being pinned, but she couldn't do both for long, the man becoming angrier and angrier with each block and graceful, dancer's step back.

Again, there were just too many and while she took care of most of them, one still managed to rain down blows on her and keep her pinned. There was no where for her to go and Richter saw it. He growled slightly and quickly slipped through the remaining crowd. His natural athleticism and trained acrobatics allowed him to hop over cars and use light poles to spin around and catch one or two goons in the face with his feet. It also helped launch him down the street and he tumbled over a car, rolled up to his feet and grabbed the man spearing at the blue constructs of the red-haired heroine. Richter's wide hands grabbed his shoulders easily and with a tumble back and a kick, he reverse monkey flipped the hapless knife-wielding thug ass over tea kettle through the air, only to land hard on the car, crushing the hood and smashing the window. After an impact like that, that guy wasn't going anywhere.

Richter wheeled, pulling out his stun sticks again, hearing them crackle in the damp night air again. He stood at the young girl's side and waited to see who would come at them next. All he saw were scared kids or the walking wounded.

"Let's get outta here..." called one of them and his retreat was the start of the avalanche of fleeing footsteps. Richter didn't relax though. He watched them leave then set about the task of securing the unconscious Stunners so they couldn't flee. He was not ready to talk with the young heroine yet; he had to make sure these guys went away for a while so the people in the neighborhood could breathe a little easier.

The redhead was a little winded, the vortex blinking out to reveal that mere foot of space between her and the wall-space she had managed to stretch for quite some time.

"Thanks." She breathed, bringing both hands before her again, taking up a fighting stance-only for the remaining gangers to be frozen in place, eyeing the two of them and their downed comrades.

"Let's get outta here..."

blink straightened out of her stance as the last of them turned the corner, running scared. Timely intervention-and thank God for it. She'd bitten off a bit more than she could chew, for a minute there.

Her eyes flicked to him but he ignored her, moving forward to begin securing the thugs. She slipped some zip ties from one of her inner coat pockets and joined in on the task.

"That was...good timing there. Thank you."

Her voice is surprisingly sweet for a woman who had downed a good number of men here tonight. Gentle sounding. And maybe a little reserved, quiet. She rolls each of her secured men onto their sides, knees bent slightly-recovery positions.

Hopefully the police would arrive soon, the street was hardly comfortable.

As soon as the young woman spoke, The Reckoning whipped his head to look at her. The hollow empty dark pits where eyes would be on a skull peer at her as he rises to full height and walks over slowly. "I wouldn't have had to interfere if you learned some things about this town before you kick a hornet's nest." Even through the voice modulators, it was clear how angry he was. "What if they had beaten you? The Stunners would be swaggering around this town thinking they were hot shit in a champagne glass for taking out a member of The League. A new gang war would have erupted because they would have a false sense of how strong they were and a lot of innocent people would be caught in the crossfire!" He snapped, turning and securing a few men that were closer by.

As he worked, he continued on his rant. "The League... I thought you all had sworn off operating in Riverside because local government was too corrupt to be trusted..." Richter accused, thinking back to one of his last discussions before leaving. Already, he could pick up distant sirens, but they were still a long way off. The tall buildings in this part of town did funny things with sound and distorted distances.

At his angry outburst she goes quiet, hastening back to the task but looking chastised. They had warned her away from interacting with Reckoning too early, and warned her off repeated dealings period. She had been sure he couldn't be that bad. He was a hero, after all.

"What if they had beaten you? The Stunners would be swaggering around this town thinking they were hot shit in a champagne glass for taking out a member of The League. A new gang war would have erupted because they would have a false sense of how strong they were and a lot of innocent people would be caught in the crossfire!"

"I...am sorry if I acted rashly." She says quietly. "They were going to kill a man. I intervened." Should she not have? Stood idly by and watch him be murdered? No. Of course not. It had put her at risk because she -hadn't- known, but she wouldn't have let the man die even if she had. As for later gang wars and the potential for innocent lives in the crossfire-surely the League would have swarmed in, should something have happened.

She straightened, giving a glance to the fire escape just across the way and down the side alley. This meeting wasn't going well. His rebuke in response to her thanks was certainly unpleasant.

Straight white teeth worry at her bottom lip a moment, her hazel eyes watching him secure the last man. "I go where they send me, Mr. Reckoning. I'm here to help the citizens of Riverside, same as you."

That sounded sincere. A glance at her face would tell him she very much was.

"And they didn't beat me." Her eyes swept the side street. "And for that, at least, you still have my gratitude." Whether he wanted it or not.

"I go where they send me..."

Richter stopped. He knew that feeling all too well from his time with the League. Toward the end, he was starting to worry if he was really leading the team where they could do the most good or if he was just a glorified foreman, making sure the "contractors" that worked with him were doing their job. Some days it felt like that latter.

He stood up and dusted his hands off on his pants before walking over to her. His body towered over hers, dwarfing her by nearly a foot if he had to guess. Ultimately, her heart was in the right place and he'd forgotten what it was like to think with that first rather than his head.

"Look... your motives were right. And it's not your fault that you didn't get the best intel on his town. Chalk up tonight as a learning experience and grow from it. This town will need your help more than you know..." He said, gathering up more evidence that he was here: collecting his ball bearings, wiping down the surfaces his crossed to clear off any fibers he may have left behind, etc.

Turning back to the young girl as she was still standing there, he came over. "What handle did they give you before they sent you out here?" He asked, offering his hand to her.

She tensed slightly, unsure if his angry outburst might be followed by a second one, or even-heaven forbid-violence. But she stayed in place, believing the best of him, not moving.

He was very tall. Even at her five feet, six inches, he towered over her. Certainly outweighed the ballerina turned super heroine.

"Look... your motives were right. And it's not your fault that you didn't get the best intel on his town. Chalk up tonight as a learning experience and grow from it. This town will need your help more than you know..."

She relaxed. It seems he would not protest her presence. Good. Better than the League had expected of him. She watched him gather up his things and obscure evidence of his having been here-save the men around them in various states of consciousness and injury.

Her gaze again flickered to the fire escape, those sirens sounding a bit closer-hard to tell, there were so many buildings and winding side streets.

The lithe bodied redhead in blue favored him with a small, pretty smile as he returned and asked her moniker, offering her own hand-smaller and daintier with long, graceful fingers-to shake. "The papers called me blink and it seems to have stuck. My League designation is 678, should you need it." Her voice was pleasant and soft.

The League's newest member, a fresh faced, new poster child for their wholesome image. And they had sent her here. "And they call you The Reckoning." Her eyes shifted between the dark holes of his mask. "Is that what you prefer?"

Richter's hand swallowed the feminine tapering fingers that blink presented to him. As he took her hand and shook it, he could feel that it wouldn't take much to crush the bones of her hands. Despite her flashy constructs, she was just a girl underneath them. She wasn't given physical gifts like he had. He'd need to remember that if they worked together in the future.

"And they call you The Reckoning. Is that what you prefer?"

"For now. Surely you see why I chose it." he inquired, curious if she had put any thought into why he was operating under his latest code name.

Still, the sirens were growing ever closer. "Alright, you're the League rep so I'll leave it to you to give the authorities a report about all this. If I need to contact you, did they furnish you with a base of operations in the city?" He asked as he looked a bit antsy and ready to leave before he had to outrun the cops tonight. With a press of a button on his wrist, his dark truck at the end of the street roared to life, but didn't drown out their conversation just yet.

blink seemed to consider this a moment, the pretty smile still curving her lips-but she did not share what she was thinking. A reckoning...a settlement of accounts. He was here in the city to dole out punishment and root out the wicked. It was an ideology she was not unfamiliar with, not with the number of heroes she had come to know-but it was not one she shared.

The redhead may have been putting the beat down on some thugs here tonight, but her primary directive was not at all to punish. She was more interested in building up what could be to overtake what was. A community initiative to take back the streets, drives to vote in men and women who had earned the right to lead, and in general make a positive push into a better future.

"Crowds are...not really my thing." She deflected demurely, another glance to the fire escape. "I'll be sure to report in to the commissioner however, don't worry."

He asked about a base of operations. Given how sternly she'd been warned off of him, she didn't think offering up the League's small apartment location was a good idea. Instead, she withdrew a navy rectangular piece of cardstock and handed it to him. In a lighter metallic ink a phone number was written in a perfect, careful script across the middle. On the back, the numbers "678".

"You can dial in and enter my-or any leaguer's-designation at the beep. It'll put you through the leaguer's communication device. So, if you need me..." She smiled up at him. "You know how to reach me, now."

"Crowds are...not really my thing."

Richter couldn't help but smile under his mask. It was humorous to him that the new face of The League could be camera shy. It was sort of self-defeating that way. He'd never say it himself, though; he remembered all too well the media guidelines and pre-planned bullet point speeches he'd have to do through out his tenure as team lead. Nothing made him roll his eyes harder than having to do those. Deep down, he understood, but he had a feeling her bosses wouldn't.

When she retrieved a card, he narrowed his eyes. He hadn't seen a switchboard card in a while and he thought that The League would have found some way to switch to digital cards by now. True to form, the card was personalized to the hero. He remembered his star-spangled card from his day; he also remembered his was one of the few single digit extensions too. 'Ah, memories...' he thought as he took the card and scanned it, slipping it into a pocket so he didn't give away his recording equipment. He wanted to have a few tricks that the kid didn't know.

"Alright... get home safe. The Stunners might still be looking for you. I'll be in contact if you need to know anything." Richter calmly stated before turning around and striding back up the street to his truck. He didn't look back; he had to maintain his persona until he was out of sight. Climbing back into his truck, he flicked the lights on and pulled out of the end and started for his base.

"You too Reck." She said with a wave to his back, watching him and his gait a moment-before her eyes flicked back to the fire escape and she blinked out of sight-appearing on the landing, then various points upwards until she was running across the roof tops, her strides long and graceful.

As she came to each edge she moved to jump-but blinked and blipped onto the next roof, and the next and the next-just a ghost amid the twinkling lights of the city.

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blink had met with the police commissioner. He seemed like a beleaguered good man in a rough city, stretched tight and under immense pressure. She knows his being elected over and over was circumspect-not because he himself was corrupt, but because he was ineffective despite his best efforts-and the powers that be preferred him to one of their own.

He'd been all too happy to greet her, welcome her to the city. He'd read the dossier the League had sent over and seemed grateful for her presence.

By the time she'd finished there, she was tired enough to just take a taxi to the general neighborhood of the small apartment provided by the League. She'd taken the elevator up from the modest lobby, leaning against the back wall with her hands resting on the rail, watching the numbers climb until the fifth floor lit up.

She stepped off and moved down the hall to unlock the door. The smell of fresh paint had finally aired out through the open balcony, the faint scent of cinnamon and apple having won out. The redhead slipped out of her jacket and locked the door behind her, slipping the chain on. Here, at long last, she could just be herself in the home away from home.

The former ballerina removed her boots and padded across the carpet on socked feet, moving to the shower first. She wiped the lipstick and light makeup off with a remover pad, a brief study of her own face.

Eva once again. The soft spoken dance instructor always felt a vague sense of relief in wiping that navy lipstick off. She wasn't sure why. There was much of blink that was really just her-and then there was a mask aspect, a persona she had slowly developed over the short amount of time donning that jacket.

She showered and wandered out to her kitchen for a late night dinner of strawberry yogurt and almonds, the vegetarian stifling a yawn and pouring out this morning's coffee. The apartment was modest but nice, more than enough for resting between outings. As if to underline that she was indeed home to rest, she'd changed into a dark green, short satin nightie that contrasted sharply with her hair and pale, soft skin. It might've been sexy if anyone had been around to see it.

She caught up on the news, typed up a report of the night's activities to send back to the League, and washed the bowl she had used. She went to her bedroom but didn't sleep just yet-no, she needed to recharge, gather her strength. Climbing into bed and sitting in a lotus position, Eva closed her eyes-and let her mind drift into the realms beyond.

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A day and a half had passed. She'd done a bit more research as best as she could, but it was difficult without street contacts or native born knowledge. It didn't help she'd had to meet with the city council. She was a representative for the League after all, and there was a political aspect to that that could not be ignored.

One of the councilwomen however...seemed off. She had smiled and shaken her hand, but there was something about her gaze that was both predatory and displeased. So Eva had looked into her, phoning up the Compiler and getting briefed beyond what a Google search could have told her.

Of Councilwoman Sandra's holdings, a warehouse in the dock district stood out like a sore thumb amidst the summer homes and high rise apartments, the rental properties and timeshares.

It was easy enough to find-and also to get into. Though concrete with large, heavy metal garage doors at the front and a burly looking guard at the only door, blink noticed the windows lining the top edge of the building, and saw her in.

A neighboring building gave her the height needed, but there wasn't much of a ledge to the window. "Oh jeez." Eva murmured to herself, feeling her palms sweat a little on the inside of the fingerless gloves. She took a deep breath-and stepped, appearing across the narrow alley teetering backwards on the four inch ledge.

Her sharp intake of breath might've turned into a scream had she not caught the crank at the bottom of the window. She pulled herself forward, barely balanced on the balls of her feet in the crouch outside the glass-peering in and quickly blinking inside.

She felt much better with the metal catwalk beneath her feet. Slipping silently from the wall edge to the railing, she looked down into the depths of the warehouse.

Richter didn't hear her shortened version of his name. His engine drowned out a lot of sound. He drove back to his side of town. Up in the hills over the city, he drove along an unpaved road that wound through the peaks. Turning into an abandoned ammo dump from the 40's, he killed his engine and closed the door behind him. He sighed and got out, moving a little slower as he did.

Getting back from a night out of stopping crime was always tough. His body was coming off of all the adrenaline and rush of fighting so all the aches started to catch up with him. He slowly pulled the mask off and all his body armor. Seemed like it was taking longer these days. He stored his weapons along with the armor in their places in his modified equipment room. Striding through the old concrete and metal of the base, the floor turned to modern materials as he crossed a threshold. He was now in his house that stood on stilts out from the cliff face of the base behind it.

He finally kicked off his boots and started peeling off the tight Under Armour gear he wore. In this case, the name was rather apt. He let it fall wherever as he walked to the gym off his living room. Every night, he spent a few minutes in here, cooling down from the night he had: long stretching sessions and light weights to help take the tension out of his body before moving to the kitchen for another patented Vanguard Smoothie.

When he was with the League, they wanted to make money off of everything. Since he was a slightly better than average human, Vanguard picked up all the body building and supplement tie-ins. He did have final say over everything and after being dissatisfied with all that the sponsors brought to him, Richter sat down to come up with his own. His smoothies had a little bit of everything in them: fruits, veggies, peanut butter, whey powder, vitamin supplements... Only he really knew the full recipe and that's exactly what he blended up. At his age, he had to rebuild his body as fast as it was tearing itself down so he filled up a full shake glass and chugged a healthy mouthful down.

Shake in hand, he walked into another side room off the living room. Inside, was a picture of every cop, major player in the criminal underworld, and every politician in town. Not only that, there were cords running from wall to wal to indicate how they were interlinked. Walking up to the police wall, he picked the two detectives off the wall and pulled the cords down with them. Nodding, he threw them both in the shredder. It was a symbolic gesture that he went through to mark when someone's wickedness had come to an end.

Turning to the politician wall, he spied Councilwoman Sandra. She no longer had anyone in the police to protect her now. Now, he could move on that meth lab she keeps in her warehouse. That would be the evidence he needed to either remove her or turn her to help him move up the food chain.

****

Richter was posted up, watching the docks through his binoculars again as he scanned to see who was moving around down there. As he locked on Sandra's warehouse, he caught a flash of blue. "Oh no... Oh no, don't tell me..." he muttered as he zoomed in. Sure enough, he saw the blue-clad bombshell from the other night slipping into the building.

"Shit..." he cursed and slide down the drain pipe on the building he used. Taking off like a shot, he ran through the docks, dodging notice and scaling containers like it was nothing. With a flip and a flourish he landed on the building and slipped in through a skylight. Swinging himself down, he landed on the catwalk across from blink. His landing was a bit quieter than hers so she hadn't noticed him. Pulling out a laser he used on some of his weapons, he shone it jsut where blink was looking.

It got her attention and when she looked up, Richter used the old League hand gestures to indicate that he will meet her around where their two catwalks meet so they can talk. He had to know how she was onto this place so fast. He hoped to god that she hadn't blundered in here on a whim.

blink sees the laser and immediately disappears-reappearing several feet to her right with widened eyes and a clear look of surprise. What she thought might've been a gunman was instead the resident vigilante Reckoning.

Well thank God for that-she'd been worried about a sniper.
She gives a nod-and slips silently back behind a few coils of rope and crates. He'd see that dark red hair here and there, but once she was close enough she disappeared and reappeared at the indicated place. Once he arrived there she stepped in closer, the faint scent of apple blossoms clinging to her hair and skin.

"You know the signals." Her voice is little more than a whisper, unintentionally sensual. She's curious rather than accusing. "How? And...we meet again. Hello." A small smile for him, ever gracefully pleasant.

Richter pressed his back up to the containers. He didn't breathe deep despite how fast he moved or how quiet he stayed, such was the nature of his physiology. Pretty soon, in a swirl of blue, blink arrived besides him. He always felt uncomfortable around teleporters. He hated not being able to see someone coming or going. Still, she obviously read his signals correctly. When she arrived, all his senses became aware of the woman she was. He didn't have any extra level of sensory detection, but he didn't need it to find her lotion alluring. Even her voice drew-

"You know the signals."

Shit.

He didn't even stop to consider that. He was more worried about keeping her alive and getting her attention than giving something away. After so many years with The League, using them was second nature to him. He had to say something about it.

"Or maybe your team uses the same gesture code as militaries around world," he said through his distorted voice box. He spied over the edge of the box they hid behind and started counting heads down below. He'd need to know how to proceed in short while as he wasn't sure if someone would notice the window or skylight they had used being askew.

"How are YOU here?" he asked hotly, trying to keep his voice a whisper. "You just got into the city. Did they send you in with intel?" He asked, curious if people outside the city knew more than he gave them credit for. It almost sounded like an accusation; not really the best way to start a conducive relationship.

Her greeting was dismissed for what might've been a chastisement, she wasn't sure-she looked thoughtful for a moment, supposing he had a point. She'd look into it later.

blink peeked when he did, taking in what she could. It looked like a drug operation. What the hell was a politician doing with a warehouse full of this? Before she can consider the implications he dropped back down and started in on her yet again.

"Me?" She was taken aback, her beautiful face taking on a look of troubled hesitation, hazel eyes on the black spaces where his should have been-before averting themselves in the face of his seeming hostility. Boy, she hoped this wasn't how ALL their interactions were going to go. "No, but something didn't feel right about one of the council members, so I looked into it."

She worried her lower lip a moment and peeked a second time.

"You can't fault me for doing my job, Reckoning." She murmured just barely over the whisper. "I'm trying to help with some of the awful here, same as you." Sandra was clearly mixed up in some very illegal things. "So. Here we both are...maybe you'd like a bit of back up?"

She was trying to diplomatically smooth things over with him. There was no need for them to be at odds...they were fighting on the same side, right?

...she hoped.

Richter took a slow breath. She was right. How she wound up being here really wasn't the point. Ultimately, they wanted the same thing. Any help he could get at this point would be welcome as there seemed to be a significant number of folks down below. He had to make a decision; they wouldn't have all day to wait up here. The boxes and other equipment told him someone came up here from time to time and when that happened, they would lose their private room with a view.

He nodded ever so slightly. Turning to blink beside him he finally was calm enough to get a good look at her. It didn't take long to see why The League was pushing her forward on all their PR. Dancer's body. Fiery hair. Captivating eyes. Yeah, she was hard to ignore for all the selfish reasons that ran through his head. Maybe in another life...

He shook his head, getting his mind back on the task at hand. He extended a hand to her. "Look, sorry if I sounded ungrateful. I've been piecing together the evidence to hang this around Councilwoman Sandra for months. If we do this, I want it done right; no wiggle room for those responsible."

He continued, turning around to look at how the goons were going about their work to develop a battle plan. "So you're here now and you definitely can help. Since you can bounce faster than me, I need you to run crowd control. Set up a perimeter. Keep anyone from running or getting help from downstairs. I'll take care of the bulk of the goons down there. Sounds good?" He asked. "Just gimme a head start to get down to the ground safe." He said, waiting on her agreement.

The graceful redhead accepted the hand, her delicate, graceful tapered fingers offering an allied handshake. "Sounds like you've put in some hard work." She whispered with understanding, forgiving his ire at once. Ever the diplomat.

blink let him take point, nodding in agreement with his plan. "Alright. Just be careful Reck." She pulled her bomber jacket more firmly into place on her shoulders-then vanished, leaving that faint thrum of power on the air in her wake-a the lingering scent of apple blossoms.

He wouldn't be able to see where she went, but he could trust she was there.

(Sorry, I had more but there was the awkward blank of whatever actions he would take, so I will post a much longer action post once I know where he is and what he's started.)

Richter smiled behind his mask. He remembered being that excited about his work once. Maybe blink wasn't going to be a liability in his work after all. He'd find out soon enough. His surprisingly quiet footsteps carried him to the stairs that led to a lower catwalk platform. A series of flips and swings from the infrastructure in the building carried him to the ground.

He wasn't sure where blink was, but she was a League member so he counted on her to be trained enough to to her job. Emerging from cover, he jabbed a stun stick into a gunman that was watching the loading process. Without one of his own or any projection powers, The Reckoning had to go for those first. Flipping off the dock, he kicked another unsuspecting rifle toting "employee" through a crate behind him, scattering drug vials across the ground. 'There they are...' Richter thought, moving to engage another.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blue. Glancing that way, some poor soul was falling from being launched by whatever blink did to him while he was heading for a door on that side of the building. Richter had another smile under his mask as he brawled with two men that had picked up whatever was on hand to beat against his head. His training and superior physiology made quick work of the two men.

Another flash of blue near the stairs to the basement sent someone flying through Richter's field of vision. He wasn't sure what blink was doing, but it was working. When the man skidded to a halt, he jabbed the stun stick into his chest to make sure he didn't get back up.

He should have done the same to the second gunman. Despite going through a crate, he wasn't out of commission. He struggled to his feet and leveled his gun. Richter was so busy fighting his way through the crowd that he didn't see him.

But blink did...

The men employed in this drug operation did not like the interruption of their otherwise quiet night-heads and bodies turned as the second man went through the wooden crate, the ruckus and ensuing chaos immediate.

A few men turned and started for the open side door-but she was suddenly there, slamming the door closed right just as the guard outside was about to enter and before those fleeing could reach it.

"Good evening, gentlemen." The three glanced at each other, then at her-and then the burliest of the three rushed her. A flash of blue and a construct walled him hard with a thrust of her hand, the barrier moving forward about six feet at a rate fast enough to send him flying backwards before it vanished.

She stepped and was suddenly beside the second one, her right foot just behind his left one, arm across his chest and hand firmly gripping his shoulder before she practically flipped him over her knee and onto the unforgiving concrete. She vanishes again-and the third man was struck hard in the solar plexus by a flying knee, a construct of blue serving as a knee pad to broaden the blow.

She vanished, reappearing six feet ahead. Vanished, reappeared seven feet to her right to slide a desk into the path of someone heading for the stairs.

blink had not forgotten about those stairs.

She appeared at the top of the open staircase and deflected a knife strike, the sound of boots on the stairs behind her alerting her to the reinforcements that were coming.

Yep, nope-a flash of blue as he moved for her again, perhaps hoping to knock her down those stairs-but the shield protected her and his balance was off, so when it fell-she kicked him square in the chest, shortening the space in a whirl of distorted, warped energy-and once released, sent him flying fourteen feet instead of two.

She turned and threw a hand out over the stairs, fingers spread-and the same distorted perception of wrong clouded over the top of them, lengthening them into an impossible distance.

It was a strain even with her full concentration-but then she saw the gun, and she saw that Reckoning did not see the gun. blink disappeared but the energy remained, the woman traveling a farther distance than previously witnessed-she had stepped across the warehouse and reappeared suddenly beside the guy, one hand on the inside of his elbow, applying painful pressure-and the other beneath the barrel of the gun, thrusting upwards just as the shots rang out-striking the upper catwalk crates therein, and the ceiling rather than the rogue vigilante.

Gunshots behind him.

Richter cursed to himself as he knocked another crate loader to the ground and wheeled to see blink dealing with the man he kicked through a crate earlier. Maybe he didn't hit him as hard as he thought. Flipping and sliding over crates, parkour style, Richter closed the distance rather quickly and with one last vault he tumbled through the air, driving his heel down through the gunman's neck and shoulder as blink had him off balance. The force of Richter's kick sent the man's head bouncing off the concrete floor; he wasn't gonna get up this time.

"Thanks..." his distorted voice crackled at blink as he glanced toward the stair and the swirling vortex of energy she left behind. "I assume you got that?" he didn't wait for an answer; he was already half way to the next man who thought that grabbing a gun would be a good idea. One well-placed ball bearing throw followed by a right cross to the chin showed the poor man why it wasn't.

Richter flowed from one engagement to the next, but he couldn't be everywhere at once. Someone got to one of the trucks somehow and he looked in horror as one of them floored it toward the rolling gate on the side of the building.

"blink, stop the truck!" he called out, being cut off by a group of men who had gotten enough time to group up and present a human wall between him and the truck. Richter knew that he could handle them all, but not fast enough to get to the driver and pull him out of the truck. If these drugs got out, it would just hurt more people and make more money for greedy corrupt people. Plus, he needed the avalanche of evidence to make this stick.