Foolish Hope

[Ambrosia_64]

The superhero was a dying breed. As politicians became more corrupt, so did the laws-until many had given up in disgust and gone back to their daily lives, refusing to uphold such corruption.

Others continued on as outlawed vigilantes to an increasingly hostile public, struggling to stand for the truth and justice the courts no longer represented. Things were still salvagable. The common man still held a bit of power, and the superhero still had claim to a grateful fanbase. The world became more jaded and broken with every year, but the American Way still continued through the work force, through the scattering of heroes until he showed up, and changed the game forever.

They called him the Mask Killer. He wore a helmet with a face shield, black street clothes-and was supposedly invincible. Metahuman and as powerful as the once heralded Superman, the Mask Killer arrived on the scene and started slaying superhero after prominent superhero, just another super powered villain punk leveling the occasional city skyscraper-until, in front of a stadium full of horrified onlookers, he beat the Blue Streak into a bloody mess-and raped her on national television.

Then he went after White Flame, a buxom, leggy blonde commonly seen in the skies of California, her blue cape whipping in the wind, the white, sparkly spandex costume, the miniskirt. She was lovely and outrageous, had sat for an interview (and photo shoot) with Maxim and, when the Governor of California demanded she stop "harassing the good people" of the Powder Keg gang-given a press conference where she implicitly told him to kiss her ass.

A bold heroine, and while slightly crass-one who had always stood for truth, justice, and the American way. She had been one of the few hold outs-strong enough to thwart the attempts on her life, powerful enough to protect an entire state-and the Mask Killer still cut her down, kidnapping the woman in broad daylight over the skies of L.A.

Days later, her rape and murder were broadcast live online to hundreds of thousands of viewers.

The world became that much darker for the superhero. Countless more died at the sadistic hands of the Mask Killer, a man who never spoke, never allowed too much of himself to be caught on his tapes-but managed, one way or another, to eliminate every female who dared don a cape, and a good number of men too. Alliances were broken as the sheer number of foes grew to outstanding heights-masks were beaten, murdered and cast into other dimensions. The people ceased to rally to them. Villains started to take over, carving entire territories for themselves in cities, states and islands-some the costumed meta humans of yesteryear, some just plain criminals.

Gangs ran rampant in the worst parts of the world. Anarchy ruled. The police were either easily bribed shams or much hunted -animals-. Everyone, everywhere, was struggling to eek out an existence in the madness-and then there were the facades of civilization, the countries running off fear and commercialism.

Here and there, beacons of light shone. In certain cities across the globe, powerful meta human heroes kept the grime away through their mere presence. Their reach was limited, but those places were safe. As the years passed, such places became fewer and fewer-but they were near legendary, as faraway and unreal as whispers of Atlantis-with good reason. Should the Mask Killer zone in on one, not even the Godlike protectors might stand a chance.

For the rest, the superhero was a thing to be hunted down and destroyed.

The world was not a safe place for anyone, anymore. It was dark, terrible and awful. Innocence was dead-it was all the good people of the world could do to go on surviving in a world without hope.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee Summers was stuck in traffic.

Drumming her fingers against the steering wheel of her baby blue Volkswagen Beetle, she did her best to be patient in the sudden standstill of traffic. Inching along here and there, she let her mind wander to her current to do list: Laundry, pick up cat food, grade those spelling tests...

But she kept thinking about the box in her trunk, the same one she'd been driving around with for the past five months. She'd taken a few classes, read a few books-but was there ever really a "ready" point? Could she really pull off a crazy stunt like that?

Bright blue eyes flick to the rearview mirror, studying her own reflection. Maybe.

She was a petite blonde woman in her early twenties, dressed smartly but professionally in a cream colored blazer, a pink pastel skirt and blouse. She looked perfectly respectable, responsible. Not the sort to make her father worry, to go off on dangerous tangents. Traffic inched forward another little bit, and Aimee rolled the window down, tried to peer ahead-and noticed the crowd of people for the first time, the gathering on the sidewalk having spilled into the streets ahead. They were all looking up.

Aimee frowned, got out of her car as so many others were doing. Squinting, she made out the lone woman on the ledge flights and flights up and-oh God. She was going to jump!

Panic flooded her, a squeamish feeling in her stomach as she got immediately back into the car. She, she couldn't watch something like that-fumbling with her cell phone, Aimee dialed 911 as she watched two men in front of her joke to one another, exchange money.

The operator answered and, just as quickly, put her on hold. There used to be a time you got help...

Her mind flashed on the box in the trunk, and Aimee felt her heart skip. No. Not now, she wasn't ready, she wasn't-she was afraid of heights! She couldn't really be thinking SHE could do anything?!
--------------------
Fourteen minutes later she was climbing the rickety fire escape on one side of the building, trying not to look down or listen to her panting terribly much as she double timed it up the side of the building, mentally counting floors. Fourteen stories up, fifteen...sixteen. She paused on the landing and glanced at the thin, eight inch ledge that extended from the brick building and curved around the corner, a precarious spot that no sane person would venture.

Aimee took a breath and climbed over the railing of the fire escape, stepping onto that ledge-and wishing she could just fly like one of the bigger masks. Edging along as fast as she dared, Aimee came into view of the crowd below-who pointed and stared and called the news channel.

The would be heroine was decked out in a black spandex suit that cut off just above her knees and elbows, a red Kevlar vest zipped up over her chest, the intials "CC" emblazoned in yellow upon it. Her red baseball hat bore the same symbol, long blonde, wavy hair in a ponytail through it. A red domino mask was spirit gummed over her eyes. Yellow sneakers edged along just as the bedraggled, mousy woman plotting suicide spotted her. "S-stay back! I...I have to do this!" She had been crying, looked terrified-and Aimee prayed she'd be able to save her from herself.

"No you don't." Aimee assured, inching along with her back pressed to the building, her own face pale with fright but her resolve only hardened to see the poor woman's wide eyed terror, her fear and misery. The window nearest the woman was open. Perhaps she lived here.

"However bad things are right now, you can overcome them." Aimee tried, speaking in a soothing, kind voice. "You can't give up. Not like this..."

"You don't understand." The woman said, dissolving into tears. "Y-you don't. He'll kill my children. He'll kill them if I don't jump."

Aimee could not imagine anyone harming kids. It happened everyday, but it was a concept she just didn't understand. Right now, she had to focus on the woman. "Calm down, I can help. Let me help you ma'am. How old are your kids?" Aimee struggled to stay calm, calm...even as her heart raced. Someone had her children?

"Eight and six." The woman said miserably, straightening from the wall. "He has them, and he told me what to do-" She wiped her face, an almost dreamy, lost expression on her face.

"No one else knows he has them! Dying won't ensure their safety-ma'am, listen to me, we can get them back, we can-" Aimee felt desperate, coming off the wall to stand straight, her heart in her throat. "Ma'am!" The woman was looking down, had closed her eyes-

Aimee had closed the distance in a flash, disregarding her own fear and safety to BE there as the woman stepped off, a rush of adrenaline as her legs tensed, propelled her forward-

"Gah!" Her huffed sound of exertion as she caught the woman's right wrist with BOTH hands was colored in no small amount of pain as her ribs came into contact with the sharp edge of the ledge. Aimee was half inside the open window, her legs curled back around the frame and against the wall, her abdomen muscles protesting the strain of keeping herself from toppling head first down the side of the building with the suicidal woman. For a moment, Aimee thought she might start screaming-staring past the tearful woman's kicking feet, down to the street and the ant like people far, far below...

"Let go!" The mother demanded, her feet dangling sixteen stories up, death imminent-snapping Aimee back to reality.

"Give me your other hand, please!" Aimee huffed, struggling to hold her up, to keep her grip, to save her. "Trust me-I will get them back, you don't have to die, you don't have to-!" She turned her face away as a helicopter drowned out the woman's screamed protest, the blinding light shined upon them both.

The side door slid open and a camera was aimed at them from the shoulder of a news anchor. Aimee couldn't believe they were filming instead of helping-but the red and blue lights below told her the police had finally arrived.

"Ma'am, I'm not letting go." Aimee shouted over the blades, returned her attention to the woman, the whipping wind tousling her ponytail, their clothes. "I'll fall with you before I let go-you can trust me. I will find them. I will find them and bring them home to you." She had no idea how she would make good on such a bold promise-but she knew she must, she MUST save this woman's children, just as she was saving her life.

Staring up into the sincere young woman's eyes, the distraught mother finally pressed her feet into the building, gave her other hand-and helped haul herself back inside with the heroine's help, collapsing into her. "His name is Frank West-I left him, I hid from him, but he found us...I don't know where he took the boys. He's-he's done terrible things. I didn't know. I couldn't have known." She sobbed into Aimee's shoulder, clinging to the young woman almost as tightly as Aimee clung to her, patting her back, soothing wordless noises.

She had to move on this. Pulling away from the woman's embrace, Aimee helped her stand. "The police are here, will be coming up soon. Get to a hospital, I'll find your kids before-" Aimee couldn't finish the sentence, could only take a breath before she hurried out of the apartment, found the back stairs. She heard the police burst in just as she was taking the service exit, her heart thumping hard in her chest as she sprinted down a back alley, back towards her car. Sliding into the driver's seat, she tore off her hat and mask, the shivers setting in. So...so high up...she had taken the first step in her haywire plan, and rather than a rush-she instead felt terror.

How would she find this Frank West? And what kind of monster was he?

 

[Armphid]

He stepped out of the penthouse onto the balcony and breathed in the stinking, dirty air of the city as if it were a sweet perfume. Once it had been. Once to step out on the edge of twilight and fill his lungs with polluted air had set his heart racing and brought a smile to his face.

Now it just stank and made his chest burn slightly. He breathed in again, filling his lungs with its corruption, with its reek. It was a part of him. It's filth was his life and would be his death.

Daniel Raines was tall, well over six feet in height, and had a linebacker's build with strong, broad shoulders, powerful arms and legs and a solid muscular body. He looked big and strong and slow. He certainly was the first two, but the last...well, he might be slow but he wasn't yet. The day he was would be the day he died.

Maybe it would be tonight. If not tonight, then soon. God, he almost wanted it to be soon.

His hair was a clean and mostly dry from his shower, a light color that some called sandy blond and others called light brown. His blue eyes were the color of arctic ice and were as sharp as daggers. His face was chiseled and handsome, his features noble and clean, freshly shaved. His friends always said he looked good, better when he smiled. Raines didn't smile much these days and when he did...it wasn't an expression that was nice. Less of a smile and more of a snarl; a savage appreciation for the pain of those who deserved it.

He turned and walked back inside and turned on the TV in the kitchen. It lit up with its screen segmented into sex different sections; all showing a different station. Two were major news channels, the rest all local stations who were currently showing the news. While he already had business and leads to follow up on, he always checked to see if anything was breaking before he headed out.

Raines didn't look but listened as he mixed a protein and nutrient laden shake; almost all of his meals were like this. The nutritive powder mixed in water or milk, if he was feeling decadent, and a vitamin to supplement. High eating and living for a man of his wealth.

It didn't sound like anything had happened he needed to pay attention to. Good. Just the usual then. He started to strap on his gear and then he heard something that froze him in his tracks.

"A breaking story that Channel 4 is watching for you. An apparent suicide earlier today was foiled by the appearance of a masked vigilante." Oh no. Oh, God, no. "In this footage, the jumper, identified by friends and neighbors as Christine West, was approached and then bodily pulled back by what appears to be a young woman in a red and yellow costume." No. No, fuck, no. Damn it! The stupid child! Didn't she know? "No identifying marks could be clearly made out from the distance this was taken, though the outfit corresponds to no known crime fighter active, retired, or known. Speculation-"

He grabbed the remote and rewound the segment; his eyes wide and feverish as he watched the footage again. Back and watched it again. Back and watched it again. Again. Again. "No. No, you idiot. You damn fool. How could be so stupid? Just putting that on..."

Gwen. Oh, Gwen. He closed his eyes and saw her again; hanging limp from the balcony. Rosita. Karen. Elaine. Linda. Sarah. Tomoko. Leticia. Francine. His eyes were hot and stung with unshed tears. Not again. What if He saw it? What if He took an interest? There had been no sign of Him for over a year now. Raines kept thinking He'd show up to deal with him but He never appeared. But this?

He had to find her. He had to get her to stop.

Christine West was taken into custody. The police hadn't said why she was going to jump. That was his lead. If there was something more than just an obvious suicide, this new heroine would try to follow up on it. He had to find it first, beat her there and when she showed up...do whatever it took to get her to take the mask off and go back to her life.

He wasn't even aware that he was dressing. Blindly he secured hidden catches and straps, checked equipment, and pulled on his own costume. His mind worked; at that location, she'd have been taken to Saint Joseph the Lesser's first for medical and likely kept overnight. She and any information she had on her would be there first. Even with this being on the news, there was no money in investigating jumpers, so the cops wouldn't be on it until tomorrow. Plenty of time for him to find her and pick up the trail of whatever had driven her to that rooftop.

The half mask cowl came up and over his head. His eyes closed and as he settled it into place and then they opened behind mirrored and protectively coated lenses. The earbud in the cowl whispered the police scatter and other radio chatter to him; noise that would aggravate most people. He sighed, as if with relief. Peace.

Nightwatch's costume was snug and tight fitting and made to look like a single piece when worn; though close up one could see the fine lines of separation between boots, pants, shirt, and gloves. He wore a webbed belt with a few streamlined pouches but it was all for show and booby trapped; he carried his actual weapons and gear in hidden pockets in the tops of his boots, the base of his gloves and up the sides of his legs. His mask was a half-cowl that went over his head to hide his hair, eyes, and the top half of his face. A band of black went up the inside of his legs and widened starting at the waist until it reached his shoulders. From the black band, the color of his costume lightened to a purplish twilight color and then a lighter dusk blue that made up a sunburst style design on his gloves and boots.

He broke out into a run for the balcony, leaping up onto the railing with one foot and leaping out into nothing without a moment of hesitation or a quiver of fear. Line and grapnel flashed out and hooked and he swung up and away, pulling in slack to guide his path.

Find her. He had to find her before this got too far.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

(Editing for tone)

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Frank West was not a nice person. According to the briefest of searches on her smartphone, he had been arrested for drug dealing and was a registered sex offender. He had served time for human trafficking in Texas, a rather horrifying case where would be immigrants were smuggled in and forced into prostitution.

Aimee had had to stop reading after that.

Mr. West had a listed address-a former duplex run down and seemingly abandoned.

Standing on the outside of it's twisted and gnarled metal fence, Aimee wasn't so sure it wasn't. She cast a worried glance into the darkened street behind her-the lamps were all shot out, the only light her small torch, a halo of white that lit hardly more than a few feet ahead of her. Distant sirens brought her gaze forward, the furrow of her brow deepening as she stepped forward onto the property. The police didn't venture in a place like this. At least, that's what she has been told. Volunteer work in the soup kitchen had earned her some wire with the downtrodden people of this city, and while Aimee had always lived a comfortable life-she was not utterly ignorant of what poverty was, how people suffered.

No bribes to be taken here anyway, so why show up?

Aimee shook the negative thought away as she tried the door. Locked. She sniffed as she pulled hard on the knob, the previous thought coming back, tinged with anger. The police used to be the good guys. She wanted to believe they still were-and this Frank West! What kind of man threatened to kill his own children? Blackmailed his ex into suicide?

The door didn't budge and she was just about to walk around back when her little halo of light caught the lower half of the door, the doggie door. Aimee hesitated, throwing an exasperated glance to the side windows, hoping to see a broken one. Was she smelling gasoline?

Eyes widened in alarm as she dropped to all fours, her face burning in the mild embarrassment-heroes kicked doors open or blasted through roofs and her? She was crawling inside like a-oh God, it WAS gasoline. Her hips caught for a moment and she had to twist to slip through-flashlight taken from her mouth to flash across the red fuel containers on the kitchen counter, the splashes across the floor. Aimee tried to breathe through her mouth, making a face at the strong scent of fuel as her anxiety peaked.

Was the fuel to hide evidence? Was she too late, or did he only plan to bring them here? Were they here? No, I'm going to -save- them, I promised.

She crept through the kitchen while she fiercely battled her own anxiety, pushing a bedroom door open, sweeping her flashlight across the bare mattress, the drug paraphernalia. The smell was so strong, where could it be coming fro-a muffled whimper from down the hall and Aimee lit on it in an instant, ducking out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom. Fingers around the knob-were they hurt, had he hurt them? Had he seen the news and knew his ex wife hadn't-she opened the door cautiously and hit the light, eyes adjusting to the sudden flare-and horrified by the scene that greeted her.

Two young boys in footie pajamas shivering in a tub full of gasoline, dizzy from the fumes. "Ohmygod. Oh, oh no-it's alright, it's-" Her shaky, worried smile and kind tone ended abruptly as her eyes caught movement in the mirror, a large burly man standing just behind the door with a raised mallet-!

Aimee slammed the door open into his large form, her shoulder thrown into it-but he was stronger and heavier and slammed back, throwing her into the hall. The petite hero staggered, half found her footing as her head snapped up to see the door opening fully, the mountain of a man filling it's frame-and then two hundred pounds of fury came barreling towards her in a football tackle, catching her about the middle with his shoulder and charging her down the hall and into the wall of the living room. Someone was making weird squeaking, terrified noises that kinda sounded like breatheless screams...and then the air was knocked out of her as her back hit the wall. Her hands clawed at his back, knees digging into his torso as she tried to draw in breath, a terrible feeling of breathlessness, of pain. Shit!

Clawing, she managed to do little more than ruffle his filthy sweater before he straightened, his hand shoved against her shoulder, the other pulling back to deliver a killing blow with his mallet. She had trained. She had studied all the books and the videos and taken the right classes but it all fell away pathetically as her world spun with terror, her heart racing so quickly in her chest she thought she might truly -die-. "Don't!" Her legs extended, shoved hard at his mid section and he staggered backwards, allowing the woman to drop out of his grip just as the hammer swung down, caught the side of her face in a glancing blow-she saw stars a minute, she really did.

He turned away, staggered a little as he drew something from his pocket, something small and metal...lighter. Oh God, it was a lighter.

He was going to kill those kids, he had planned to burn them-she struggled to see straight, to act. She was all there was. All that stood between these poor kids and this, this horrible awful man and if she was scared-no doubt they were terrified. "S-stop!" She stammered, getting back to her feet. This did not feel like any kind of hero-ing. Comic book capes were so confident, full of one liners and smart aleck quips and-

He backhanded her with his lighter holding hand, lifted the mallet-and Aimee kicked off the wall and drove her own fist into his solar plexus, her wrist screaming in protest as she hit him as hard as she could because, because she was all there was!. He bent forward, air leaving his lips in a woosh as her fingers thread themselves into his dirty hair, bring his face crashing into her knee. Once! Twice! THREE times, smashing his nose, his teeth, so brutal, so brutal and violent and wrong.

He roared, grabbing her thigh in both of his hands, dragging her towards him and off balance-Aimee squeaked in surprise before a beefy hand flattened against her middle and he stood, having plucked her up by her costume-and threw her down the hall.

She couldn't think of a single cool thing to say.

NOW Aimee saw stars, lots of them-she turned onto her stomach, pushed herself up onto all fours-disoriented and hurting. "Y-you're...you're not going to...to kill them-" She was saying, her voice shaky and even a bit irrational sounding, desperate. He was standing over her, lifting that mallet again-and her hand closed around the baton on her hip-and squeezing the handle closed, Aimee bashed the electrified weapon into his lower legs.

BZZT!

....

Twenty minutes later, Aimee was walking stiffly down the cracked sidewalk with two gasoline soaked, mute boys in tow. The younger on her hip sporting her baseball cap, the older one with his hand firmly clasping hers. Their dad was going to be fine, she remembered assuring them. Everything was going to be just okay. She climbed the steps to a faded yellow house with flower pots on the porch. She knocked, and after a large amount of scraping around inside and a peek through a curtain, an elderly woman answered the door. She gave the trio one look and sniffed. "What's with this get up?"

"Uhm-" Aimee tried to think straight, to play the part. "Evening Ma'am. These two are the missing West boys...I just clobbered their father two houses down. Could you...phone the police and find them some dry clothes please? Neighbor to neighbor?" Almost reluctantly, the woman reached for the youngest and soothed him, still eying the would be heroine skeptically. "Who are you?"

Aimee offered a weak smile. "Er. Just a Concerned Citizen. Thank you for your assistance."

And then she hurried back onto the street and through a yard, feeling those eyes on her back until she climbed over a fence. Oh -damn- her head hurt. Her eyes swelled with tears and she wiped them on her arm, trudging through the weeds on a hurried, half limping trek back to her car a few blocks away. She didn't even know what to think. She had saved the children, but what kind of...what kind of man...and Frank West! He was handcuffed in his own living room, his pants stained with piss and muscles locked up in pain. She hadn't thought she would ever NEED the baton. She hadn't thought she'd fail so epically hard to subdue someone before it got ugly.

But it had gotten ugly. She was banged up and bleeding and suddenly unsure about her hobby.

A hot shower...ought to help...

 

[Armphid]

Christine West was a mousy woman on the pretty edge of plain looking with dark hair and large, frightened eyes. She was in a room overnight for observation, though no nurse was immediately on hand. The overworked hospital staff was stretched thin and had made the judgment call that Christine wasn’t a further suicide risk. She was sitting up in her hospital bed and looking out the window, trying to ignore the sounds from the other part of the room that was screened off where a man lay slowly dying, feebly whimpering and murmuring.

Her eyes grew larger and she let out a squeak as a hand appeared at the top of her window and then pushed it open slowly, a moment later a dark clad shape dropping down onto the window sill in a crouch. “Wh-wh-wh-“

“Take a deep breath, Christine,” Nightwatch said. There was an odd resonance to his voice that made it unmistakable and yet madly difficult to describe or recognize with the distortion that the small device in the throat of his costume put to his speech. “I’m not here to harm you. I’m looking for the woman who saved you today; she’s in danger. I need you to tell me about her.”

Christine was frozen almost still and her eyes looked almost too big for her head. The only sounds that could be heard were the working of the machines keeping the living dead man alive and those of the night that were drifting in from the open window. “I-I-I don’t know anything about her, I swear,” she breathed in a soft whisper. “She…she told me that dying wouldn’t save my boys and…she’d save them. I wanted to do it anyway, to be sure, but her eyes and her voice…I trusted her.”

His eyes narrowed behind his mask, not that she could see. What was this about her boys? “What happened to your boys?” She shivered and hugged herself and he felt a rush of frustration and had to fight back a snarl. That wouldn’t work. She was fragile and terrified but clinging to a faint hope; a hope given to her by the mystery woman in the mask. “Christine, you know who I am.”

“…Yes.”

“And you know what I do.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make sure your children are safe and I’ll punish whoever took them but you need to tell me what happened.” It was hard to do this. He was unused to getting information this way now; from a victim. He normally contacted the Compiler or just beat and intimidated it out of scum. Trying to reach out to someone, to connect was…strange. It made him uncomfortable.

Christine was silent a few moments, then her lips moved and he could barely make out the words she spoke. But he could make them out and he drew in a hissing breath. Then he was gone from the window a moment later.

Anger and adrenaline surged in his body and his lips pulled away from his teeth into a soundless snarl as he swung away from the hospital and onto the nearest brownstone. Frank West. Frank West was back in the city; after being broken and beaten and warned what would happen if he came back. And he had two children to harm. And he would. It wouldn’t matter that they were his own, in fact, that would only spur him to feel it was his right to do with them as he pleased.

Based on what he’d seen on the news footage, he also had at least six inches of height and reach and probably at least a hundred pounds on the masked girl who was going off to try and confront him. God knew what training or equipment she had. Frank West was vicious and brutal; he’d beat the girl near to death and rape her the rest of the way.

He had to get to West first. Nightwatch landed on the rooftop and pivoted to retract his grapnel, one hand reaching up to tab his earbud through the material of his cowl. “Compiler.” There were a few moments of silence and then the sound of a line picking up.

“I have you, Nightwatch,” a male voice answered, breathing a bit heavily. “Sorry, I was doing my therapy.”

“I need a lead on someone,” the vigilante said as he broke into a run. He dashed across the rooftop and then leaped the alleyway between the buildings. “Franklin Alan West. Registered sex offender, priors would include human trafficking and drug offences.”

“That’ll narrow it down, Christ. Hold on.” There was a few moments of quiet, the sounds of typing in the background. Then there came a sound. “All right, there’s a lot out there on this guy. He’s a bad man.”

“I don’t need the editorial, I need a lead on him. He’s got two kids.” Nightwatch gathered himself and leaped another alleyway, this one wider than the past. The chasm of the street yawned beneath his as he sailed over nothing to hit the other rooftop still running.

“All right; he had a place in the East Green. 4256 Roscoe Street.”

“Thanks, Compiler. Nightwatch out.” He cut the connection before the body broken hero turned information broker could bring up the other subject he was sure to. The mystery woman on the news. He had to get to her, had to save her from West, and then from the mask. The madness it brought, the waste of her life, and the death and brutalization that waited for her if He took notice. He pushed himself to run faster, his feet flying as he reached the edge of the rooftop, springing up onto the raised border and leaped into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~​

The city wasn’t on his side tonight. Was it ever?

A carjacking, two mugglings, and an attempted gang rape all diverted the dark-clad vigilante from his path. The last in particular; criminals of that kind got his most brutal and vicious retribution. He made a statement with them. Not until the last of the gang of thugs was weeping and writhing with ruined hands and broken off pieces of fence violating them as they would have done to that terrified woman could he leave. She refused his hand when he offered it; as scared of him or more than she had been of her attackers. But he’d had her call for the cops and an ambulance. The police might not be there for some time but the ambulance would get there; the medical community was perhaps the only one not wholly rotten in this wasted, hateful place.

By the time he got to West’s duplex, it was too late. It stank of gasoline; the fumes were heavy in the air and soaked into the floors and there were signs of a struggle that had gone throughout the place. Frank West was there, groaning and struggling to move, barely conscious and hand cuffed to a radiator. No boys; though there clearly had been. She had been here already and saved them…and gotten the hell kicked out of her, it looked like.

Nightwatch crouched on the front stoop and lifted his head to follow the remaining vestiges of a set of footprints, three sets, that went out the front door and away down the street. They were fading quickly, the gasoline evaporating into the already fouled air of the city’s night. They weren’t far. He’d catch up. But first there was Frank. He’d been told what would happen if he came back.

He went to the bathroom first, to the bathtub of the volatile liquid and then back to where Frank lay. Nightwatch stared down at him and then upended the 42 ounce drink cup he’d filled on his head. The big man lurched up, or tried to, and badly wrenched his hand cuffed arm, “Gah! Fuck! Fuck, fucking bitch, fucking-“ He saw who was standing there and his face paled, “N-Nightwatch. I-It’s not what you think! That bitch, she set me up! She-” The crime fighter’s foot caught him square in the mouth, shattering enamel and sending a few teeth flying from West’s mouth in a spray of blood. He wailed and clutched at his mouth with one hand, gibbering.

“You were told not to come back. To never let even your shadow enter my city.” Nightwatch reached down and grabbed his hair, lifting his head and slamming his face into the radiator he was cuffed to. “And here you are,” he went on, ignoring the cry of pain and the gibbering pleas that emerged from his wrecked mouth. “Not just here but trying to murder a woman and two children in my city. It has to be paid for, Frank.”

The huge man who’d been so brutal and vicious before whined and shivered, babbling, “Puleash, puleash, dun kill me, puleash, oh, Gogh.”

“I won’t kill you. I’m not merciful enough for that.”

~~~~~~~~~​

Nightwatch finally caught up with the mystery woman. He looked down at her from the roof of one of the faded, rotting houses in the neighborhood; the noise of the blaring television inside enough o block out his soft movements of the roof as well as the rest of the world. She was good at moving, the lithe blond used the terrain and cover to her advantage. If someone happened to be looking right out their windows as she passed by, they might see her but otherwise she was a ghost.

But she was obviously hurting. West had almost been more than she could handle. Good. That would make this easier.

He half wondered if she’d notice that she was being stalked but she seemed to almost be in a daze. Nightwatch watched and followed, waiting until she was at her car before he made his move. He bounded from the rooftop to the top of the nearby chainlink fence and then off of it and onto the hood of her vehicle; he lunged and grabbed one of her hands in an iron grip.

Only to push her handcuffs into her hand and then let go, backing away to the edge of her car’s hood. “Handcuff purchases can be traced,” he said, “the plastic ties you can get at hardware stores are just as sturdy, you can carry more of them, and they can’t lead back to you. Save the cuffs for fun with your boyfriend.”

What? Why the hell had he said that? He wasn’t here to give her advice!

“You saved the West boys but you nearly died doing it. You got lucky. Go home, clean up, take that costume off, and never put it on again.” That was better.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The chain link fence rattled and Aimee started badly, an arm coming up to shield her face as the figure lunged, his strong hand gripping her delicate wrist and shoving something metal into her palm before releasing just as suddenly. She luckily didn't squeak, but that was only because she was in the middle of a heart attack-backing off of the car as if it had burst into flames, those pretty caribbean eyes wide with near panic.

But, oh thank God, not Him. Not quite so soon, so unlucky. But...still not someone she had expected to run into either. She hadn't intended to draw his attention. Still half frozen in a half defensive posture Aimee blinked at him, widened blue eyes flicking to her handcuffs. Oh. Of...of course. Her dazed look of embarrassment shifted to a concerted effort to think straight.

"With...with all due respect Mister Nightwatch sir-" The roughed up heroine started uncertainly, possibly about to lie, to claim she had had everything under control when she faltered. She felt slightly ridiculous in her homemade costume next to his streamlined one, and what was more-what he said didn't sound like a bad idea. Her head throbbed with a nasty headache and the abrasion on the side of her face stung-she was aching from being tossed around and slammed into. He wasn't wrong. Frank had nearly done her in during the fight. But-

"That...that didn't happen the way I wanted it to." She admitted, a hand coming to her aching head. "I...I had to use the stun baton..." Ah. The young woman was troubled over use of force? On a piece of work like West? It was a disturbing insight on just how naive this...'Concerned Citizen' was. In the very least, she was neither proud nor self pitying.

"But he was going to kill those boys! He would have burned them, and I-" She had decided months before to take up a mask. She couldn't...she couldn't be dissuaded now. She knew it wasn't going to be a cakewalk. She knew how it could turn out. And so, rather than meekly going home to do as she was bid, she found herself arguing with a super hero, one who put the fear of God into the criminal sector of this city-and the people he sought to protect too. She didn't want to be on his bad side. Especially if he might know who she was, or somehow find out. Her license plate was in her trunk, the VIN number on the dash obscured by an 'accidental' placement of an envelope.

"I was there to stop him. I'm not pretending to be the most qualified, but at least I can try. There's still good people in this city. I believe that, and you, you must, to be out in it." Her head hurt so much, but Aimee squared her shoulders anyway, rising to her full five feet and three inches of height. "I just want to help this city. I can't sit at home anymore, wishing for better days. So..." That bit of backbone faltered slightly as she swallowed, eyes interested in the ground a moment. She dared another glance at him, peeking from beneath the brim of the hat. "...um, thank you for the tip."

It was an oddly sincere thanks at the end of her idealistic tirade. She was young too-couldn't have been more than 23 or 24. She appeared to be in good physical shape, but she was -small-. Too small to be squaring off against monsters like Frank West, one would think.

 

[Armphid]

God, she was going to die horribly.

She was too idealistic, too pure, too naive by half for this life. To be worried about using a stun baton on a piece of shit like Frank West and then her speech. She meant every word; the sincerity of her convictions rang in each word like a bell of purest silver. There wasn’t a hint of pride or self-righteousness, just honest and pure virtue.

It hurt. She was like a brilliant light lancing through the darkness of the city, of this stinking world, and that included him. Her words cut and her sweetness and hope made his heart ache so that he felt it might break. He bowed his head for a few moments after she finished. Nightwatch, no, Raines felt, no, not even Raines. Daniel felt ashamed and weary under his mask. He hadn’t thought of himself as Daniel in years.

After a few moments, he managed to speak, reminding himself why he was here and what he’d seen and lived through. She believed but he knew differently. His voice was softer than it had been before when he spoke next. “You’re wrong about me, and about this city. These “good people” you talk about will turn on you in a heartbeat; they’ll never thank you, never appreciate you, and when they get the chance, they’ll turn you over to the monsters on a silver platter.”

His voice regained the harsh strength of Nightwatch as he went on, “They’re barely more than animals, the people of this filthy city. They’ll hate you for showing them that they could be better. The media will hound you on their behalf, the police will hunt you instead of criminals because you threaten what’s “normal” and your “good people,” he sneered, “will cheer and help them every step of the way. They won’t speak up against gangsters or drug dealers or pimps, but oh, they’ll gladly work against you.”

He turned away from her, “There are no good people in this city; the ones who don’t commit crimes turn a blind eye and let it happen. …There’s just you. You’re the good person in this city.” He was quiet for a few beats, “I didn’t think you existed anymore.”

Nightwatch looked back over his shoulder at her. God, she was so small. A nice figure, as best he could tell…she was probably very pretty under that mask. He had to stop her before she was ruined. “Don’t let this destroy you. It will, if you keep putting that mask on. You got lucky tonight but it won’t last. You’ll run into someone big and strong like Frank, but smarter. He’ll beat you senseless, he’ll violate you, he’ll kill you, and probably take pictures or record the whole thing. It’ll be released and the whole city, the whole rotten world, will eat it up like ice cream and the only help you’ll be is giving some perverts an edge in rubbing one off.”

He turned, “Or maybe you’ll get some training or stay lucky. The city will still destroy you. The mask will take over your life. You’ll put it first more and more over family and friends and they’ll desert you. You’ll find the good people you thought you could trust are weak and cowardly, they’ll betray you, take everything you care about.”

His voice was lower now and had a desperate edge to it, “And in the end, all you’ll have left is the mask. Every night you’ll put it on and go out there and it’ll be because it’s all you have and all you know. And each night you’ll find yourself secretly hoping that tonight is the night some punk gets lucky and puts a bullet in your brain so that it can finally, finally, all be over and you don’t have to put up with this hateful world anymore!” He’d stopped talking about her. That was all about him. All too true, too personal. Why had he said that at all? Maybe she wouldn’t put it together.

“Go home and take the mask off and leave it off.” Nightwatch turned again, “You were there to stop him and save those boys…and you did. Leave it at that. This wretched city doesn’t deserve your efforts and it will punish you for them.” He had to leave. She had touched a chord in him and his control had wavered badly through this whole interaction.

He strode away and then paused, blurting out, “A salt water wash after cleaning with rubbing alcohol will ease the irritation and swelling of the abrasion on your face. You should be able to cover it well with make up after that so it won’t be too noticeable.” Why had he said that? He wanted her to think well of him, despite him trying to scare her straight. She was dangerous.

Nightwatch gathered herself and leaped, grabbing the top of the chainlink fence and flipping himself up and over it, into the field beyond and away. It was a dramatic exit, made to make an impact. Or that was what it looked like. But in truth, he was retreating, running away from her before she could answer him. She was too bright for a thing of darkness like him.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The second grade class of Miss Summers was outside at the moment, enjoying recess under the watchful eyes of a few school volunteers and officials. Miss Summers herself was inside at her desk, correcting and starring spelling tests in red ink. Her blonde hair was swept up in a pretty, ladylike updo, her face bearing a little more make up than usual but not garish, a dark blue blazer over the shoulders of her pink, prim dress.

"Miss Summers" was pinned to her lapel, the gold lettering on the black nametag looking rather elegant.

She checked off words as her sleep deprived, caffeine powered mind replayed the meeting with Nightwatch, a check for each one right, a star and a correction for each one misspelled. Her students were very attentive spellers and it made grading easier-particularly since she should have had these done last night.

Tommy's messy scrawl spelled each word in a column, his smudged pencil making her smile slightly to herself, even as her mind weighed the heavy words from last night.

"Answer
Their
Bookshelf
Paper
Computer
Telephone
Flower
Potato..." She murmured to herself, mostly to fill a bit of the quiet in the room.

"You're wrong about me, and about this city." Her brow furrowed as she flipped the paper face down on her desk, continuing to mark the next one. She wasn't...she wasn't doing this because she wanted to be thanked or even appreciated. She just wanted...just wanted to prove things weren't so far gone they were undo-able. The common people could take the city back. They could make a difference just by building and strengthening their communities-by voting out the corrupt and devious. If they really wanted to turn her over to the bad guys they could try-she would step up to defend their rights time after time until it worked.

"Answer
Their
Bookshelf
Paper
Computer
Telephone..."

But even as her low murmur sounded quietly in the room, Nightwatch's somber, dark tone argued against her optimism.

“They’re barely more than animals, the people of this filthy city. They’ll hate you for showing them that they could be better. The media will hound you on their behalf, the police will hunt you instead of criminals because you threaten what’s “normal” and your “good people..."

She marked faster, the red checks less neat, less tidy-angry looking splotches marring the white paper. Answer, Their, Bookshelf, Paper-

"..will cheer and help them every step of the way. They won’t speak up against gangsters or drug dealers or pimps, but oh, they’ll gladly work against you.”

RIIIIIING!

Aimee jumped as the bell rang, the sound of dozens of noisy children filling the halls outside her classroom. She gingerly set the poor abused test aside and rose to her feet. It was the last bit, the part where it seemed to go off track that bothered her most. She didn't believe him about the city. She couldn't. There were good people, and even if they were too scared and too frightened to support or even appreciate her efforts-she was acting on her principles and was willing to accept a clear conscience as her only reward.

So why didn't Nightwatch believe that? Why had he said what he had? What kind of darkness was he residing in himself? Aimee worried over it. Was the mask all Nightwatch felt he had? Did he feel unappreciated and hated by the very people he protected? They feared him, yes, but hate?

Aimee felt troubled over the whole ordeal. She wished she had time to do something for him...though she had no idea what that something would be, or if he would even seek her out again. As her students filed into the classroom, Aimee felt her heart slow to a relaxed beat, a genuine smile lighting on her lips and in her eyes. At least here, the difference she made was easier to see and feel.

-------------------------------------------------------

Randy Micheals was not the best looking man in the world. Fifty four and rather portly, he had never aspired to much in life. His wife Luann loved him dearly though, and he supposed a good husband was enough. They didn't have any kids, but they were happy to host his niece and nephew every few weeks so his brother could go fishing. As a security officer for the art and science museum, he made enough money to be comfortable, and the work was easy enough to do.

Except tonight, for whatever reason, a group of hooded criminals had somehow broken in. The alarm hadn't gone off, the doors were undisturbed-the only thing he could think was that they had been hiding inside after close. Face down on the floor, his kneeling legs still under him, Randy didn't think of much through the slobber and blood pouring out his mouth and nose. They had hit him pretty hard and even now were screaming obscenities at him, asking for keys, asking for-he felt the cold steel of a muzzle press into the back of his head.

Oh God, Luann.

And then there was this...this noise, feminine-and then the muzzle disappeared with an "Oof!"

Aimee had swung down from the ugly installation piece and delivered a kick straight to the gun man's kidney. She hadn't wanted to present herself just yet, no-but they had clearly already roughed up the security guard and she had feared they might shoot him. Still-she could have planned a little better.

Landing on the tangle of limbs that was the gunman, Aimee kicked his weapon away as she hopped off-turning to throw her newest acquirement-a wooden boomerang. Ridiculous, yes, but hey-it hit the second man square in the head and made him miss his mark. "Didn't you guys catch the sign? Museum's closed." Aimee internally cringed. Okay, so she was still working on her quips.

"RARGH!" The downed man tackled her at the legs, taking the petite hero down hard as his buddy grabbed poor Randy by the collar with his gun hand, the other ripping his keys right off his belt. Flat on her back and panicking a little, Aimee shoved hard at his chest as he sat up, her hips pinned down and his knees tightening against the sides of her rib cage. His hands wrapped around her throat as she tried to bite back on any sound of pain before she tilted her right hand back, firing off a shot with the butt of her right hand straight into his nose. His hands loosened and then tightened their grip, her airway closed off.

"We've only got eleven minutes!" The second robber roared, turning to sprint off towards the doors. Aimee hit her assailant again, harder this time-and his grip loosened. Then she cracked him hard across the brow with her black jack and he slumped. She sucked in a breath of cool air and hit him again-this time feeling a lot less bad about it. She shoved him aside and rolled to her stomach, but the second guy was already to the door of the planetarium and laser show. Aimee knew it because she had taken her students there on a class trip last year. "Hey! Stop!" Her order was more a breathless wheeze than anything. Too late. He shoved the keys into the lock and bolted through the door. She was two steps into chasing him down when she remembered the security guard. Zip tie the bad guy first Aimee. She did so quickly, eyes on the injured man a few feet away.

"Oh shi-sir? Sir can you hear me?" He was on his side and breathing heavily, blood all down his front and smeared across his mouth and nose, eyes half open and mildly vacant. Aimee slipped the blackjack into her belt, her yellow sneakers stepping carefully around his blood as she cast a nervous glance to the groaning thug. She dropped to her knees and snapped her fingers. His namebadge said Michaels. "Mr. Michaels sir, if you can hear me-" She fumbled with a pouch, withdrew a pink blackberry and used the app that randomized phone numbers before calling 911. She pushed his legs up slightly so that he was in the recovery position when he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling the phone slightly away from her face. "Bombs." He rasped, his eyes focusing on her.

"What?"

"Bombs, they said...they said something about bombs."

Aimee felt a chill. Eleven minutes. That was- "Oh God-can you walk? Can you move?" She was helping him stand, helping his considerable girth up off the floor as the 911 operator finally took her off hold. She gave her location and revealed she had two injured men-and also there was an apparent bomb threat. "I'm going to take them outside, the place might be rigged to ex-"

And that's when the first blast happened somewhere behind her, a loud rumbling noise as a bolt of hot air surged down the hall. Aimee turned her head, wide eyed-it had been back in the art wing. Back towards the entrance exit. So where had the other thug gone? To plant more bombs...? Or to escape? With Randy leaning heavily against her smaller frame, she realized something else-there were two men to evacuate.

"Come on Mister Michaels." She said with a hint of fearful desperation. "Just a bit further." She helped him limp towards the doors to the laser show where, indeed, an emergency exit door was located. She kicked it open and helped him into an empty alleyway, leaning him against the wall. "Just wait here okay? Just wait-" A second explosion and rumble and Aimee turned and bolted back into the building which could be seen burning from the street.

The planetarium was fine but hot, and when she hurried through the broken glass door she was walking into a hellish scene of danger. The air was scorching and parts of the ceiling were falling in, blazing flames spreading across the exhibits. She zipped her vest up all the way to shield her mouth-and dared to press on.



The museum was blazing out of control. At the front of the building fire fighters and policemen were starting to arrive, a perimeter set up to keep gawkers back as the firefighters hauled hoses out of the trucks. The small backstreet was still empty, the alley quiet save the labored breathing of Randy outside the now lit planetarium. It was a long few beats before a woman's sounds of exertion could be heard, the soot dusted red kevlar vest sighted as she dragged the unconscious thug out backwards, her arms beneath his bound arms, small hands clasped around his chest. She fell backwards into the alley finally, her yellow shoes half melted, her hair curled from the heat and her usual flowery scent covered up with smoke. She had burned her right arm pushing a metal table aside to get to the man she had knocked out and left behind, the petite female rather worn out from hauling a man twice her weight.

 

[Armphid]

There had been no sign of the mystery woman in days.

It made his heart light and ache all at once. She would be safe now; He would never come after her. That explained the lightness, unusual for him. But the ache...where did that come from?

He flipped backwards and up, flying over the swing of a man in street clothes with a deep hood hiding his face, the old Renaissance era sword in the man's hands gleaming in the dim lighting of the Museum of History after hours.

Idiot. Swinging a rapier like that was a waste of energy. And that hood- it looked cool but it cut off his vision like blinders on a horse.

Nightwatch landed and rolled, pivoting into the criminal's blind spot. He rose and uncoiled like a snake, his right hand lashing out in knife-hand strike to the side of the man's head, two thirds down on the hood. He felt bone crack and the crook's jaw give.

Why was he still even thinking about her? About what she'd said?

The man swung clumsily and he pivoted again, spinning about him and coming into the mook's field of vision. His left hand doubled the goon over with a stomach blow, blasting the air from his lungs and sending the sword skittering across the floor from his grasp. Then he snapped his right knee up and slammed it into the wiry punk's forehead to send him launching over backwards onto the tiled floor in an unconscious heap.

There were good people here, she said. She couldn't just sit around and wish for better times.

He strode over past the fallen goon and stepped over another prone form that was slowly bleeding from a trio of small blades sunk into his right hand; a Raven .25 Saturday Night Special lay nearby. Glass was scattered over the ground from where the weapons display case had shattered when he threw the gunman into it. In a corner, an old man in a security uniform stared in horror, a large bruise darkening one side of his face. Nightwatch sneered as he picked the gun up and pulled the magazine, then worked the slide to remove the chambered round. Useless now, even if they woke up.

What good people? Where were they hiding? They weren't the ones who voted for crooked judges and a craven District Attorney. Or the ones who knew exactly was dealing on their streets but never made a report. Or the ones who turned their heads when they noticed a mugging in an alley. So where were they?

He listened as the terrified security guard said something about bombs before he raced off to find them. They were not difficult to spot; placed in the open to allow for maximum damage- after all, they were set to go off tonight after the guard was taken out. Why hide them?

Nightwatch examined the bombs carefully; simple devices. Which was good for him and the criminals. The fancier you got, the more likely you were to blow yourself up making it. Easier to defuse too. Tools emerged from his hidden pockets and he went to work on the first.

He could hear her voice and see those sea blue eyes shining. She meant what she said, believed it with all her heart. Why? Where did that hope, that faith come from?

He lowered his head as he finished his work on the second of the bombs. It ached because of that hope that she carried. Because he recognized it, remembered that he had once felt that way, said almost exactly what she had. He missed it, longed for it, to feel hope again...but he knew better. He couldn't feel that.

But she did. And that was why...why he'd kept his ear to the ground for reports of her, made sure any word would get back to him, checked for her each night he went out. He was afraid for her...and of her, if he was honest. But part of him wanted to believe as she did, to feel that purity radiating off of her like that, as much as it stung.

No time to defuse the third. Nightwatch picked it up and ran. Simple device, electronically triggered explosive and timer, made to be carried; no risk in doing this. He bolted down, mentally counting down in his head, down, down into the basement of the museum. He stopped at the door to old Bomb Shelter, now an exhibit about the Cold War and it's societal paranoia. The bomb went in the middle of the heavily built and reinforced room and he darted out before pulling the heavy door shut with all his might, turning the wheel on the door to seal it shut and lock it in.

What was wrong with him? He should know better that to even entertain her silly ideals, and certainly know better than to want to see any woman, let alone one in a mask.

Nightwatch ran back down the hall and threw himself into another doorway, bracing against it. There was a muffled boom and the building shook. There was the sound of stone and mortar cracking, of glass fracturing above, things falling over, and then stillness.

Guess the bomb shelter was designed right, after all.

The old security guard was standing at the top of the steps as he trudged back up then. The man flinched away as Nightwatch went past him, then cleared his throat. "I call the cops! They're coming!"

Of course, and faster than they would on most calls. They might get a shot at him. The cop who brought him in, or better yet down, would get awards, promotions, and plenty of kick backs and bounties from the scum of the city. They'd be set for life.

"And I told 'em about what they said about the Art and Science Museum."

Nightwatch stopped in his tracks. "...What did they say about it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Too late for the museum. It burned brightly now; priceless and beautiful works lost forever. One more source of the city's little light, gone. And he'd failed to protect it.

As always, the darkness won.

Nightwatch slung to the rear of the building, to the alleyway that cut behind it for deliveries and the like. He had to get in if he could, see if he could find any clues. His eyes narrowed, there were people there. A large, older man was slowly pulling himself to his feet assisted by a wall. There was a prone form on the ground; a male wearing a deep hood and beside him-

She was there. Smudged and sooty and dirty and radiant. Damn her! Why hadn't she listened? And thank God that she hadn't.

He landed on the other side of the wall with as much noise as a moth touching down and listened. Nightwatch waited for the guard to thank her, to ask her who she was, what she was doing, to hear him stumble away. Then he leaped up and grabbed the top of the wall, pulling himself up onto it. "We need to talk."

The vigilante stood atop the wall, looking down at her. "You're not going to stop." It wasn't a question. If she was going to, she would have after that first night; beaten, bruised, bloodied, covered in gasoline. "You'll get yourself killed like this, soon." His voice changed slightly, less gruff but infinitely more weary, "I couldn't stand that."

"So," his voice was strong and dark once more, "I'm telling you to stop, not forever, but for now. Until you have more training." What was he saying? He couldn't do this. He should in no way do this. "My training."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"You're sure you'll be alright?" . Her worried tone followed the pleasantries as the guard nodded and offered another enthused thanks. "It's too bad about...about the museum." . He mumbled, and Aimee fidgeted with the zipper to her vest. How much money was in the Arts and Education fund? She had missed the last meeting for a class, she wasn't sure.

"Folks will come together. We'll rebuild. Go home to your wife Mr. Michaels.". And with a final pat to her shoulder he turned and made his way down the alley, turning the corner to find the police and firefighters.

Aimee hoped his nose could be fixed easily enough as she moved towards the saved thug-when someone spoke, a small jump and twitch of her shoulders. Nightwatch.

"...I didn't know about the bombs until it was too late." . She said with guilt, crouching down to roll the thug onto his side and into a better position. He would need medical attention, something she would have felt worse about had he not attempted to strangle her. She had expected to be chastised, but he had other things to talk about, it seemed.

"You're not going to stop." . She paused, tipping her head back to look up at him with a slightly apologetic look, listening. Surprise registered on her face at his quiet admission while at the same time, she wanted to assure him-but really, what could she say? She had just gone into a burning building to drag a man much bigger than she out. There was no denying her hobby was dangerous.

"...your training?" Her curious tone indicated a bit of surprise. He wanted to help her? Aimee absently toyed with the CC patch on her vest. "You'd really do that?" . She sounded hopeful, which told him just how hard she was trying with what she had, how nerve wracking it must be

She had not thrown herself into the mask entirely unprepared-she had taken self defense courses, was now a registered nurse, and had worked hard to tone her small frame up a bit, to be able to run hard and fast and endure exhausting conditions.

But she didn't feel anywhere close to sufficient-as she had learned with Frank, there was a very big difference between the classroom and a life or death situation. Of course, to have this training, he was asking her to quit, to put the mask on hold. She hadn't meant to put it on so soon in the first place, but...

"What about this bombing? One of them got away while I was helping the guard." Aimee felt responsibility nearly as much as did compassion. After a beat, almost as if remembering her manners she spoke up again- "And...and hello, by the way."

Always time for a friendly greeting, right?

 

[Armphid]

Nightwatch didn't answer her immediately, just watched. She was...shy. The way she toyed with the patch on her vest was incredibly cute. The hardened cynic frowned at that; he was here to help her stay alive. Not to notice things like that. "Yes, I will."

"You've got some training already..." His eyes traveled over her, noting things here and there about her outfit, the way she carried herself, the muscle tone of what he could see of her arms and legs. "You clearly keep yourself fit. You worked up to this. But it's not enough. You need harder training, real training, not just classes and workouts."

Before he could go on, she brought up the bombing again. And then she blew him away by suddenly and sweetly saying hello to him. Nightwatch was dumbfounded and for once unable to maintain his emotionless expression. The way she said it and that smile...again he felt that aching hurt of her goodness stabbing at him.

"...Hello." He blinked, not that she could see it behind the opaque lenses of his mask, and then shook his head.

"The bombings," good, back to business, "are related. There was another one attempted at the Museum of History. There were two men there also, I took them down. But there must be more to this."

He jumped down off the wall, landing in a crouch beside the man she'd knocked out and then apparently rescued. Would he have? He wasn't sure. "Hn. This is our lead then." Nightwatch slipped the man across his shoulders and then stood up slowly, bearing both of their weights. He hoped her car was close by. "Lead the way to your car. We'll get in the trunk, drive for...ten minutes or so, stop somewhere out of sight and discrete."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee felt a small measure of triumph when he returned her hello. Oh good, they could have a civil time and maybe things wouldn't be so dark for him. She hoped so, anyway.

He jumped down and lifted the man seemingly effortlessly-no small marvel, considering how heavy he had seemed to her, dragging him out of the flames. She had nearly forgotten about her arm-but it could wait.

"This way-" And they'd be hurrying through the back alleys, Aimee light footed and silent, hopping over puddles and heaps of trash here and there. He was both more impressive and intimidating up close, much taller and stronger than she could ever hope to be. She was glad he was willing to teach her how to be better. She was glad he was looking out for the city, even if he wanted to pretend he didn't care about it or the people. Surely he did. She hoped his world wasn't as dark as he alluded it to be.

"I'm glad you stopped the bombing at the other one-these museums are invaluable to the community...kids and adults alike." Aimee murmured quietly into the sounds of the city, her voice soft and gentle, genuinely thankful.

They would reach an empty lot half fenced in off a side street, the familiar beetle parked out of sight along the fence. She retrieved a fob and pressed the unlock and trunk buttons, quick to pick up her license plate and hold it behind her back- which she had only just remembered. "...um, sorry." Her cheeks had a bit of color to them as she frowned uncertainly, perhaps at the very small trunk.

"Do you really think...? Maybe you'd rather lay down in the back seat?" He would be crowded in there, at least the thug was asleep and unknowing-but she'd rather nightwatch be comfortable.

 

[Armphid]

She was quick and light, agile and graceful without effort. A faint, ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. She would be very, very dangerous with some training. No one would be able to lay a finger on her unless she wanted it when he was done with her.

Well, there was-

No. He wouldn't think about that now. Later tonight. He would have to prepare for the worst case, to plan for when He would appear for her. Nightwatch wouldn't allow it. Not if it cost him his life. Not if it meant the city in flames.

One good person. Her light shone so brightly. He'd tear this whole, dirty, stinking town down to keep her alive.

And he'd just met her. God, was she that powerful or was he that messed up?

They came to her car and he frowned. He hadn't remembered it being so small. As she retrieved her license plate, blushing fetchingly, Nightwatch shouldered the unconscious man into the trunk none too gently. "Temporary license plates are a good way to go. You can change out them out with new dates and just affix them over your actual plate...I may have some left that you can use." He hadn't even touched the car in years; not since the first anniversary of Gwen. "Maybe even give you another vehicle to use...maybe."

He nodded at her question and shut the trunk. "I was going to interrogate him in the trunk while you drove...but it'll be good for you to see it." He opened the door and slid into the backseat and shut the door before laying back. It she had a blanket here, he'd have put it over himself, but that was a suggestion for another time. "Go to Wheeler Street and 17th Avenue, there's an old, empty car dealership there; I cleaned it out a few nights ago so it should serve our purposes."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

With a quick test of two butterfly nuts, the license plate was secure. She hadn't thought about fake or temp plates. That was a very good idea.

She moved around the car and slipped into the driver's seat, the plush seat sitting rather forward into the steering wheel-but then the Concerned Citizen was not a tall person. He might notice the neatly folded pink dress on the passenger seat, he might not. A sheath of papers sat under that, the edges of a messy child's handwriting in crayon barely visible. Her car was clean and smelled pleasant, though clearly a woman's car.

"Yessir-" She said quietly but with quite a bit of cheer to it-folding the sunvisor down to shade her domino masked face as she slipped out of the red kevlar vest and hat, the CC emblems reflecting the light slightly from the passenger seat. Without the two, she looked like a normal woman in athletic clothing, save the mask and singed yellow shoes.

She drove cautiously but at the speed limit, feeling rather excited to be on official hero business. She couldn't help it. Nightwatch was a professional, and if he was willing to train her then surely she could do a lot more good for this city.

She pulled into the dealership and parked where ever he indicated, popping the trunk as she slipped out of the driver side door, replacing her hat but not the sooty vest. If she was quick enough, she'd open his door for him also-as if she were a masked chauffeur.

 

[Armphid]

He rode in silence. His form was still enough that his breathing could only be noticed with close attention; making him fade out of casual observation to most eyes. There were no unnecessary movements, no further spoken words. Nightwatch had no need for them.

But part of him wanted to speak. Wanted to ask her...he wasn't even sure what. About herself, perhaps? No, he would respect her privacy. Odds were good that if he looked around the car, he'd find clues to her identity. But that was her secret. If she wanted to tell him, she would.

At a certain point in their training, he would have to ask. But if she didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't push it. He would have to know so that he could plan for that man.

The cheer in her voice confused him. What she was happy about? Perhaps finding these men before they did more harm? That made sense. She was a strange one, though, this slender, little woman in red and yellow.

Actually, she probably wasn't. He was abnormal, so she would be strange to him. She was remarkable but not strange.

The car halted and a glance out the windows told him they were in the right place. She followed his directions well; that would help her in the training she would undergo. Part of him still couldn't believe he'd offered it to her in the first place. He shouldn't be encouraging her!

Before he could move, the door opened and she stood with it, smiling with her hat perched back on her head. Nightwatch blinked, not that she could see it, and was frozen in confusion for a few moments. She was...what was she doing?

He also noted, with concern, that part of his mind was paying attention to the brightness of that smile and the way her black spandex suit clung to her.

Not a good place to go, Raines.

He slid out of the seat and nodded to her, lips quirking before he said, "Thank you," in an uncertain, soft tone. Her cheer, her charming smile and bright eyes, her little courtesies...they were messing with his head. This wasn't what he knew anymore; it was exotic and wholly unexpected.

Nightwatch moved to the trunk, "Now, let's find out what we can."

The man within was stirring a little and then let out a perplexed, "Whauah" as the vigilante hauled him out of the small space and then hurled him onto the pavement of the showroom floor. "Uhfh! What the...hell?" He shook his head and saw the blond, frowning, "You little-! Wait until I get out of these!" He thrashed helplessly against the ties, "You didn't stop anything, you stupid sl-ukkk!" His words cut off as Nightwatch stepped up behind the man and reached down to grab his throat, squeezing and lifting him to a kneeling position by it.

"She's going to," the dark clad man growled. The battered criminal had paled when he saw who had him and it made a cold, hateful joy wriggle in Nightwatch's chest. "With your help. The job wasn't a full success; the art museum was only partially destroyed and the history museum untouched. So I don't know that you'll get paid enough to cover the surgery."

"S-surgery?"

"For your face." Nightwatch picked the him up bodily, the man struggling in his bonds with new vigor, and smashed his face into one of the large plate glass windows that looked out on the dealership's lot. It trembled from the impact but did not break or crack; though there was a nasty crunching snap as the man's nose broke. "You'll need an expert to put it back together after this." He hauled the man back, ready to slam him face first into the glass again. "Unless I have a reason not to...and maybe then anyway."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"You're welcome."

She wondered what he looked like under his mask. No-how he acted without it. Would he be radically different somehow? The mask aiding a persona? His dark words came back to her as he moved towards the trunk and Aimee worried a little.

She did things she would never do as Aimee Summers when she donned the mask. Aimee Summers was afraid of heights, but Concerned Citizen raced up fire escapes and stopped jumpers. Aimee Summers would never ever strike a man-but Concerned Citizen would crack one over the head if she had to. Aimee Summers was a quiet woman, about as harmless as could be-teaching her students to spell and use simple arithmetic, going home to her grading and her kitten, calling her father on Sundays.

Concerned Citizen was learning to hero, racing into burning buildings and tackling men with guns. It was slightly exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time-but especially now, as Nightwatch hurled the man into the pavement.

Eyes widening in mild alarm, Aimee stepped forward, about to worriedly remind him about the man's head injury-when said man started to thrash and curse in her direction.

Aimee hesitated, remembering the angry expression the same man had worn when he attempted to strangle her, the near murder of the security guard. She wasn't so sure he didn't deserve whatever Nightwatch might do to him-but that didn't stop her from gasping when the hero slammed his face into the glass window, an awful crunch of cartilage making her visibly wince.

"Wait-" Without quite remembering how she got there, Aimee found herself nearly on Nightwatch's heels with a staying hand on his bicep, almost on tiptoe. Oh God what was she doing- "Uh, I mean-" Boy, he was tall. And very strong, to be holding the brute like that-her face had paled considerably, her Caribbean blue eyes nervous and maybe even a little horrified-both at the sudden violence and at her interruption of it.

But the bad guy was tied up, and wailing on a defenseless man, even a man who had burned down a museum and tried to kill two people in the span of ten minutes tonight-one of them her-seemed wrong. Wrong, and something she could not tolerate, had put on a mask to stand against.

As frightening as not tolerating Nightwatch seemed.

Before she could lose her nerve and dissolve into apologies she stepped around him, once again throwing herself into something she felt ill equipped to handle-and paling even further to see the damage up close. Potentially fractured skull, ruined nose-she could only imagine how much pain he was in as he slid down towards the floor, Aimee crouching down to help him lean against one shoulder rather than his head or bound hands. This bit of soothing devolved into a stern expression, a small displeased frown.

"I could have left you in there, you know." She started, crossing her arms beneath her chest as if she were disappointed in him, still trying to quiet her hammering heart. "Attempted murder and arson are very serious crimes, but I still went in after you, dragged you out of the mess you made while fire licked at my suit."

She gestured to the burn on her right arm, her melted shoes. "There's still a chance to convince Mister Nightwatch here that it was a good decision-I think it was. You're alive, and that makes it worth the trouble to me...but maybe you might tell us who set this up, why they set this up. No one would have to know you gave us a tip or two, and we can leave this unpleasantness behind us. Get you checked out and-and your nose fixed up before you have to come up with a good story for the police." She felt bad just suggesting that, but what was she going to do-give a statement? She could do that, but she had a feeling her word didn't count as much, not yet.

"I mean, I'm dying for a cup of coffee and some Advil, aren't you?"

It was insane, how she was somehow establishing a bit of rapport with a criminal-but it also seemed staggeringly simple. She either did not hold a grudge-or was very good at hiding it.

Though, to Nightwatch's trained eye-she was afraid, and fear meant a nervous joke-even if it was coupled with near Stockholm tactics.

 

[Armphid]

Nightwatch's eyes widened at her interruption, but far more from her touch. It was restraining but not physically so; just a gentle contact and press. God, how long had it been since he felt human contact that was violent? A year, maybe more.

Thankfully his mask concealed his reaction, though his body did tense up, and before he knew he was doing it, Nightwatch relented and let the man go with a faint growl. He stepped back, scowling down at the man as she carefully repositioned him and started to talk.

Ah. She was doing Good Cop/Bad Cop. That made more sense. For a moment, he thought she was...actually concerned about...she was, wasn't she? But no, no, that couldn't be.

But as she went on, a growing part of Nightwatch told him that she was concerned for the injured man. Despite what he had done, what she had suffered because of his misdeeds, she did not want him to be hurt further. Despite being afraid of him; it was all over her body language. He wondered how her fight with him had gone. Another brush with death?

The injured man couldn't see her fear. Not through his own haze of pain and terror. Fucking Nightwatch, man! The guy carved people up, they said! Broke bones, crippled mother fuckers, even after they stopped fighting! He was so fucked! But then that girl-she stopped him. Her voice was sweet but also firm, with a tone of...disappointment?

Maybe it was his concussion, maybe his pain, maybe a flush of shameful gratitude at her saving him from the fire and then from Nightwatch, but the man grunted. "...yeah, no shit. My head's killing me."

"Not yet," Nightwatch growled from behind Concerned Citizen.

The man blanched and tried to wriggle away, though he was already against a wall, "H-hey, hey! Take it easy; I'll talk, okay?" He took a deep breath, "Look, this guy I know, Nick Pistorus, I run into him at a bar and he says he's got some big action going down and needs some help with it. Some big shot wants to put in a refinery or a plant or something on the river there but the museums' can't be bought out; public trust or something, whatever that means. And the people livin' around there wouldn't sell out, neither, so this big shot figures to kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of the museums and then he can buy the properties cheap, the locals get scared and sell, and it's all good. Nick made those bombs, guy says he used to be in the Army, and all we had to do was get in and place 'em and...uh..."

"Get rid of any potential witnesses," Nightwatch filled in.

"...Yeah," the guy said in a tone like a child caught doing wrong by a teacher. "We were gonna meet up with Nick to get our cut at Ruckus after it all went down."

And one of them got away. "Did you have any way to contact him besides that?"

"Yeah, his phone; I got the number on mine."

If Pistorus was smart, it'd be a prepaid burn phone but even that might give them some leads with an assist from Compiler. But it also might be his own phone; the stupidity of the criminal element was often profound despite their base cunning or other skills. Nightwatch nodded, "Ask him anything else you want," he said to the neophyte crime fighter. "Then we'll...take him to a place he can get...treatment," he said the words with force, as though he had to drag them out of his mouth.

It was a mistake to treat this man softly. He didn't deserve it. It would only encourage him. Nightwatch's fists balled and the faint crack of his knuckles could be heard, the brutal vigilante gritting his teeth. "Be quick. We have to assume Pistorus knows something is wrong; it's a race now."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee listened hard to every word, a worried frown on her lips-one that shifted to mild dismay. A veteran! A man who had served his country now working against it-it saddened her in a way she was unfamiliar with, a mixture of disappointment and disbelief.

The thug nodded towards his left breast pocket as he mentioned his telephone, causing Aimee to issue a soft "May I?" before plucking it from his pocket and scrolling quickly through the contacts. She nodded once to Nightwatch, relieved he was willing to go along with getting the man medical help. "Your mother is in here." Aimee said with some surprise as she paused on the "Ma" entry, looking up from the small lit screen to study him. "I don't think she'd like you doing this sort of work."

She looked back down to the phone to memorize a number for Nick P. before once more nodding to Nightwatch. Right, a race, had to hurry.

Aimee added a new contact, typing the numbers in quickly-she had a lot of practice playing with her own smart phone. "Alright-thank you very much for helping us in this matter. I would recommend a safer line of work-not sure what your friend promised you, but it probably wasn't worth the trouble. Call these USPlacement folks if you need an odd job again. That's work your mom could be proud of, right?" She dialed 911 as she rose to her feet, casting a glance across the empty lot. She wouldn't want to leave him in an unsafe area after all.

She asked for an ambulance after being taken off hold-and then hung up, slipped the phone back into it's pocket-and wished the man a speedy recovery before turning to head back towards the car. "Thanks." She said sincerely to her larger companion, her little pink blackberry already in hand to look up the Ruckus place. "I'm...I'm sorry I interrupted." She was glad they were able to learn what they needed to know though-and hopefully put a stop to these acts of terrorism.

"So...so all this just for a spot to build a plant? With all the abandoned sections of town, you would think they could find another spot...at least that'd bring some work to those areas." Aimee thought it didn't make much sense-why would you want to force people out of their homes just for a prime bit of real estate?

 

[Armphid]

Nightwatch shook his head when she apologized for interrupting him. "You'll learn. You think you helped him, put him back on the right path, but you'll be wrong. We got the information, so I just regret that you'll be disappointed."

He tapped the side of his head, activating his ear bud system. "Compiler." He didn't explain to her as they walked to the car. There was the usual few seconds of wait and then the line picked up. "Compiler, I have someone I need to track."

"Hi, Nightwatch, good to talk to you too." The man's voice was wry, "You only ever call when you want something."

Nightwatch grimaced but simply plowed on. "I have a name and a phone number. Nick Pistorus," he said, rattling off the digits as the fragile looking blond repeated them. "He may be ex-military but I'm not sure, even odds are he was lying."

He hadn't said that for the Compiler, but for her. He'd seen how her face changed, eyes tightened when the captured man said the bomb maker was a veteran. It might also help her feel better about what she'd find out about Ruckus; it was a bar that was publicly known for the violent and rough clientele. Less heralded was it's status as a white supremacist hangout, but she could still pull that up on her search if she was clever. And he didn't doubt that she was.

"A name and a number? You're spoiling me." The sound of clacking keys could be heard over the line. "I'll get you a fix and pull up some data."

"Good. We're en route to his last known location." Even as he said it, Nightwatch knew it was a mistake.

"...We? Nightwatch, who's we?" There was a pause and a slight intake of breath. "That girl on the news? Danny, you can't-"

"Nightwatch," he snapped, turning away from his would-be trainee and her car. "That's my name. Get back to me when you have something." He cut the connection and slid into the car's back seat.

He was silent for a moment and then began to address her question, "Building in the poorer sections would be seen as higher risk, many investors wouldn't want to put their money into it. Whoever's behind this wants a sure thing in the short term. Talking people around would take too much time and effort when you can just hire a militia wanna-be into clearing the path to get land that would make rich people feel safe about their investment."

His voice grew colder and a distinct sneer came into it, "Destroying the museums and the area nearby would also disenfranchise and potentially ruin groups they don't like; comparably well off racial minorities, gays and lesbians, up and coming college students, grass roots politicos and others who tend to frequent and live in such areas, keeping the status quo nice and safe and not forcing them to think about anything that might be unpleasant or see anyone different than they are."

Nightwatch was silent a few moments more. "They may also have a different agenda along with building their plant. There are a number of religious and concerned parent groups that regularly protest both the Art and History Museums and call for their closure or for replacement of exhibits and items they don't like. Perhaps our mystery executive decided to make a stand for what his small mind says is right and make some money at the same time like any good religious man."

His voice was openly scornful, bitter, and dark. His muscles had tensed and he thought he could almost feel his own angry bile and hate swirling through his body. "And it makes the world a little more bigoted, a little more stupid, a little more banal, pushed to ruin another inch. Why built a place that can create jobs near where people live? Build it somewhere else and make them come to it, that way you make them spend money, keep them poor. That's how they think; what will benefit me and hurt everyone else, that's what they ask themselves. These people."

His explanation had turned into a rant. Nightwatch closed his eyes. God, he felt so tired.

After a few minutes, the comm link beeped softly, "I have some info on your guy, Nightwatch." Compiler's voice was even and steady. "Entered the Army but washed out of Basic, likes to visit militant websites and do-it-yourself bomb making groups. He's got a lot of arrests; drunk and disorderly, DUI, vandalism, assault, that kind of thing. Never did any time for it; the people he hurt weren't white or straight or rich enough for the DA to care enough to prosecute." There was a few moments, "He, or his phone anyway, is at Ruckus now. I'll let you know if he moves."

"Understood."

"Nightwatch...we're going to have to talk. Soon."

The vigilante growled, "Not tonight." Then he cut the connection. "My source says Pistorus is still at Ruckus. He may not know what happened yet; it seems he has a tendency to get drunk and stoned. If he knows, the reality of it may not have set in yet or he thinks that with the normal crowd there, he can take us."

Us. Should he say that? It came so easily. Those years with Gwen, with the other sidekicks, he'd always been part of a partnership of some kind for the early part of his career.

But not now.

"I should go in alone. I don't think you're ready for them."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Those pretty Caribbean eyes blinked at him, a troubled look that no doubt would have led to some more idealistic thoughts and words as before-but as she parted her lips to say something he was talking to someone on a bluetooth within his mask.

Aimee closed her mouth and continued towards the car, reading what she could about the bar, her head down. Her blonde ponytail wouldn't quite conceal the sudden tenseness of her shoulders. There was a tip of her head at the idea of Nick Pistorus not being military after all-something that did indeed settle her troubled mind on the subject. She opened his door and then slipped into the driver's seat, trying a search on the local paper's website to learn more about Ruckus before starting the car.

Several hate crimes had taken place suspiciously close to the bar. Last year a man reported being kidnapped off the street and-

Aimee put the phone down and rubbed her forehead, remembering the burn on her arm as she popped the center console for the burn cream. The small, homemade first aid kit wouldn't seem out of place in the car-but it did have some odd items, such as a snake venom kit. The tight fitting sleeve had burned back to her elbow, looking mismatched against the quarter length sleeve on her other arm. She quickly wrapped the arm up and tied off a small bow before putting the car in reverse and backing out. She was handy with small medical tasks in the very least, deft, quick and delicate hands making short work of the injury.

Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as he spoke, looking more and more troubled. If it went beyond money and into such things, they were dealing with very, very misguided people indeed.

"...well, they won't get away with it now." She said quietly, her soft voice containing neither anger nor rage but a hopeful, steady confidence that right would prevail. Her eyes lit on the mirror again. "And I don't think giving that man the benefit of the doubt was the wrong thing to do either." She added, a little nervous, yes, but some backbone in it. "It's...it's not right to assume he'll stay on the bad path. It was chance he took the museum job. He was motivated by money and little else, so now that he has a different way to obtain it-well, maybe he'll make a change." She felt bad, and a little worried-it wasn't her intention to lecture, but she wanted to make him understand her. Somehow.

"I only bring it up because, well-I'm not out here to punish people. I'm out here to better the community as best I can. Recidivism rates are through the roof-punishment isn't doing the job, and not just because a few corrupt men aren't punishing. I'll fight if and when I have to, but I will also do whatever I can to improve things. Building up, not tearing down."

She shifted uncomfortably as she drove. "Of course, should I run into that gentlemen again, I'll take the loss." She rubbed her throat sub consciously, and as Nightwatch again spoke to whoever was on the other end of his bluetooth thing-did Nightwatch use a blue tooth? Maybe it was fancier than that-she murmured "And call his mother." to herself.

"I should go in alone. I don't think you're ready for them."

Aimee's eyes flicked to the mirror, then to the empty road before she half turned in her seat. "I can hold my own Nightwatch! Just, just because I got caught off guard by Frank-and okay, tonight didn't go as nice as I wanted, but I was kind of more worried about the security guard they were about to gun down." She turned her attention back to the road, frowning.

"I already know where the place is, and I already know what kind of crowd it apparently draws. I'm going. I'd rather go with you to avoid being underfoot, but I'll go alone if I have to." Her small hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Mr. Pistorus is the only lead right now, and I do not like the idea of some corporation blowing up community treasures that good, honest people shelled money out for so kids and adults had a place to learn and appreciate their culture. I am not a temperamental person Mr. Nightwatch, but I failed to stop the bombing and I intend to ensure someone answers for it."

She glanced to her hat and vest on the passenger seat. "I didn't don the mask to help little old ladies cross the street." She muttered, though who she was trying to convince was questionable.

Maybe she had. She certainly never imagined she'd encounter men who would murder their own children, racists and terrorists working for big dollar corporations.

And, were she honest-it wasn't just about heroing because she felt compelled to hero-it was also a slight worry about her brooding companion. His words came back to her distressingly often.

With only a mask left and the desire for a bullet to end it all? Not today. Please God, not today. She didn't know him that well, but his world seemed dark and frighteningly toxic, and she hoped she could somehow help him see things weren't quite so bleak, quite so impossible.

 

[Armphid]

Nightwatch didn't interrupt her. He let her speak her mind with no intent of stopping her or even contradicting her claims. Maybe it was because he knew that the world would prove her wrong sooner rather than later. She'd have no choice but to see this rotten mess for what it was. Maybe it was because part of him just wanted to hear ideals like that again, to savor that brightness before the world broke it. Maybe he just liked hearing her voice. But worst of all...and truest of all, maybe it was because he wanted to believe in what she was saying and that it could be that way.

But he knew better. He knew the truth, as much as he hated it. The man she'd let go would just be back. He'd tell others she was soft and they'd be encouraged by it. Kindness was never answered in kind. It only invited destruction.

Once he was sure she had finished speaking, he nodded. And then he realized she couldn't see him doing that in the backseat. Feeling like an idiot, the experienced vigilante shook his head and then spoke, "All right. But I expect you to follow my lead and do as I say. Your weapons, that stun baton and anything else you have, I want your hands on them as soon as we enter. Do not hesitate to use them. Hesitation will kill you." That was a lesson for another time but there was nothing wrong with making the point now.

"These men are all body building types; big and strong but slow, little agility. Trip them up, throw them down, that's how you'll beat them. Guys this size fall hard and it's tougher for them to get up." This was a mistake. He felt a deep seated dread in taking her into this place with him. "Take any cheap shot or opportunity you can get. They will have the advantage of reach, mass, and experience in a fight over you so do not try to fight fair; you'll just play into their hands."

He drew in a deep breath. "Unless we take them all down fast, guns will come out. When they do, you drop to the ground and stay there. I don't give a damn why you put on that mask, you're not trained to deal with guns and if you try, you'll be dead."

Nightwatch was silent for a few moments then. "You're brave," he said and his voice was softer than usual, as she'd heard it once before. "Thank you." Then he cleared his throat and his voice was the normal rough grimness feared across the metro area. "Any questions before we go in?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee was certainly an attentive student. You almost got the feeling that if she weren't driving, she would be writing some of what he said down.

She had had some training. Most of what he said was not new-but he was certainly focused on fighting brutal, because they would fight brutal. His harsh orders about guns made her swallow, mouth a little dry. She had faced down two armed perps today already. A room full of them had so much potential for collateral damage. Her training was in self defense and situation control...but Nightwatch seemed geared up for a full on war. She pulled up around the block and parked, surveying the surroundings in her mirrors. The streetlights were out, all but a single, lonely leaning one up ahead, near the establishment.

She donned her ball cap once more, tightening her singed ponytail-hands lowering from the blonde curls just as he called her brave. Aimee's face was very warm all of a sudden, the blush visible even in the dim lighting. She didn't know what to say, and before she could muster an embarrassed dissent, he returned to his gravelled voice, allowing for questions. Part of her was almost too nervous to say anything-she wanted to work together and learn from him-and didn't want to overstay her welcome or show too much green.


"Is...is this really what we're going to do? Go in guns a blazing so to speak?" She asked quietly, a bit of anxiety but not argument. "I understand we need to get to Mr. Pistorus, but..." Aimee wasn't sure where exactly she had been going with that. He had called her brave, and she suddenly realized she sounded exactly the opposite. Then again, she wasn't brave, or at least, didn't think she was. She had been scared out of her mind through most of her crime fighting career thus far, but Nightwatch didn't have to know that. He might be less keen on working with her if he knew.

But she couldn't sit at home. She would not sit at home.

"I-I mean, I'll be taking your lead here! Ab-absolutely." She said quickly and apologetically, turning to face him with her hands up, palms empty.

"I...I just worry about showing up and beating on people. It doesn't really constitute self defense at that...at that point." Her voice got rather small towards the end, as if she knew he'd mock her for that. If they just strolled in asking questions, they would most likely just get shot. Aimee tried to think of less...overt methods... ones that involved less hospitalizing of people. Nightwatch...she had read a lot of stories about Nightwatch.

"Do you think it might be possible to lure him out? We have his phone number. It must be loud inside, he might step out to take a call?" She ran her fingers over the small patch on her vest, thinking a moment.

It was Aimee's turn to clear her throat. "I'm sorry, not trying to hold us up. Please, lead the way." She almost added a sir. He was the one with experience. She wasn't going to go questioning his tactics just as he was starting to come around to her being out at night. She opened the car door and quietly closed it again. Her arm burned, her throat ached from the earlier attempted strangulation, the many aches and pains from her fight with Frank West were still a thing-but she was awake, aware, and ready. Those bright blue eyes were determined to see this through and learn what she could from Nightwatch.

As before, she opened the door for him, assuming he wasn't already out of the car.

 

[Armphid]

"...Self defense," he murmured after she spoke again. Her purity was shining through again. This place, of all places, and she didn't want to do things in a way that would get people hurt. She wanted to maintain the moral high ground; to do what was right. Every one of them in there had done something to deserve it. Every single one. Or they were going to. Going in there and busting heads was as much preventive action as it was information gathering. "Hn."

Gwen would have loved this girl. What did that mean about him? What would she think of him now?

His jaw clenched at the thought and he abruptly got out of the car before she could reach the door. He stalked away from the car and further into the dark. That felt better. "Beating them down before they act is defending whoever they'd hurt," he growled. "Every arm of theirs I break is one that can't fire a gun or swing a bat. If they can't walk, they can't stomp someone's brains out! If-"

His chest heaved and he had to fight back another rush of a desperate need to keep talking, to spill his guts about how much it meant to him to hurt them, how it was the only thing that made him feel alive. But he tamped it down, shaking his head.

"Concerned Citizen." He didn't look back at her. "...We'll try it your way. We'll call and see if he comes out." He felt sour even as he said it, the words bitter in his mouth. The fight that would have erupted when he'd gone in, demanding Pistorus, would have been terrible. Beautiful. The only beauty the city, his life, had left. "His guys were all men. Give me the phone and I'll make the call."

He pointed to a building that slumped in the darkness nearby, "That one has a fire escape and overlooks Ruckus. Get up there and watch for him from that side. I'll cover the other. If you see him...do what seems best. Watch him first. Bombers are cowards, usually, but they're sometimes more afraid of prison than anything. If his clothes are unusually bulky or baggy, if he's fumbling with anything under them, stay away. Understand?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Aimee immediately felt like she'd screwed things up as he got out and breezed past her. She swallowed. Would he try to prevent her from going in there? She could not afford to make enemies, not this early. She definitely couldn't afford to make an enemy of him. There weren't a lot of heroes left, and she was both semi afraid of him because he was bigger and stronger and more experienced-probably a lot smarter too, she had only the barest inkling of what she was doing, just an idea of how to mascot-and she was afraid for him, As much as she wanted to learn from him, she mostly, much more importantly, didn't want him to be alone against the world anymore. It was too scary out here. Though she doubted he was ever scared.

To Aimee and much of the city, Nightwatch was a mythic, imposing figure. One of the few masks left, and working in one of the nation's worst cities. She looked up to him.

She trailed behind him, stopping short when he began to speak in a growl, staring at him in mild horror.

Or had looked up to him.

They weren't...they weren't even people to him, she realized. He had cast a large part of the city's population in an 'other' status. His words from before came back to her, as they had a few times previously.

“They’re barely more than animals, the people of this filthy city."

She had thought he was just trying to scare her into staying home, but he really believed that. He wasn't thinking about the lack of opportunities in the city, or the future painkiller addictions he might be causing with his brutality, of the brothers and fathers and sons not quite bad but just in the bad crowd because it was what they knew and what they were raised in. What was 'normal'. Jesus, he wasn't even punishing for crimes committed-he was condemning them all and attacking for what he assumed they would later do.

Her eyes stung and blurred with tears she tried to blink back. She wasn't sure if it was because he might be one more thing to fear on top of all the other dangers, or if it was because she realized how badly he must have suffered to get this way.

The mask will take over your life. You’ll put it first more and more over family and friends and they’ll desert you. You’ll find the good people you thought you could trust are weak and cowardly, they’ll betray you, take everything you care about.” ...“And in the end, all you’ll have left is the mask. Every night you’ll put it on and go out there and it’ll be because it’s all you have and all you know. And each night you’ll find yourself secretly hoping that tonight is the night some punk gets lucky and puts a bullet in your brain so that it can finally, finally, all be over and you don’t have to put up with this hateful world anymore!”

She had to stop thinking on his words, or she was going to cry. There was an Aesop fable she had read as a kid, the moral of it coming back to her in the midst of her remembering.

Honor me for what I was, not for what I am. Had Nightwatch lost his way?

She felt only tired relief when he relented, agreed to try it her way. Because at this point, she was nearly resolved to keep him from entering the bar, even if she had to make the laughable mistake of trying to physically block him from doing so. There were no 'others' to Aimee. They were all citizens, and they all deserved their rights. Without evidence to the contrary, they were innocent. And she had taken up the mask to try and protect the innocent.

Somehow...some way, a community could be rebuilt here. A community built on everyone's strengths. Her sister was doing it her way to try and kickstart it, and Aimee was doing it hers. Aimee believed in the people. The city. She had to.

She wiped at her eyes and felt her spine stiffen, drawing herself up to her full height-not that it mattered, he towered over her by alot. Reaching into her pocket for her pink blackberry curve and zipping her vest up to her chin, she held it out to him, a pace or two away so that he would have to turn to accept it.

"Here." She said softly, the barest hint of a scratchy edge there. Her throat hurt from the unspoken words and her earlier struggle not to cry. She'd hold onto the phone just a moment longer than necessary, looking up at his opaque face mask/helmet with her bright blue eyes. She had never wanted to hug anyone as badly as she did him right now.

Honor me for what I was...

No. There was still something good here, she knew it. He wouldn't be out here, he wouldn't bother trying to help her or investigating the bombings if he wasn't. Somewhere, reluctantly, Nightwatch had to think things could get better too. He was not a villain. He was a hero, and Aimee was determined to befriend him. She would honor him now, and hopefully she could help him, somehow, some way.

"The results are what matter. We'll get to the bottom of this, and it mitigates risk-I'm not as big as you are." She said softly, relinquishing the phone and looking to the fire escape he indicated with a small frown. Heights. Well. Concerned Citizen wasn't afraid of heights. Right?

"Please, be careful Nightwatch." She said sincerely after he described the threat, a nod before she departed, coming to a stop under the fire escape with a visible sigh-before she backed up several meters and made a running jump.

Catching that bottom rung, she swung herself a little higher up onto the cast iron ladder and climbed to the first landing. Crouching down, she began her watch. Even though she was nervous about confronting him herself, Aimee hoped, for Mr. Pistorus' sake, that he came out on her side.

Though she had no illusions about giving him the employment agency's number. Not that Charlotte would have been able to iron him out anyway. He was going to prison.

Bombing a museum and encouraging people to do your dirty work had earned him a firm place on Aimee's 'nonredeemable' list.